Today my Daddy is 60. He is now officially the ‘old man’ we rib him about, but a rather fabulous one at that.
Yes, my name is Kelley AKA the original My Girl and I am a huge sooky la la Daddy’s girl.
I will call my Dad on the phone.
‘What do you want?’ comes the cagey reply ‘Don’t have time, don’t have any money’
‘Daaaadddyyy….. I need/want/will you build me’
‘Anything for you My Girl’
Wrapped around my finger. *gaffaw*
Today my Daddy is down visiting his mother in hospital. She is not doing well. I am doing what I do when people are ‘not doing well’ in a hospital environment, fretting and cleaning. Good thing for the cleaning cause I have those parties coming up….
But right now I am reminiscing.
My Daddy wasn’t supposed to live. 4 times. First time was Hodgkins Lymphoma when I was 6 (or was it 7? Dunno. It is like Voldemort, the-time-that-must-not-be-spoken-of) 3 weeks to live they gave him. Then he went into an experimental program and here he is.
All I remember of that time is my brother and I sneaking into the hallway in the middle of the night to look under the bedroom door. We weren’t allowed to go near him cause Mum said he was ‘radio active’. The kids at school said he would glow green. We wanted to see! How cool would that be?
Three times he had brain tumours removed. The second op was the first time I ever saw him cry. He knew what he was in for. He was terrified of the pain on waking up.
They had to ask him what the date was, what his name was. He got them right. They asked him who the Prime Minister was. He said the Prime Minister was a bastard. He was going to be OK.
The result of the surgeries is his pituarity gland is shot and he will be on hormones for the rest of his life. Implanted, tablet and snort up the nose types. And he is now blind. He has 10 per cent eye sight in one eye. That’s it.
But the stubborn bugger went to University and got his Bachelor of Fine Arts without disclosing his blindness. He builds wonderful furniture and paint amazing paintings.
My Daddy is so cool.
My Daddy is my hero.
My Daddy and I don’t profess our love for each other. I dunno why. He has never really been like that. Oh I got all the cuddles I wanted, but the L word. No…
But we do it differently. We have our own way. Whenever I left the house he would call out the door ‘Behave yourself’ and I would call back ‘Never’
We get it. It’s our thing. We know what we really mean. The ‘L’ word only comes out when we are nervous or worried – like just before one of us goes into surgery.
But anyway. Today is my Daddy’s birthday. I baked him a cake. Photos on my party blog.
When he gets here for dinner I will give him his present and his card. A Daddy card with one word. The only word.