I miss my dad.
It's been over twenty years since he died. They missed so many milestones in my life, like my wedding day and the birth of my children. I don't think about it so much now except on days like Father's Day, designed to remind you what you've lost.
My mum and dad were older parents by the time I arrived, the last of seven kids. Mum was 42 and Dad was 47. Some people are grandparents by that age. Sometimes it was hard having older parents, but then I had a whole host of siblings who did the running around the garden with their baby sister bit. The one thing Mum and Dad did absolutely right was not putting me in the middle of their separation.
My dad had his faults, and my brothers and sisters got it worse, but by the time I arrived he'd mellowed. I remember him as a gentleman with an eye for the ladies. I remember being at a Little Chef and him chatting up the young cashier for a lollipop. I was mortified at the time. His third wife, my beloved stepmother had her hands full with him, but she managed. She could always take away his walking stick. I also remember him trying to calm down a drunk threatening to throw himself out of a sixth floor window at 3am. You don't forget those things.
I loved my dad, and I miss him today.