The Milk Monster is eleven months old. Now, quite apart from this meaning he is nearly ONE, it came to my attention today that he is now the age I was when my father passed away. Today, whilst going through some genuine artifacts from yesteryear (circa 1983, I found some letters of condolence sent to my grandparents following his death. They made me feel very proud. Because the man they described, complimented and said they’d miss dreadfully sounded like the most wonderful person you could meet. Which, interestingly enough, is how most people describe my dad to me.

It’s a strange thing to not recollect someone so important. When I think of all the nonsense I do remember; phone numbers of high school friends, watching Kylie and Jason on Top of the Pops, all the words to the rap in Boom Shake the Room by Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince and getting my finger caught in a hole in the gym hall floor in P1, to give a few examples. But my father, sadly not. 

Along with the letters I found a new photograph. Well…and old photograph actually. One of my very own Daddio holding me on what was my very first Christmas Day (according to another Polaroid in the envelope). It’s one of only a handful of photos of us together  (my dad was usually taking the photos) and it is a slightly blurry, but delightful example of “sleeping dad holding sleeping baby”. Something all us mums revel in photographing!

So thanks mum for taking it…this one’s a keeper. 


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