It’s father’s day. I probably should have mentioned that.
I’m never sure about blogging about stuff like this. On the one hand it’s nice to give your folks a shout online, makes them feel like they’re appreciated – and they are – but on the other hand lots of people don’t have their folks around anymore. I would imagine these days are hard for them.
All this is a long winded way of saying I did think before I posted this. I apologise if it makes anyone feel sad. It’s not the intention and yes: this post is mainly about my dad.
And so I wanted to post something about my Dad. There’s lots to thank my dad for, too much I fear, to go into here. However, as many of you know, reading is a big feature of my life, I buy books like most people buy pints…come to think of it in London they cost about the same…and it’s fair cop that one of the authors who has had the greatest impact on me is J.R.R.Tolkien.
Where is this going?
Well, along time ago, for me anyway, I was in a bookshop with my father. I was quite young and so if I was in a bookshop in those days it was with one of my parents. I had just passed the point where I was reading novels for myself, in my head, rather than out loud and I’d been chewing my way through Dahl, Blyton, the usual suspects.
And I remember this time because it was the first time my dad bought me a book.* For no other reason than to buy me a book. I didn’t pick it, he did. He brought back this small paperwork with silver writing on the spine and a dragon on the front cover. It was “The Hobbit”.**
And I never really looked back.
So here’s to you dad – hope you’ve had a great day.
* I should point out my mum also deserves a mention because without her I wouldn’t have learned to read at all. It sure as hell wasn’t my schooling.
** I still have that copy of The Hobbit now, although it’s rather more battered.