Although I buy into the whole idea that if we take our dad's for granted the other 364 days of the year we could at least take one day to say 'thanks dad' and buy him a pint, I refuse to purchase a pair of novelty boxers or cheesy mug with 'world's greatest dad' on it.
My dad gets a card and a bottle of ale.
I love my dad and appreciate everything he has done for me over the last thirty years. His care did not stop when I moved out, or got married, or bought my own house, oh no. He has always been there for me, popping over to have a look at that leaky tap or fitting my loft ladder. He is the hands on dad that shows how much he loves me by solving my DIY problems (or in my case putting right my DIY disasters) and slipping me a tenner when my mum isn't looking.
He is the ultimate practical man.
When I was growing up, he worked a lot, often leaving the house before me and brother were out of bed, and returning late and tired when we were bathed and ready for a bit of telly and bed. It was the weekends that I really enjoyed because that was when he pottered. There is an art to pottering, and my dad is ace at it. He always had a little job that needs doing, still does even though the bungalow my parents have retired to is immaculate. He is the sort of man who likes to keep his mind and his hands busy.
I was his apprentice.
Anyone who grew up in the seventies, and early eighties will remember Chippy Minter, the carpenter from Camblewick Green. He had an apprentice who helped him, fetched his tools, hung around trying to learn the craft by watching, assisting and generally hindering. My dad was Chippy Minter, and I was his apprentice. I would be at his shoulder every minute of those precious weekends, handing him a straight screwdriver when he asked for a Philips, putting my greasy hands on his new paintwork and invariably being called indoors by my mum with sawdust in my eye.
My favourite job was warming up the putty for windows.
My dad and I rarely talk on the phone, he gets the abridged version from my mum whom I chat with incessantly, but he is always there should I need advice or support and it is a result of his endless patience that, as an adult, I am perfectly able to rotate my own tires, assemble flatpacks without even glancing at the instructions (which are normally in Swedish anyway) and lay a vinyl tiled floor with the minimal amount of mis-cuts and swearing.
I love my dad, he's the greatest.
