One forgets all those special moments one shares with important people in our lives. Fathers day is one of those days which is there to remind us to re-member.
When I was a little girl, I remember sitting in his lap, he was such a big man and I felt so very safe and loved in his arms. He was my first port of call when I would wake...I remember seeing him sitting on the edge of his bed putting his socks on, I remember how he would roll each sock in his hands and then pull them over each foot, I remember his face would light up as I entered the room and his arms would reach out beckoning me to embrace him. My little arms would barely reach around his neck, he would lift me and put me into his spot on the bed, cover me over and begin counting my freckles...1...2...3...40...100....7million...and so on... sometimes he would say...pointing at each freckle in turn..."I love this one, and this one, and this and this and this and this one." Sometimes I would come in and he would say "Lets see if theres any new freckles today" and then he would welcome each new arrival with a kiss. (sometimes hundreds arrived all at the same time..;-) )
My abba was part of the underground movement in the 2nd world war after having escaped from a jewish labour camp by stabbing a guard with a fork. I remember he had shrapnel in his elbow which made it stick out. Food became a very important part of his life and he loved his food with the same passion that he loved everything else in his life.
Once, as an electrician by trade, he did a job for a swiss chocolate importer and instead of accepting a cash payment he agreed to a trade... a suitcase full of swiss chocolates. He proudly showed my mom his prize but she was annoyed with him as this meant that her diet would be ruined. So she told him that if he could spend that kind of money on chocolates...he could buy us a television! That night, we came home to find a brand spankin new telly in pride of place in our lounge, and my Abba.....Hiding behind the couch incase he got another bolloking from mom. In those days...there was very little on telly...mostly just test patterns....but hey...we had a telly.
I remember that my abba had very few enemies in life and that he always left a trail of love in his wake. I remember listening to "father dear father" on the radio with him every night and asking him if I could also call him "daddy" as they did in the story...and he could call me "cookie"
I remember the day that my abba left... I remember my moms devastation ... I remember the anger I felt when he didnt say good-bye ... I remember the emptiness that prevailed.
My Abba died 21 May 1976... I was 6 years old....
Today...I miss my Abba.
My Abba and me aged 18months