Last week I was thinking about the few times I have missed my father. Maybe it was because his birthday was approaching that had me waxing retrospectively. I haven’t missed him on the times you would think. Graduations, holidays, big achievements are all times when his absence is not ever felt—which is, I suppose, sort of sad. The times I miss him are when I am around a certain person in my social circle. This person had a tendency to be snipey, snippy and sarcastic with me and something about this woman treating me this way always brought out an uncharacteristically protectively paternal side of my father. So whenever I am around this woman I remember my father’s witty way with words. I miss how he would us his caustic and sharply pointed toungue to protect me. This didn’t happen often, but when it did I felt what it would feel like to have a father who was protective.
There were a few other times. There is a woman we went on holiday to Hawaii with who my father didn’t like for reasons of his own but when this adult women turned her lack of charm on me my father turned on her. I will admit to liking it. It was one of the few times I knew he loved me.
