Crackers pulled. Silly (colourful) hat perched on head. Jokes read and groans groaned. Great food, thoroughly enjoyed. What day is it? Why all the fuss? The bang of the cracker was a bit of a shock, as if it weren’t expected …
This year, for the first time, Christmas rather passed Dad by.
This year, for the first time, Christmas rather passed Dad by. He was never one for dressing up, and I don’t remember a Christmas jumper, but he was sufficiently ‘into it’ previously. Now, it’s another day, a day of distraction as he’s driven from his home to ours more than half way through the day so that everyone can spend the evening together. Keener to leave as well, despite not being sure where his shoes are.
Toys played with, on the carpet. Whispered jokes, giggling and general misbehaviour. This is Dad, with his youngest grandson.
So, the child in him seems to have returned, and he’s (almost) as comfortable with this latest addition to the family (seven years old) as with any of those he has known all their lives (my brother and me, a combined 92 years) or his wife of 50 years.
Don’t get me wrong, Dad is ‘well’ in the normally intended sense of the word. Never one to carry fat, he’s still up and about and happily goes for a walk, especially if coffee and cake are at the start, middle or end of it. More of that next time …
For now, another year starts, though for the first time I’m not sure he knows what year it is – like a man who has invented a time machine, I can imagine him asking a stranger, ‘What year is it?’ My funny bone would love his response to be ‘Yes, it worked’ once told 2014, as if he had indeed invented a time machine, like the DeLorean from Back to the Future. Smiley face.
He has kept his sense of humour, and for that I am extremely grateful. He does though, occasionally, mix up his sons’ names.