Conversations with Dad

Dad had always been interested in the rest of the world and made it his business to broaden his horizons by watching the news, listening to the radio and especially reading the papers, which he would immerse himself in. This made him a great conversationalist, who would listen to you intently straight back, his head to one side, his blue eyes looking steadily at you, focused on you, and you alone. He thoroughly enjoyed conversation, whether it be about what he had read or what you had read and what you thought about it. He was someone who deeply cared about the world, both politically and environmentally. There were many things I could talk to him about and I would talk to my dad for hours about current affairs or what book I had read or observations that I had made about life.

"Oh it's important to be interested and interesting!" he would say. Running on, his version of just talking for the sake of it, was not something that he bothered himself with.

Our calls once I left we would be on the topics of that day, or something that I had observed. I would settle back on my chaise in the room by the front door, which had walls of bookcases that I had happily filled with books, and dense national geographics lining the bottom shelf. These national geographics replicated in dads living room at home, as I had bought him a subscription so that we could talk through the latest edition. I would close the glass double doors and settle in. Hearing the familiar ring tone and slightly holding my breath in case he didn't answer.

"Hi Dad it's me" I would say as he picked up the phone

"Oh well, hello" he would say cheerily

"Can you hear me alright?" dad had a hearing aid and this would be the difference of a good call or an abandoned one.

"Oh yes, yes, it's like you are sitting right next to me!" he would say. "Oh that's good" I would relax.

"Clear as a bell! It's quite the marvel and to think you are all the way over there, amazing" and we would begin.

On this particular day I was regaling him with the latest difference I had tripped up on

"You know dad they say bangs! I mean what is that all about? It's not bangs, it's a fringe!!!! Honestly it's so stupid, I mean what does that even mean"

"Well yes but I think that's from the hairstyle from the 40's" dad would say carefully and evenly

"But I think it came from England"

"It did?"

"Yes there is a lot that they got from us you know"

"Well I didn't know that" he had stumped me "It's so weird Dad, so many differences."

But Dad's levelness and thinking through what I said was always present

Or the history that I saw reflected in conversation to me;

"I can not believe that they go on so much about the civil war" I would say

"You know this is all around where we are. The Brandywine battle field and that's right next to where Lucy lives. It's actually amazing that this land has been preserved. It is beautiful though even if it was a battlefield" I would reflect and he would say

"Yes, we had our civil war too and unrest and lots of strife in between.

Many hundreds of years to iron this all out. America after all is a young country, we have had a lot of time in comparison" His words acting as a caution and for me to be more considerate. What was lovely about talking to Dad is that he wouldn't tell me to just get on with it. He was interested and it was in all of it.

His favorite thing was to talk about the weather and every conversation would have a weather report

"We've had some blue skies today" he would say. "Although I think there's some rain coming in later. Ever so close here today" I would picture that as he said it.

This was a classic good Isle of Man day bought into mind with his words.

"Well we've not had a cloud for days. And I mean days. Just endless blue sky, it gives a sense of unreal" and so our conversations would weave and we would talk about the weather and the differences and after a while I wouldn't feel so far from him, although it could catch me from time to time and I would say

"I miss you dad, so much" I wouldn't say that I looked at the moon and think of him and Mum and that it was the same moon, that would be bordering on the sentimental and maudlin and that was not done.

Dad's pragmatism was his best trait and this meant for helpful and insightful on the biggest bugbear that I had living in America and that was driving!

"Oh dad it's a nightmare, I have to drive there is no option of not doing it. I had to be really brave and just threw myself into it" this was after we had first arrived and we had stayed initially at Lucy's.

I had gone out to the rental we had in my pj's, not telling a soul in case I chickened out and just gingerly took the car out of Lucy's driveway. I even managed to get to the street behind and back into the development. Apart from the fact that all the streets looked the same I managed shakily to get back to the house

"I was so scared but I did it" I said to dad euphoric at this development " You know cars here are automatics and they're like a go cart! I just have to press the accelerator and drive. That's the easy bit"

"Yes, that's very good. Good you're doing that. Very hard that, but driving is all about confidence.Take care of yourself" he cautioned

"It's Ok I'm taking this steady. I really have to do this, I can't rely on Damian and I have to find the way to the kids schools. It's all a lot and exhausting"

"Oh yes, driving can be very tiring and you are learning something new, that's very hard" he would kindly say This driving was a huge piece of the early days there. The looking to the right was instinctive and the looking left not so. I had to really try very hard with this. But that wasn't the only thing. The road position was a real issue. "Now Miranda, just make sure that you look where you are going, and you will naturally go that way" Dad would reason on another call and I also knew his other advice from when I had learnt to drive initially. Dad was always the driver when we grew up as Mum never learnt. He would talk as he drove about what he was doing. The roads on the island are winding with very few straights so there were tight bends, goosenecks, hairpins and gentle curves. Dad would always say the same thing about this form of driving

"Dad you know there's so many bends on the back roads here in West Chester" and we would say in unison

"Slow down into the bend and accelerate out of it" we would laugh and I would add
People don't do that at all here, it's so dangerous and then there's the cutting the corner" this was another of Dad's and now my pet peeves.

"Yes you have to always look for that. It's always the other drivers that you have to look out for and be aware of" he said sagely. He was spot on with this and his advice and tips about driving had travelled across the atlantic and every time I got in the car his voice was with me.

To say that I missed him was an understatement but the conversations were wonderful and he would listen to all the observations I made. That he missed me, was something that I guessed about but it wasn't till after he had died that I found something that told me demonstrably how much this was felt by him.

"I've got some stuff for you" My sister casually said as she handed me a heavy full bag. I was back on the island and it was years since dad had died. But my missing him remained.

I was unprepared for what she gave me and at my cottage later that night I went through the bag. In it were some books that the parents had left behind one of which was a large thick book with christmas paper covering it.

Seeing this I was instantly transported to growing up at home, remembering all the school books my Dad had backed for us girls with his signature carefulness, they would be pristine. The book would be placed centrally on the backing paper; he would then fold it carefully, scoring the edges of the paper down. I remembered how his palm would smooth the paper flat, to take any creases out of it. It was a marvel how those huge hands were so careful and so neat, not a bit of paper was wasted and certainly no sellotape needed to hold the edges down. In this way he would use leftover bits of wall paper. My sisters and my childhood were filled with these carefully covered school books by dad..

The heavy book that I had taken out of the bag disguised in its Christmas wrapping paper cover was I thought at first some old school book, but as I opened the front cover, I saw that it was a book I had given to dad. `Oh' I gasped, it was an Alister Cook book we had managed to find for Dad!!! Being no longer in print it was hard to find but it was the perfect gift for him and for one of the first Christmases that we had while we lived in America. I had brought this home before the holiday, carrying it all the way for him.

As I handled the Christmas paper backed book, another thought came to me, maybe this was the paper the book had been initially wrapped in. Once again opening the book I marveled at the care he had taken to cover it, I saw that there was a christmas tag lying inside the front cover. I picked it up carefully and turned it over and I saw my writing on it, Happy Christmas with lots of love Miranda x. Tears now welled in my eyes, as I realised how much this book must have meant to him.

A man who didn't want to have anything "oh no no I don't need a thing Miranda. I have all I need" was his refrain. He was happy to get by with just what was needed and didn't want possessions.

"But dad can't I get you something" I would ask. "Oh no lovey I'm fine. Best not to have too much" he would say. How could I have ever doubted that he loved and missed me as much as I loved and missed him. I was holding the evidence right in my own hands.