It's time for Daddy!

It's Father's Day! Consequently, I think that there is no better occasion to introduce the other half of my genetic structure, the man who is 50% responsible for the creation of me, and thus a very generous contributor to all the quirks, eccentricities and general set-up that characterize yours truly. You have already read all about my my mum here. Now it's time for daddy!



First things first, my dad gave me olive skin that tans so fantastically that I can't help being smug about it from between late May and late October. It is also the kind of skin that was never pimply during my teenage years, which at least allowed me to worry about other angsty adolescent stuff, and be a general tearful, moody and sullen pain in the arse without having to fill the bathroom with Clearasil and Zit removers. I also inherited my nose from my dad (which frankly, I really really wish he would have refrained from giving me, especially since my mother's was just so dainty), his sleeping habits - i.e. erratic sleep patterns and insomnia (thanks again dad!), love for books (I'm infinitely grateful!), the love for travel and the general desire to look beyond the cliffs and to stop believing that this tiny rock is the centre of the universe. For this last thing especially, thanks Dad!

My dad also taught me a good deal of sarcasm (though the student's capacity has now definitely surpassed that of the mentor, as our daily conversations clearly show), a limited knowledge of English grammar usage and other useless stuff, and the strict belief that "Do It Yourself" should be left to ... others, especially since they would do everything so much better than yourself. I can safely say that my dad and I would react to a post nuclear apocalypse by attempting to rebuild the world from radioactive ashes by passing caustic comments at it. We are that useless, but kinda awesome in that way. However, where my dad fails with the hammer and the driller, he excels in the knowledge of the irrelevant, by spouting WTF trivia during dinner, or knowing the difference between "while" and "whilst", and knowing when to use "who" instead of "whom". Although let's face it, the latter just has to be the fourth secret of Fatima.



When it comes to Football (and only that), my Dad puts his foot down, and looms large as the Master of the house. There is only one team, and that is Inter Milan. Other teams should not be mentioned, supporters of such other secondary clubs should be avoided or just grudgingly humoured. Slight respect may only be shown to Real Madrid and Barcelona FC, but that is to be limited to games where said teams are playing against the second team of Milan (unmentionables) and that team from Turin who(m?) one should not even acknowledge. This knowledge is deeply ingrained in me Dad, thank you for that. Will not disappoint you on this one.

Thank you Daddy, for your teachings, your sharing of values, your jokes and for generally putting up with me. Thank you for supporting all my decisions, even if there are some you probably don't agree with. Thank you for bringing me up in a way that has allowed me to make my own choices without actually feeling the need to discuss them with you, other than to announce them once they're a fait accompli. Thanks for making me the person that messes up decisions, but then fixes them herself. I know that it does not sound exactly like a good thing, but I think that actually living my own life for the past years without having to check with you is probably the best compliment I could possibly give you. I am what I am thanks to you.




Love you loads Daddy! You get to read it here, so treasure it, because all you'll get from me today will be the usual treatment :P. Oh, and please do act surprised at your present!

Kisses,

Gracie xxxx


PS Happy Father's Day also to all those sweet, hot daddies who always make my trip to the Supermarket so much more pleasant!!!!