Dear Dad,
Well, where to begin? I’m 15 years old now, something I can hardly believe, so I don’t know how you can get your head around it so well. With Father’s Day fast approaching, I thought I’d write you this letter to you with some of my favourite memories shared with you this far in my life.
I guess I’d best start off with a bit of thanks. One thing I must thank you for is being so generous with your CD collection. I imagine it can get quite stressful at times noticing one of your David Bowie CDs has gone missing. Try not to worry too much, I promise I take good care of the ones I borrow. Also, while I’m on the topic of music, thank you so much for allowing me to go on and on about musicians you’ve never heard of. But you have to admit, some of them are pretty fantastic, even if you claim to have stopped listening to new bands 20 years ago.
Without you, I doubt I would’ve gotten to explore Ireland half as much as I have. I’m a fairly lazy person, as you’re well aware, but believe it or not I do enjoy all those treks up the mountains you’ve dragged me and Dermot on. I may complain a lot on the way to them, but the views are phenomenal, and nothing does beat a bag of Haribo while on top of a mountain, particularly if it took a couple of hours of laborious climbing.
It must be said, one of my favourite walks was from the cottage we all stay in in Fanad to Portsalon via the old route over the hills. There wasn’t enough water, it must’ve been at least 18°C (a temperature almost unheard of in Donegal) and I was fairly certain we were completely, utterly and hopelessly lost. By the end though, I loved it. Even if it did start lashing rain less than five minutes after we reached the beach and we had to call mam to ask her to pick us up.
Another thing I’ll always remember is you offering to wait up for Santa on Christmas Eve. I was only five at the time, and terror coursed through my veins at the thought of Santa coming down the chimney, catching sight of you hidden behind the couch and flying straight back up to the roof. Even more terrifying was the thought that he might never come back to our house, fearing being captured. The fact you offered to film the whole thing didn’t help either. Of course, with the knowledge I now possess in regards to the existence of Santa Clause, I can now look back at that memory as being very funny. It’s become one of my favourite memories so far in my life.
However, one of the greatest things you ever did for me was read to me before I went to sleep. Every night without fail we explored the wonderful world of Inkheart, or the grounds that surround Hogwarts, and for many, many months we both journeyed through Middle Earth alongside Frodo and Sam to destroy the ring. It just wasn't the same on the few nights mam would read to me while you were away in England with work; her voice never had the same quality yours has when it comes to reading stories. Of course, it's great being able to read more than five pages a night nowadays, but at the same time it's just not quite the same. I particularly remember when the final Harry Potter book came out, Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows. You had long-since stopped reading to me at that point in time, but we could hardly break the tradition, could we? And so, you guided me through my final year with Harry, Ron and Hermione, before I bid farewell to my childhood.
I admit I can be a bit of a pain to put up with these days. But alas, these teenage years do seem to be the most temperamental. Though I may pretend otherwise, you are my dad, and though I may claim otherwise, I do love you, and never forget that.
Happy Father’s Day,
Love,
Maeve