Well, at least that's what he said. Said it was just an excuse for the card-making companies to make more money out of us. So, the following year I didn't get him a card. Boy! I never heard the end of it! *grin* He complained bitterly that I didn't care enough to get him a card. You can be sure I got him a card every year after that.
So, I didn't put up a Father's Day post last week especially to honour his memory. I'm going to do it this week instead (and with a slightly naughty sense of humour, since he has passed away and can't do anything about it! LOL).
My Dad, Edmund Samuel Murch Haywood, was born just before World War Two in a little Cornish town, where everyone knew everyone else (and was probably related to them as well). He used to tell of how the village policeman met him coming round a corner, instantly knew who he was, and hauled him off (by the ear) to his mother. Dad hadn't done anything wrong - it was just in case he was about to be up to no good. My father was 10.
He trained as a baker and confectioner, then joined the Royal Air Force and became a dog-handler. When he was discharged, he set up his own security company in London, using ex-police dogs. He then spent some time in Italy, and finally stayed put in one place in a small Somerset town. I was always amazed at the way he was never violent towards troublemakers - all he had to do was glare at them and they backed down; even chaps who were bigger, younger, and had more muscles than Dad. When he took in a 'rescue dog', later in life, she growled at him - so he growled back. She was so stunned, she adored him for ever more!
My most enduring memory of him is at my grandmother's surprise birthday party. It was more of a family reunion, actually. Dad was one of the last to come in the room, and everybody naturally turned to see who was so late. And everybody smiled. Everybody! I thought, "I want to grow up to be like that; when I come into a room, everybody smiles happily".
Thanks, Dad, for making me - and everyone else - smile.
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