Sunday, 17 June 2012

Let's celebrate...

...dads everywhere. Let's hear it for the men. Three cheers for the fathers!

After all, where would we be without them?

I was sent an interesting infographic earlier this week about the true worth of dads. I'll show you if you like...


Neat, isn't it?

But of course it only counts what can be counted, measures the measurable and quantifies what can be quantified. Doing stuff around the house is important, obviously; sharing the chores should be mandatory. (And don't forget fellas, it makes you sexy!)

But a dad - any dad - in fact, all parents is far more than that. I'd like to thank my dad not for the nappies he's changed, for the dinners he's cooked (there wouldn't be many to count there, actually!) or the lawns he's mown but for all the other unquantifiable but important things he's done. Like late one Sunday afternoon when I was at a loose end, and he offered to play cricket with me on Beverley Westwood.

Now, the Westwood - for those of you who don't know it - is a large expanse of rural pasture and common land near where we lived for part of my childhood. Although minutes from a busy market town, it's a place where sheep may safely graze, dogs get daily walked and cattle contentedly chew the cud. Quite a lot of cattle, in fact. Now you don't play games of cricket near herds of ruminating bovines, but you can't really play anywhere on a piece of land like that without, well, being in close proximity to their, erm... traces.

My dad batted first. Big mistake. In those days - in my teens - I fancied myself as a tearaway fast bowler. And I did bowl fast. If not always very accurately. But if I'd tried and tried and tried all day I couldn't have hit the hidden cow pat four-square any more accurately than I did that afternoon, sending a shower of shit over my poor, dear old dad.

I still laugh at the mental image of him vainly trying to protect himself from the airborne assault with nothing more than a cricket bat. That, needless to say, was the end of play for the day - less bad light than bad smell. But he didn't rant or rave or even complain, much. All I can remember is that as he was being peppered with poo he was laughing too.

Try putting that on in infographic.

Thanks dad.

Happy Father's Day!
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