On Dads that do (and don’t.)

I’m what some would call a “planner”. Other, perhaps more accurate people would refer to this trait as “control freak” but we’ll maintain “planner” in Camp Harriet at the moment.
Thanks to these tendancies, and an uncanny ability to over load metaphorical plate, I’ve been grabbing Christmas presents – not for the children, may that begins in the Christmas sales – for the adults in my life. Specifically starting to look around for the difficult ones. My in laws and mum have slipped into “hamper and homemade” category now, perhaps with the odd small bought gift chucked in, but their main gift is made up of homemade soaps, homemade alcohol (always a winner), homemade chocolates and sweet/savoury treats – alongside some rather cute crafts from the children.

That in mind, they really aren’t hard to buy for, but Adam is an awkward Annie. He is all about football memorabilia, football this, football that… but what the devil do you get him once that has all been bought? And spontaneity? Forget it. I searched far and wide, found some rather nifty gifts at www.chums.co.uk (which I nabbed before they sold out) but then felt a bit flat. I started thinking about all the things that Adam does for us, all the things he means to us, especially the children.

It isn’t the first time I’ve had to sit back and really think about my husband and the relationship he has with the kids, it was launched into the fore of my brain several times during our trip to DisneyWorld. I have touched on it a few times before in my posts about DisneyWorld, but it has always been a marker in my relationship with my own father. It wasn’t a simple case of the spoiled child pouting and declaring “he never took me to DisneyWorld”, complete with stamping foot, but rather it has remained the mascot of a damaged relationship, filled with continual broken promises and let downs. I wouldn’t ever let my mum take me to DisneyWorld as a child because, “Daddy is going to take me, he promised” and, like so many of his promises – from DisneyWorld to just showing up for a weekly visit – it never materialised and I’ve held it against him for the majority of my adult life. As a toddler I was very much a stereotypical “Daddy’s girl” and I was somewhat devastated when my parents separated when I was 4 years old. In fact, anyone who knows me will know that I rarely talk about my Dad – one of my dearest friends summed it up by telling me I “sporadically blurt something out about him and then nothing is mentioned for months”.

Relationships are a tough thing to pin down aren’t they? They fluctuate, especially when we are old enough to look at the bigger picture, but even though we know that we can forgive and forget, I think the child like parts of us are retained and we don’t really, truly ever learn to adapt to that adult way of thinking of our parents. As a parent myself, I find it harder to forgive my own father for his failings, in fact, I find it impossible.

I remember watching Adam with Edith at one specific moment during our holiday; it was hella hot – which Adam can’t stomach – and we were in Magic Kingdom, a place Adam has never intended to go. He wasn’t faking his excitement at seeing the Princesses, it was 100% genuine because he was excited to share a special moment with his child – excited to see the wonder on her face, the joy in her eyes. Adam is a “sit by the pool and snooze whilst getting vaguely sunburnt” kind of holiday guy, and here he was on a fast paced holiday to the world’s least relaxing place, paying through the nose for the privilege. For the kids. For me.

The bond between a father and his children is often one that, as a society, we neglect to appreciate. Men are often stereotyped as a somewhat “secondary” parental figure – you only have to listen to the amount of people asking “Is Daddy babysitting?” when dad has the kids and mum is out, and the skew between maternity and paternity laws and expectations. I think as a society we need to appreciate the father’s who, to steal Mother Pukka’s phrase, are parenting the shit out of life and giving their all to their  children day after day.

I don’t think there is really any “perfect gift” for the imperfectly perfect dad. Hopefully those socks will convey the message that we adore him and all he does for us.

H x

*In collaboration with chums