Wednesday, 17 April 2013


One year ago from today my daddy died.  It's been hard for me to talk about him, and hard for me to share the memories I have of him.  So today, I want to share a story.
When I was a kid my dad would read to me every night before bed.  I looked forward to story time, and he read many books to me.  I remember when he read to me The Black Cauldron and he would call me Gurgi, the fluffy creature.  But that is not what this story is about.  This story takes place in the years before he read The Black Cauldron to me.
It began one night after he had read to me, and was reading to my sister in her room.  I was probably supposed to be sleeping, but I had to get my stuffed toy down from above the window.  I stood on my chair, but I couldn't quite reach it.  I grabbed my pillow, placed in on my chair and reached and reached, and did a little jump to knock it down, and me down.  I ended up on the floor.  It wasn't a far fall, and it wasn't all that painful, but as I made my way back to my bed I noticed that my foot was bleeding.  I started to cry.  I was crying to get the attention of my dad who was in the next room.  He heard me, but thought I was just crying to get attention (I was kinda) and so he let me go on crying for a while.  When I didn't stop he came to check on me.  He realised the cut was quite deep, so after cleaning off the blood, and giving me a band-aide he called my mother who was out curling, and asked her to bring home suture kit.  I fell asleep long before my mom got home.  When she woke me up at 1 am to give me stitches, she realised that she had forgotten the freezing...  So, I got a couple stitches in the middle of the night with no freezing.
I realise that is isn't primarily a story about my dad, so I am not sure why it is the one I chose to tell other than I was thinking about it the other day as I told a different story about my dad to a friend.  Sharing that story was one of the first times since my dad's passing that I felt comfortable as i relayed a memory of him.
Today I didn't write the story I told my friend, because it is located here: The Cavity

Monday, 15 April 2013

hugs and pushes

Sometimes I give off an impression to people that I don’t like physical touch.  I suppose that is because sometimes I don’t like physical touch, but sometimes I do, and sometimes I crave it.  I love handshakes, good solid handshakes.  I’ve never been a big fan of hugs. 
When I was a kid, a repeated piece of advice that I got from my parents when I played soccer was, “stay on your feet!”  I got this advice because I fell down a lot.  When someone from the other team would push me, even just a little, even if it was legal, I’d fall down.  I didn’t realise why at the time, but looking back I’m pretty sure I was trying to get away for their touch.  (No wonder I fell off a bridge to avoid being kissed, falling was my escape.)  I play soccer now every Sunday with a group of friends.  The thing is I don’t fall down anymore.  These guys are some of my best buddies.  I don’t mind if they push me; I push back.  I trust them.