10 Things I Loved About Dad

My darling Dad was a curious, engaged, tolerant and very gentle man. His interests were always wide and varied. He was never a person that could be placed in a box. And although he often diminished in the blaze of Mum's supernova personality, he was his own man with his own identity. And he was never beige.

So, in no particular order, here are ten things I loved about my Dad.

• He was a wordsmith. He loved language. He loathed sloppy grammar or spelling. One of the persisting memories of my childhood was asking Dad how to spell a particular word. His reply was always the same. "Go and look in the dictionary". I would respond - "how can I look up a word if I can't spell it?" He would reply, "you'll work it out". And of course, I did.
• He loved going shopping - groceries, clothes, homewares, shrubs - he couldn't wait to get behind the wheels of a trolley. He also chose wonderful gifts, quite intuitively.
• He always found a car parking spot close to where he wanted to leave the car. Whereas Mum would become irritated and frustrated about the lack of car parking, Dad would drive serenely into a chosen destination and expect to find the spot he wanted. Which he usually did.
• He adored clothes, particularly bright shirts and occasionally, extremely colourful pants or shorts. Pastels, bold and patterned materials all suited him. He also enjoyed being fawned over and complimented by the staff of any of his favourite haunts, as they knew and he knew that he would never leave without a purchase.
• He was perfectly happy in his own company. He would read the newspaper or a book or a magazine, whiling the hours away in the comfort of his chair.
• He would only show his well-hidden stubbornness when he was truly fixated by a belief. He held out having their dining room tiled at their Noosaville villa for seven years, as he preferred carpet. When eventually he gave ground and the tiles were laid, he openly admitted that they were decidedly superior to the carpet that had laid on the floor previously.
• He abhorred what he perceived as wastage. He would go through the recycled clothes bag and pull an item out. Many years ago, David had foolishly purchased a hot pink shirt, which did clash with his mane of ginger hair and he popped the offending piece of clothing into the recycling bag. Dad retrieved the shirt and wore it stylishly casual for many years.
• He had a gleeful and mischievous sense of humour. 
• He played the martyr role very well indeed, particularly when he wanted a bit of pampering, which he loved. He usually behaved in a gloriously subdued manner at these times, which caused me to become putty in his hands.
• He was as honest as the day is long. He hated deceit of any sort and was always an extraordinary role model as a person of grit, integrity and above all, justice.

Vale, my darling Dad.