I am his favourite

I have been thinking about my best friend’s dad a lot this summer as he has been unwell.

I have been thinking about the debt of gratitude I owe him for raising my best friend.

I have been thinking about all the things he has said to me that have stuck so hard with me.

“Is the girls’ dad doing what he should?”

And he would get mad.

“Nance, more than anyone, you can have whatever and whoever you want, if you set your mind to it”

I have never ever forgotten this.

“How is business, Nance ?”

If I was not over the top proud of myself at that point I did not want to see him because I knew this question was coming!

“Is he good enough for you, Nance?” That sounds just like my dad, I would think.

“You know, there is a right way to do this stuff and a wrong way.” And then he would illustrate his point.

“There will always be someone smarter, faster, with longer legs, more money, funnier jokes but you can be the one who works the hardest. No one can take that from you.”

When my eldest got two prizes at her high school graduation and he was there for his own grandaughter, he called the next day to speak with Charlotte. Afterwards he said  “I thought a man who loves her should make a point to congratulate her.” My father, now in the late stages of Dementia, could not be there. And her own father was not there.  Can you imagine the kindness of this?

Or he would open with a story ” So Nance, I gotta tell you…” And he would lean in and tell me a story and you would feel like he had never told it to anyone else and that you were his favourite.

For the record though, I am his favourite.

Or so I tell myself.