Today is Fathers Day. I am remembering my father.
He was born in 1905 in Brisbane. Dad did not have the opportunities many of us take for granted today in Australia. He had only four years of school, but that did not ever stop him. He had a wide knowledge of Australian Colonial poetry and one of my best memories is of him reciting works by Paterson and Gordon. Dad had a gift for languages and when he was a POW he taught French to the other Australians in Changi. He also spoke Arabic, Indonesian and some dialects of Chinese.
I am also thinking about all the fathers whose children have died. Broken hearts never mend completely and such a scar is horrible to live with.
I know I was not a very good daughter, but I am trying to make up for it now. Age helps us understand other people.
This evening we will go to our daughter's home for a meal to celebrate this special day. Luckily, she inherited the cooking gene from my father.