Tuesday, February 22, 2005
A word on Dad's gifts:
It all started a few years ago. Before that Dad used to ask what I wanted for birthdays and Christmas. I would buy him something that I thought he might like but that I approved of: A Kind of Blue, The Black Dahlia, Get Carter... You understand, of course. After some confused years trying to establish what the dynamic between us actually was, I decided to make more of an effort: to slip the shackles of CDs and videos. It was his fiftieth birthday, a special day, so I extended myself beyond what I could really afford and went for The Earth from the Air. As an amateur photographer, pseudo-ecologist (cog in the arms trade) and keen traveler, I thought it was ideal for him. And so it seemed; he lapped it up. I eagerly awaited my next parcel. Eventually it arrived. But I was at work so had to take a couple of hours one morning to go to the sorting office. It was a breezy July morning as I worked my way to the sorting office in Clapham, A to Z clutched in my hand. It was a box! What could be in it? How would Dad respond to my raising of the present ante? Eagerly I pulled off the masking tape. Polystyrene farfalle. I dug. Ah! The DVDs I'd lent him. Good. I could do with watching the Wild Bunch again. Now, what's this? It seems to... No... It can't be... It is... A towel, split in two, white and brown - "Arse" on the brown side, "Face" on the white. Ok. A joke present. What else is here? Of course an electric shock roulette machine. I dug further. There must be more. Surely Dad would recognize my effort and thought. Surely he appreciated my gesture and would respond.
No. He did not.
We've settled into an equilibrium since then. The dates of celebrations are somewhat flexible in our family - we exchange when we see each other. Last summer Dad and I offered the politely expected, both choosing exactly the same things: a bottle of whisky and a book. I received my Christmas presents at the weekend, as baffling, unpredictable and inspired as you'd imagine: a book about buying and selling (hardback, slightly mysterious, same given to my sister - whispers, "remainder"), a biography of Marlon Brando (OK...) and a remote control hovercraft.
That's a "remote control hovercraft".
Hope you enjoyed the working out of some of my issues with my Dad.
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It all started a few years ago. Before that Dad used to ask what I wanted for birthdays and Christmas. I would buy him something that I thought he might like but that I approved of: A Kind of Blue, The Black Dahlia, Get Carter... You understand, of course. After some confused years trying to establish what the dynamic between us actually was, I decided to make more of an effort: to slip the shackles of CDs and videos. It was his fiftieth birthday, a special day, so I extended myself beyond what I could really afford and went for The Earth from the Air. As an amateur photographer, pseudo-ecologist (cog in the arms trade) and keen traveler, I thought it was ideal for him. And so it seemed; he lapped it up. I eagerly awaited my next parcel. Eventually it arrived. But I was at work so had to take a couple of hours one morning to go to the sorting office. It was a breezy July morning as I worked my way to the sorting office in Clapham, A to Z clutched in my hand. It was a box! What could be in it? How would Dad respond to my raising of the present ante? Eagerly I pulled off the masking tape. Polystyrene farfalle. I dug. Ah! The DVDs I'd lent him. Good. I could do with watching the Wild Bunch again. Now, what's this? It seems to... No... It can't be... It is... A towel, split in two, white and brown - "Arse" on the brown side, "Face" on the white. Ok. A joke present. What else is here? Of course an electric shock roulette machine. I dug further. There must be more. Surely Dad would recognize my effort and thought. Surely he appreciated my gesture and would respond.
No. He did not.
We've settled into an equilibrium since then. The dates of celebrations are somewhat flexible in our family - we exchange when we see each other. Last summer Dad and I offered the politely expected, both choosing exactly the same things: a bottle of whisky and a book. I received my Christmas presents at the weekend, as baffling, unpredictable and inspired as you'd imagine: a book about buying and selling (hardback, slightly mysterious, same given to my sister - whispers, "remainder"), a biography of Marlon Brando (OK...) and a remote control hovercraft.
That's a "remote control hovercraft".
Hope you enjoyed the working out of some of my issues with my Dad.
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