Pops

My dad used to drink in the Central. He was the Karaoke King. He would sing Barry White and Kenny Rogers. He died on the 13th of October 2009, 3 days after his 68th birthday. I think about what my last words to him were.

I used to go see him in the Central, most weekends from about the age of 16. The last time I saw him, I was too drunk to remember what I spoke to him about. A friend of mine reassured me we had a nice conversation, I got up, clapped and cheered when he sang and told him I loved him when I left. I hope he knew I meant it.

My dad and I had a strained relationship. He left my mum a couple of months before I was born. He saw my brothers, my sister and I most weekends until he and my mother had a huge falling out, then the visits stopped. This was when I was about 5 years old. I didn’t see my dad again until I was about 10, by this time I learned to live without him, I had hardened myself against him because I loved my mum so much. I was so angry at him for hurting her. Over time I let go of this hatred but I still maintained my stoniness to him, I never let him in or let him know that I loved him or that I didn’t resent him. I knew he would die one day and I always planned to cease my stubborn teenage attitude, I just thought I had more time.

Sometimes I think my dad knew me better than I ever knew. I remember in one of our last conversations I had been complaining to him about an argument I had had with my mum. He had turned to me and said “Your problem is you don’t ever think anybody loves you”. He probably hit the nail on the head there. I fucking loved my dad and I hope wherever he is now, he knows that.