My dad is my favourite person in the world. He’s my closest confidant, my best friend and my absolute superhero. We talk on the phone up to 5 times a day, which would be weird if I didn’t live with him; he likes to call me to ask how my day was and ask whether the jokes he’s about to text into our family group chat have the potential to start the third World War. I call him when I have a creative idea, rattling all my ideas for a poem, book or play to him before I’ve even written anything down.
He's my biggest cheerleader. He’s the only person in my family that was content with me studying English, a decision which, in an ethnic family, I was massively berated for. I remember calling him after my first day of teaching and excitedly telling him about the creative writing seminar I’d just participated in. He was close to tears in his response, and happily expressed to me how thrilled he was that I was doing something I loved. Dad keeps every poem I’ve written on his phone and reads them to his customers at work. He’ll also source and send me articles of women in their 20’s and 30’s who have left their corporate jobs due to finding success in creative avenues.
Above all his traits, my dad is a hard-worker. With the exception of Christmas Day he works everyday of the year and from a very young age, he’s ingrained into my brother, sister and I that success, as wonderful an experience as it is, needs to be worked for. After seeing my dad go to work over the years on mornings when he has been severely unwell, emotionally exhausted or physically bone-tired, I’ve learnt to persevere and get on with things no matter how difficult they get. It's thanks to him that I've always been good at getting on with things.
I wrote this poem for my dad for Father's Day last year. Here it is!
I paint this picture sometimes of him
As an astronaut
He floats through space and time
Replaces the lightbulbs in the stars
Rides an asteroid in between his work
nurturing the life on Mars
He polishes the moon
And repaints all the planets
The dwarf one has been sad lately
So he tucks in Pluto with a blanket
He encourages the sun to boast
Then toasts marshmallows with its flames
He’s the Milky Way’s brightest
And the comets spell out his name
I love you, Dad.
See you all next week!
Karisma
xx