Monday, 22 June 2009

I Like... My Dad / Father’s Day

I’m yet to have my rebellious stage so I like celebrating my Dad. I’m 19 and it still hasn’t happened. It’s probably down to “Middle Child Syndrome” where you’re the peace keeper who avoids confrontation and in the process of doing so are somewhat forgotten about by the rest of the family. Consequently, you end up belatedly rebelling and fuck up your life many years on from adolescence when there’s much more at stake. Destroying your entire adult life is likely; you’ll probably screw up a significant other in the process, or your kids if you’re unlucky enough to have them and perhaps throw away major funds on gambling or drug addiction because you’re old enough and rich enough to rebel in this way, rather than simply sneaking out the house or getting your belly button pierced. So yeah, that’s where I’m heading.

My Dad’s difficult. I was browsing through a newspaper with gift ideas for Father’s Day. Luckily they had generated some stereotypical Dad categories: the “gadget mad” dad, the “gastro dad” (I think that means your father is on the brink of becoming alcohol dependent but you choose to view it as a loveable quirk and allow him to drink himself into oblivion most nights just so that you don’t have to interact with him – just guessing) and the “sporty dad” (golf and football are the only sports out there).

But my Dad fits into none of these categories. He hates novelty items, doesn’t drink, told me that if someone ever phoned a radio station to make a song dedication to him he would never acknowledge that person again, no longer consumes chocolate (he lives on oats), bloody loves cooking, likes high-quality cotton t-shirts, clear cut lines and “design classics” (which means anything we give him must be ageless and forever pleasing to the eye). But whatever, my Dad is cool. Wuv U Dad-E.
Other family happenings – this is my uber cute little sister Zoe. She loves Lady Gaga so went for a hair bow yesterday (a bold choice when your Nan is coming over for Sunday lunch and is likely to either a) be confused by one’s hairstyle or b) laugh at you for it). She doesn’t normally look like she’s been raped by Gwen Stefani but our older sister bought us some Hello Kitty trading cards because she knows we’re morons and totally love colourful, useless, Japanese shit. They’re our new must-have item.

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