Dad

After ranting all day about how lonely I felt, Mum had gone out with the girls from work and it was just Dad and me at home and he said he would take me out for dinner.

Part of me wanted to say no and keep wallowing in my own self pity but then I sensed that Dad needed this just as much as I did, maybe even more.

We walked down to Woodstock nearby, my arm linked with his as he tapped his cane along the pavement talking about everything that came to our minds. Walks with Dad are like some kind of lucid conversation; ideas, stories and the odd revelation.

And just like that there we were, father and son sitting at the bar picking at a salumi and cheese plate when he says, “Well, I’m not your boyfriend but I can still take you out to dinner you know?”

My eyes start to sting and my vision is blurred with the tears welling up but I can still make out that Dad is looking at no direction in particular as he pops an olive into his mouth, the same way he does when he thinks Mum doesn’t see him sneak another piece of bread during dinner every night.

I try to distract myself and stuff a piece of prosciutto into my mouth and swallow without chewing. It hurts to swallow and I manage to get out a thank you.

“This area is buzzing! It was never like this when you were a little tacker. Did you know the tram used to run up to Windy Hill?” The moment had passed and we were onto the next topic.

“Yeah, I remember seeing the tracks when I was little, but it was kind of pointless because it was only a few hundred metres.” I said as I put my arm on his shoulder.

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