Dreams Of My Father

My father has a big heart. Last week he took his family on holiday to give us all a bit of sun and sea in the darkest and rainiest of January's. He choose the destination carefully, not wanting his grandchildren to have to endure too long a flight. He booked a vegetarian meal for me on the plane. He took all of our convieniences and desires in concern. And I think he dreamed of having the time of his life, turning 60 in the heart of the family, the sun on his face, my mother in his hand, a bottle of cava and a spicy chorizo on the table.

And then we started getting sick. Blanka first. Then my father, on his birthday, my sister, my mother, my husband, Wilhelm. We tried to cheer each other up, but for the first couple of days the icing on the cake just wasn't there. I said "Such a shame" about a million times. But Dad just kept on smiling. We had terrible coffee and he claimed his to be excellent. He took the kids for a walk on the beach so I could get some sleep. He found a sausage the Blanka loved when she hadn't eaten in two days. When the rest of us were nothing but sick and tired, he just went on being Dad. My father is a great man. And he has a great big heart.

Leo would have been impressed.