This is the dad who always had a spring in his step. Physically.He bounced as he walked.I can see him now, his head bobbing up and down as he strode through the park on his way home from work, briefcase swinging by his side, suit jacket hanging loose. He was nearly 80 when he finally retired and the spring in his step might have become a little rusty by then, but still the bounce remained.
When he was seventeen dad and his best friend, John, walked twenty five miles around London in six hours.A twelve hour, fifty mile walk through Hertfordshire followed, and (no pun intended), dad took it all in his stride: that's what seventeen year olds did in the 1940s.The spring in their steps would have been obvious: two young lads, on the cusp of adulthood, their whole lives before them; an escape from the relentlessness of war for a few hours, a physical challenge, a day out with the best friend, a chat, a laugh, no doubt a pint and a pipe at the end of it.And, for my dad, maybe the thought of his best friend's sister, who, a few years later, would become my mom.
Metaphorically, though, my dad hasn't always had a spring in his step. He suffered bouts of severe depression in his forties and fifties, and went through a very bad time. I was away at Art College, and like most teenagers, I was pretty self obsessed and selfish, ignoring the GP who advised me to come home and be with my dad. That advice seems quite strange to me now, but this was the same GP who took his own life not long after that, so I suppose he was ultra sensitive to the needs of a depressed patient.
Happily, my dad came through the depression and got the spring back in his step. Life was good again.There were children, grandchildren and great grandchildren to guarantee that. The walking continued, both near and far: the head that bobbed across London, also bobbed up hills and down dales in the Peak District and Lakes.
My dad was a walking, spring stepping, head bobbing giant.
Two weeks ago, on his daily walk around the block with a stick, dad had a funny turn. His legs slowed down and refused to go on. Exhausted, he was rescued by a Good Samaritan and brought home. It looks like dad's solo walking days are finally over.
As I get ready to leave my parents' house after a visit last week dad presses the button on the chair, steadies himself and shuffles up the hall with mom. Arms around each other, they wave and blow kisses as I set off down the road, a scene frequently repeated over the past fifty years.
I reflect on my visit as the train draws into Blackpool.
“I'm happier now than I've ever been,” my dad had said emphatically when I'd expressed sadness that his walking had been curtailed, “I have my crossword, food which I love, the computer, books…..Oh and mom.”
The spring in his step is still there, safe in dad's head.
My elder son is meeting me at the station. I spot him in the distance, head bobbing up and down as he bounces towards me…….
A Spring in the Step It’s the little things, the daily rituals That now put a spring in his step…
Mid morning cafetiere Warmed and coffee measured just so Its smoky aroma wafting sensuously through the rooms Teasing and promising in equal measure Old feet meet in the kitchen Coffee poured and sipped In comfortable silence
Crossword clues fight for attention In a brain that still remembers Every detail of his childhood The chemical symbol for sodium Pythagoras theorem And that his first house cost more Than the car he bought 40 years later
The prospect of kippers for dinner Ground black pepper, a tomato quartered Brown bread sliced thin and butter thick Strong tea in a pot He lets his mind wander To teas long ago Jelly, tinned fruit , pink salmon, blancmange……
Seated opposite Mary, his best friend's sister The girl of his dreams at seventeen His sweetheart for seven decades Eases herself up Touches his hand as she goes out of the door
He smiles, life's good, There is still A spring in his step.
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