70: Summers with Dad
I was originally going to write this in my notebook while on my break but I guess that isn’t happening since I didn’t bring a blue pen with me 😦 but that’s okay, typing is just as fine, except it’s missing the magic that comes with handwriting something deep like this.
Summer holidays are always a time for me to bond with my dad, and I think today was more of a reinforcement of that hidden fact for me. During the school term and the school holidays (in the middle of the year) I don’t see much of my dad because I’m out and about or studying or doing something else. 17 day holidays aren’t enough for me to taste and savour my dad’s gourmet cooking or to spend time with my dad. I am also somewhat inherently afraid of my dad, and have always been from a young age. I suppose it was because I figured out that he was different from me anatomically and metaphorically and that scared me, I suppose. It was self-induced. I am still afraid of my dad, for reasons I probably shouldn’t disclose. They’re really petty, but still valid, I guess.
Summer holidays means I get to relax (a little) and sit down with my dad at the dinner table and enjoy his gourmet cooking and give me ratings out of 10 (because he likes that kind of thing). Summer holidays are when I get to stand next to my dad as he makes French cuisine and have the chance to inhale sensual smells wafting from his Le Creuset pots. Summer holidays are when I get to bond with my dad (and unfortunately, after summer, the bond slowly wears itself).
I absolutely love summer holidays. Summer holidays are when I get to see another side of my dad, learn things from him and in turn, open up to him about things in my life that I’ve never told him before, and teach him things that he doesn’t know about me.
Summer holidays are beautiful. I want to say so much more about it but I have to go back to work. I’ll come back and edit this and add on, because there’s so much more to summer holidays with my dad.