Growing up, I can recall more fights with my father than moments of bonding.

I don’t know whether that means there actually were more. It’s just the way I remember it.

He was a grumpy farmer. I was a sensitive throw – a – gumboot – through – the – front – window – in – a – fit – of – rage kid.

I didn’t want to be a farmer. He was too busy farming to play.
I was crap at fixing cars. He was crap at explaining how to fix cars.

He was someone who believed in working hard and getting their hands dirty.

I spent my time dreaming and drawing pictures of the characters I one day wanted to put in a comic book.

He was half the reason I left home.

Following a fight and the usual I Hate Him screams, my mother used to insist that I would be lucky to grow up to be half the man he was.

That was poison to my ears.
That was … a crap metaphor.

That was … a blackboard and fingernails to my ears.

That was … the truth.

I just spent fantastic weekend with my folks.

It took leaving home for me and my dad to develop a great relationship.

We GET each other’s sense of humour.

Since he stopped farming and being a grumpy farmer, he’s become amazingly chilled out. Suspiciously chilled out…

If he gets grumpy these days, it’s for a very good reason.

I don’t know what inner peace he’s found, or what drugs he’s taking, but I hope he leaves me a map with the plantation clearly marked in his Will.

And this weekend we found something new to bond over.

For the past few decades he’s dreamed of being able to play guitar.
He’s always been talking about how he always wished he could play, but now he’s “too old”.

“And my hand’s all scarred (from a childhood accident involving a heater)”

“Yeah, well Django Reinhardt lost two of his fingers in a fire and he did alright for himself...”

So I gave him one of my spare guitars, taught him some chords, and what do you know? – He’s playing guitar.

So we spent the weekend talking about music and going strum-strum-strum-strum, long pause, reposition fingers to change chord, strum-strum-strum.

He thinks he’s Johnny fucking Cash.

I love him.