A tribute to my father
Beer brewing sets or special flowers for men (which you can then water with your home-brewed beer?!) - Father's Day is being rapidly commercialised in the same way as Mother's Day. I take a sip of the non-home-brewed beer and use the upcoming Father's Day as an opportunity to pay a very personal tribute to my father.
It was the mid-eighties, I was at the beginning of puberty, when the regional trade exhibition took place in the neighbouring village. For cool youngsters like me, it was a beacon event par excellence. Superlatives were just good enough for me: everything had to be as loud, fast and big as possible.
I visited the fair with my father and we manoeuvred our way purposefully to the car stand. Just a few months earlier, my father had built me a sleek soapbox. Now it was time to find out whether the Rivella kit could be pimped with a powerful V8 engine. Or, even better, how much pocket money I would need for the red gullwing. Exactly the one with which I won every game of Quartett.
My father navigated unerringly around every trouble spot
The maths didn't add up. It would take me around 28,000 weeks, or almost 540 years, to save up for a fast car. It felt like an eternity that couldn't be shortened by a progressive increase in pocket money. I was devastated, my adolescent flight of fancy slowed down like the aforementioned speedster in a 30 km/h zone. Pure disappointment.
My dad recognised this immediately. He took me in his arms and his comforting words, which he pulled out of his sleeve at that moment, have shaped me as a person and are still crystal clear in my memory today. «Look at this small boot, there's not even room for your skateboard!». In the next car: «Only two doors? Where are all your friends supposed to sit?» Or then with my gullwing: «You won't be able to hear your favourite music with this engine noise.»
«Only two doors?! Where are all your friends supposed to sit?»
He had got the hang of it. Without shattering my dreams, he managed to make many small and big boy worries disappear in the midst of these luxury carriages and also in later situations. He managed to keep calm, take my wishes seriously and helped me to digest fears, insecurities and annoyances with his deep affection. He encouraged me to reach for the stars and comforted me when I fell off my rocking horse.
We still laugh about these memories today. His benevolent sarcasm, which undoubtedly resonated in some of his consoling formulations, is forgiven. This loving sarcasm also passed into my DNA - not always to the delight of my loved ones, but to my pride. My father and I had both seen through each other - and that was totally OK.
Today I am a father of two myself and it is my greatest wish that I can create memories like this for my children. I want to be an anchor for them in life and always be able to pull out a comforting phrase when they need it. Thanks to my father, I am ready for conversations about racing cars and other vital topics in my daughters' lives.
To my dad: Thank you so much, you are my hero! For me, you are the Ferrari of fathers.
