DAD’S WORDS

‘If you hurt my daughter again, I’ll get a shotgun, stick it up your backside, and blow you from here to kingdom come.’

Yep, it’s fair to say that Dad did not mince words. His command of the English language was something else and that Czech accent, rrreally let the words come out. So well-rounded that even spitting venom, he sounded clear, concise and compelling.

So convincing, he scared the absolute shit out of my boyfriend, who had come crawling back for a second chance, after dumping me for a showgirl dancer. He complained bitterly about Dad’s words and of course, being full of teenage bravado, I complained bitterly to Mum. I cried – why – because I knew Dad meant it.

I was embarrassed, mortified, angry and so pissed off that he had dared to say what he said. It wasn’t until many years later, when I thought about Dad’s words, I felt different words – pride, love, admiration, protection – those words highlighted to me the unwavering support from Dad.

I realised when the chips were down, he would always have my back, no questions asked. That day, I saw, heard, and felt the depth of his love for me and his need to make sure I was never hurt again, by this dickhead (his words, not mine).

Maybe I was the dickhead? After granting said second chance, I contracted a bad case of crabs, but what did I do, I stayed, got engaged, moved interstate, fought so hard to keep the relationship going, only for it to end. Shoulda, woulda, coulda, would have been helpful back then, but my teenage self was in love and had to learn the hard way – not once, but twice.

Dad used lots of colourful words in his vocabulary. Colourful and interesting and engaging. He was always easy to understand.

He used lots of synonyms. I think that’s why he was so good at crosswords. He was an adjectives person – desperate, yearning, advantageous, delirious, enthusiastic, solicitous – his words always conveyed great depth.

When Czech friends visited, the conversation was always peppered with a combination of English and Czech.

He described my Mum’s words at times as venomous. People he didn’t like were snakes. He swore like nobody’s business, but always in Czech and most of the time swearing on the cross.

He could make you laugh with his words, a born storyteller. I could sit and listen to him speak for hours.

I miss his words, the sound of his voice and our banter the most.

Dobrý den Táta – Hello Dad.

Na zdraví – Cheers and God bless you.