I just spent a few minutes sitting out in the bright morning sun, enjoying my first coffee of the day. I like to listen to the sounds of the neighbourhood, the birds, and the people. For some its work related, as repairs continue across the street, and for others it’s ‘across the back fence’ chatter.
I noticed when I got out of the shower this morning that I had a number of bruises. One I know I got when I miss stepped and banged my knee on the wooden bed frame, the other I have no idea.
It’s a family thing, passed down from father to daughter, and probably to son, this unknown origin of pain, bruises and sometimes blood. My Dad was famous for it.
I remember he came in the house one day and had blood dripping down his face from a cut on his head. When Mom commented on it, he had no idea he was bleeding, but apparently he’d hit his head on something. I’m thinking it was the garage door, but I could be wrong.
I can understand that he might have been oblivious to an injury; the man had an incredibly high tolerance for pain. He told me he had had his tonsils out, at home, with no anesthesia. He once played football with a dislocated shoulder. He didn’t have freezing with dental work.
There were two shoe related stories. In one he had bought a new pair of shoes but found one was not very comfortable, the fit a bit too tight. On further investigation, he had not removed the paper wad in the toe of the shoe.
There’s another story, which my brother knows better, but I’ll try and get it right. I think father and son were going golfing, and the Dad was limping, complaining of his shoe hurting. On investigation he found he played with a golfer’s tee in his shoe, where it had fallen from his pocket or bag.
Dad, Dad, Dad, so many stories. Thinking of you this week, Happy Birthday and a Happy Father’s Day, love you and miss you always.