National Sons Day

 National Sons Day.

It is one of those days in your lives when you remember just how good it felt to be the adoring son who always looked up to his father and just stood there, filled with love and admiration for his dad. You couldn't have been anymore than roughly seven or eight and I can recall it as if it were yesterday. It was one of those moments of discovery and revelation that I can hardly describe but know will live with me forever. My dad was and will always remain the best. He was kind, affectionate, unconditionally loving, warm hearted and a man with an immense generosity of spirit that I will certainly never forget.

Ladies and Gentlemen. This is National Sons Day, a day we reserve for fond recollections of my wonderfully loving, kind and compassionate dad. In the USA sons play baseball in the yard, kitting themselves out in huge, protective  American helmets,  and throwing the ball huge distances in a way that here in Britain we may understand but still regard as essentially  American football, something America does exceptionally well at.

But during the childhood my dad would always invite me up to watch something that may have seemed perfectly normal but something I couldn't properly understand since I was far too young to appreciate it.This was my first introduction to male grooming, a time honoured ritual that remains firmly secure in my book of family reminiscences. It was something my dad did on a daily basis but just seemed incomprehensible at the time but it now feels like the right and accepted norm for a growing son.

Shaving belonged in a world of rugged masculinity, a fascinating routine that to this day always resonates me with since I'd never seen anything like it before. And that's where the first seeds of a father and son relationship are initially planted because this was something I would have to do everyday in later life. At some point in my adolescence I would become aware of a bristly stubble on my chin that I couldn't explain or describe properly because when you're that age, you know very little about the big, wide world. 

But every evening my dad would come home from his job as a wonderfully accomplished menswear salesman, sit down for the family evening meal, fall back into our sofa and watch that evening's TV entertainment. He would reluctantly take off his smart and elegant jacket, shirt and tie because my dad loved to look at his best on all occasions. He would then spend the next four or perhaps more hours watching our indefatigable TV that just kept going on and on tirelessly for years and years before abandoning himself to the joyous Tommy Cooper, delirious laughter echoing throughout the family home.

But shaving was the one activity that only males re-enacted every time they came from their work. As a family we would gather in our kitchen for supper before my dad got ready for his brush up and shave. Sons and fathers always look for some identifiable theme, a kindred spirit, common ground, a chemistry if you like. For years my lovely dad would walk upstairs to our beautiful bathroom and toilet and engage in what looked like a very delicate operation.

There was something very emotional, deep seated and poignant about that first interaction with my dad that of course can never be erased from your consciousness or memory. It isn't a rites of passage moment just the realisation that here was a man who loved not only his first son but the family around him and those who just wanted to reach out for him when he wasn't well. Let me make it abundantly clear. My dad was the greatest, loveliest and finest gentleman in the world. He sacrificed his mental health just to make sure that his doting sons would be happy, healthy and just care for him.

Sons of course always take a passionate interest in their dad's hobbies and interests. They can hardly wait to pass their driving test and then invest in that first memorable car that, after a number of years,  finds itself with too many miles on the clock, the worse for wear at times and slightly faded looking. You then open up that crucial discussion and ask how the chassis is, the carburettor is shaping up and, above all the engine. You should be full of enthusiasm and counting the days down until that first stylish piece of engineering officially becomes your property.

You drive said car out of the showroom and into the big, wide world and just marvel at the impeccable bodywork, the upholstery, the always comfortable seats and then you set off.  You take it on a quick spin around the local neighbourhood before venturing out into that rarefied world of motorways, hard shoulders, junctions, traffic lights, intolerable traffic and motorways that seemingly go on forever. You think you're a fully grown up adult which indeed you are. As a son you look to your dad and thank him profusely for just being there when you needed a shoulder to cry or just there for jocular banter, a laugh that could quite easily be heard in another part of Essex.

Regrettably though this is the story of the first son that, although idyllic for that embryonic part of your childhood, just lost its way. Of course my dad was in a class of its own, an exemplary role model. He was the one who would suddenly appear at the bottom of our road with a cigarette in his mouth and delight in his heart. His day of toil and drudgery seemed to written all over his face. It was a face of exhaustion, relief to be at home, a man just happy to relax and immerse himself in that comforting sanctuary of TV and family, the ultimate escapism from an often troubled world.

But as a son at the time I can simply recall those shaving moments. Painstakingly, he would smother his cheeks and forehead with white foam, spreading it quite carefully all over his face. Then the shaving stick would be produced, much to my amazement and then he would thoroughly scrape all the shaving cream from his face with the sharpest blade. Soon his face and chin would be a mass of red blood oozing wildly from every pore of his skin. And yet my lovely dad never panicked and from nowhere, or so it seemed, small tissues of paper would be cautiously applied to bloodied stains by now on the way to his neck before proceeding to the sink and washing away the remnants of hairs on his face.

Then finally there was that glorious moment when the first son received one of his first birthday presents. Now this was the first moment when my gorgeous mum knew she had to take a back seat just for a while. So here I was excitement pumping through my childish veins as mum and dad handed over a train set but not some ordinary train set. This was a Hornby's train set, a highly reputable model that even now sends an unforgettable tingle down your spine and gives you goose bumps whenever I think about.

There was my dad and I trying to connect fragile looking pieces of railway track and sprawled out on the carpet and just revelling in the simple joys of being the best dad in the world. For hours we would wind up both the tiny trains and launch them on their now familiar journey in ever increasing circles. Occasionally they would fly away into some mysterious corner of our living room before then returning back to the main platform which was somewhere in close proximity of our oval shaped glass dining room table.

But for all the sons out there and there are million upon millions of you scattered around the globe, your dad is your first male buddy, somebody you can confide in quite happily without fear of being snubbed or told to go back out of the house and play with your friends. He was your confidant, your friend in perpetuity, the one who told you that despite all the cuts and bruises of your burgeoning years as a child, the man who told you that one day you'd occupy the same role and how right he was. He tucked you up into bed with your beautiful mum and sent out powerful messages of reassurance. He was always there for you and never disappointed. So everybody it's National Sons Day so make sure that you'll never stop loving him and you'll always be available for a sympathetic hug when you need it. Thanks dad. Nobody did it better and I'm proud to call you my dad. And of course mum. I'll always love you both.