Sitting up

I am trying to remember a Christmas with Dad.

I can't.

This isn't a sadness, it's just a fact; there were Christmasses with Dad, I know it. One of my best presents ever was when I was very little, a blue tricycle with those wheels you could tack on for support. It was when Mum and Dad were very poor, and he was just an engineer and she was a nurse. They agreed not to get each other presents but to get me one - this was before Bro was born, and Mum confessed to me that she was mortified because she actually did go buy Dad a present, but he didn't get one for her. Instead, he got me this big expensive tricycle. She said that my face lit up and my eyes were all wide (she used to do impersonations of my face) and I didn't even get on the bike straight away - I just walked around and around it in astonished happiness. I remember that tricycle, and I truly did love it, and I know it was a Christmas present. But I don't remember Christmas with Dad at all.

He got me big presents for my birthday - including my dear dog - and when he signed my cards, he always covered them in kisses.

But I don't recall Christmasses with him ever.