Ten Things that Make My Dad Unique.

1. His generosity. Even when he doesn't want to, resists with all his might, he is always generous. He is resisting the heater issue, but he'll settle for the more expensive, higher energy rating one over the cheaper, terrible energy one because it's cheaper to run. That doesn't benefit him. Thanks Pa. I also like to think it's because he has a green conscience.
2. His skinny, funny legs. It kind of makes him a cartoon Dad. Everybody loves a cartoon Dad.
3. His appreciation of books. It's peculiar because he doesn't really read books that aren't about stamps or cameras, maybe once about cricket I seem to recall, but he always bought us books, taught us to read (I remember him getting cross about me getting the b's and d's the wrong way around in The Owl and the Pussycat), and protected books (I remember him getting cross about me colouring all my 'the's purple in my Nancy Drew book). Sorry Dad, the crossnesses just contributed to my own love of books and my extreme reluctance to write in them to this day (I try to rebel occasionally, to make them mine), so I don't hold a grudge—in fact I wrote a poem about it:

'Literary Histories'

Reading the 'other':
When I was four;
The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea.
In a deautiful pea-green doat.
Hoarding five pounb notes and runcidle spoons.

Postmodernism:
When I was five:
Miss Baker tut-tutted, shook-her-head, wrong/wrong.
I ironed my sentence straight; set g and j in heated rollers.
Why does this not satisfy her still
?

Textual Analysis:
When I was six:
I coloured, plummy purple, all the 'the's
in my Nancy Drew. Nancy says 'the' a lot;
and does a lot of 'the' things.

(I don't actually recall my grade one teacher's name who kept making me re-write a sentence and not telling me what I kept doing wrong. I did everything I could with the sentence to make it good, neater and neater, but didn't realise that putting the question mark on the next line because it doesn't fit, isn't the way to go.
4. His cooking skills. He makes a mean curry, a fabulous taco, superb re-friend beans, and I'd pay twenty-eight bucks for his Chicken Marsala.
5. His ‘quality’ philosophy. He always got the best—the best camera, the best microwave or video recorder, the cheapest house in the best suburb. Cheap is false economy. It’s a good lesson to learn. I always get two pairs of the best shoes. Actually I should but I don’t.
6. His stockmarket savvy. I could say that the reason I don't go up and work out what my portfolio is all about and how to participate in managing it is because I don't want to be disillusioned by a realisation that he isn't a witchdoctor of the ASX. Unfortunately most people would probably realise I was lying and just justifying a lazy approach to my own wealth creation.
7. His quietness. It is a skill to appear calm. Not saying that there hasn't been the odd occasion where the seas have broiled, but most people wear everything out in the open, loud and opinionated and emotional and silly. That is not the case here. But behind the facade you know all those other things exist.
8. His good work ethic. And damn him for passing it on! I dislike having a good work ethic. I want to not care like everyone else. I want to go home and not worry about things that happened in the day, I don't want to put in extra effort for the same amount of money. But, no, I can't. Damn. I better go to heaven for this.
9. His history. Who'd have thought that behind that responsible Dad with the good work ethic, the stockmarket savvy, the quietness and the silly legs, would be a car racing, stovepipe trouser wearing, hair slicked back, Teddy Boy. Dad, you really need to tell us more about that time; we really need to ask you more.
10. His great kids. I won't elaborate because it'll take the focus to the wrong place, but it takes a great person to make great kids and he is half of a great team!