The Daddy of them all

You know when you're a kid and your Dad is a cross between the King of the world and a super hero?

And then when you're a teenager, you blame your Dad, unfairly, for all the bad things that happen?

If you're lucky, in your late twenties/early thirties, you realise that you were right in the first place and your Dad is a super fucking hero.

Today, my Dad is a Global Vice President of one of the world's biggest oil companies.

Twenty or so years ago we were living in Burnage, south Manchester and my parents were eating cheese and onion crisps for dinner so that me and my brother could eat properly.

I cannot express how proud I am of my Dad.

He's my hero, although I'd never actually tell him that in case he gets big headed.

Fort a start, my wife and I would never have met if he wasn't as ambitious/smart/hard working as he is. I grew up in Burnage, my wife grew up in Dublin, but somehow, thanks to our Dad's we both ended up in Houston, Texas where we met, fell in love and married.

Thanks Dad.

I don't say that enough. Not to either of our Dads. But every single day I'm thankful for the choices they made and the hard work they put in, at work, but especially at home.

My fondest memories as a kid often feature my Dad.

The Dad who took time off work during school holidays to take me and my brother out. Either to the football, ice skating, to the park etc. My Dad wanted to spend time with us, and that makes me want to spend time with my kids so they have the same happy memories as I have.

My Dad took me to my first football match and I hope he's there when I take my son to his first football match. Three generations supporting the same team. That will be special, for all of us.

My Dad is my hero, and it took me long enough to realise it. And even longer to tell him.