BOLLOCKS!

Erm ... no, I don't use bad language! And in this case, it isn't used as a 'bad' word ... well, maybe it was initially, but over the years it became a standard response ... almost a "Ditto" meaning, for those of us who've watched the movie "Ghost".

Let me explain, but first, here's the Wikipedia meaning of the word:

"Bollocks" is a word of Anglo-Saxon origin, meaning "testicles". The word is often used figuratively in British English, as a noun to mean "nonsense", an expletive following a minor accident or misfortune, or an adjective to mean "poor quality" or "useless". Similarly, the common phrases "Bollocks to this!" or "That's a load of old bollocks" generally indicate disgust about a certain task, subject or opinion. Conversely, the word also figures in idiomatic phrases such as "the dog's bollocks" and "top bollock(s)", which usually refer to something which is admired, approved of or well-respected.

OK, now that you understand the meaning ...

Tomorrow is what was my Dad's birthday. He would be 74 if he were still walking this earth. I like to remember his birthday rather than the day he died.

I was Daddy's Little Girl. The youngest of 3 children, and quite an age gap between my 2 siblings and me. My sister, Sindee Jayne, is almost 8 years older, my brother Jonathan Mark is almost 6 older, and then me.

Dad and me had a special relationship. I think he had more free time when I was growing up, so I benefited more from spending time with him than my siblings. I truly enjoyed his company. I enjoyed hanging out with him in his workshop and garden - he taught me wood-turning, how to make fishing floats, tie knots, fix a flat bicycle tire, prune roses, grow Brussel Sprouts, Potatoes, Beans. We enjoyed bicycle rides, fishing, walking the dog and also a similar dry, quirky sense of humour. I'd quite often get myself in a pickle with whatever I was helping my Dad with, so I also became affectionately named (by him) at those moments as "Cack-handed Annie."

Then, I hit the teenage years. Everything changed. I was rebellious and we didn't get along too well. I didn't get along with my Mum either ... I was a difficult, angry teenager for several years there. I think it was about then that the 'bollocks' word came into play! He'd say "I love you" (in jest) and I'd reply ... 'bollocks'!

Fast forward 10 years or so, and I'm living in another country. I wrote letters every chance I got and made weekly phone calls to Mum and Dad and 'that word' began to get spoken again. One of us, before saying goodbye would say "I love you" and "that word" was ALWAYS the response! It became a game we'd play, wondering who'd say it first.

I did love my Dad. He loved me. In fact, it amazes me that he's been gone for almost 9 years, but the love I had for him is still in my heart, still as strong. My memories of my time with him are so rich.

He was a stubborn man, quiet, loved to potter about in his workshop, he loved to read, loved to learn new things, he had terrible handwriting, he enjoyed a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale with his Sunday lunch and he loved and adored his wife, children and grandchildren.

So tomorrow, in remembrance of my Dad, I'll say a prayer ... and just before I say "Amen," I'll add a quick "Bollocks" just for him - he wouldn't expect anything less! (Jesus understands).