Today it's Fathers Day in Sweden and I'm drinking coffee from the cup I gave to my dad with his name on: Ove. It's good name, short. He was tall though, and wore white sneakers and a white hat to his otherwise mostly black clothes, just like me, to humour the cat: Ville.
I had a stepdad too, but let's not talk about him. For some "dads" come and go all the time. New year, new dad. At least I had continuity. My dad passed away in 2011. I miss him, of course. We still have conversations though. I remember his voice clearly, how he said "dumb" with emphasis to my grandmother very often. He wasn't a saint, but he didn't mean any harm by it either. He thought she was naive, because she thought so well of everybody, always pointed out peoples positive traits.
She hoped for miracles every day and that was "dumb". She wasn't dumb at all, nor was he, but they had very big hearts that often got stepped upon and taken for granted. Well, some deep philosophical thoughts was due, right? Have a nice day.