Funny how fast times does seem to fly. It feels like just yesterday I was living with my parents, celebrating my father's 60th birthday. And now yesterday, for real, he celebrated his 68th.
The morning of his 60th birthday, I sat in their kitchen and cried about him getting older. At that point, I was still single with only one furry dependant to look after. I was so scared and worried that my father wouldn't be around much longer and that I wouldn't be able to share with him the things my sisters had already done, most notably giving him grandchildren. All I felt I could ever offer was one four legged option and the chance to have exotic vacations in the mountains.
Eight years later and look at us all now. Why on earth should I have worried so? Daddio is alive and well and he's been here with us each time his newest grandchild arrived. He's helped me celebrate my marriage and my adopted English world. He's also made friends with Grandma Francais and even felt motivated to revisit his old college French textbooks.
He may have just turned 68, but he's not road weary and definately not out for the count.
I hope he had a wonderful birthday yesterday.