Katy Wix had a difficult relationship with her dad. But after a near-fatal car accident, they found themselves growing closer
Good dads are all alike, but every shit dad is shit in his own way.
When I was little, I used to worry that my dad loved James Bond more than he loved me. When Bond films were on, he would shush me when I asked if we could watch The Simpsons. He was a tall man, jammed with sadness and mystery. He worked late in a job he didn’t like and slept in the day. His dream was to have been an actor or an artist, but these weren’t practical choices for a man from a small Welsh town who left school young. I would catch him crying at the news, or singing songs from musicals when he did the washing up and didn’t know we could hear him, but apart from that he was remote. Other friends’ dads had a comfortable, confident ease where they would loudly give an opinion and everyone had to fake agree. I longed for mine to have some of that, whatever it was. My dad was only really relaxed when he was holding a drink in his hand and could be left alone to watch another man drive a fast car – and wish it was him. He was frightened by anything that challenged him. He went his whole life without trying hummus.
