Father’s day

Today it is father’s day in Sweden. 

My father has always worked a lot, but had his base for his business from home, so I don’t think there were many days I did’t see him. I can still remember sitting lap singing our own little chant about me. Getting a good life for him and his family was always important and his work etichs was really high (I write in past tense even if the old man is alive and kicking). 


I think I got my photography interest from him, when he was young he took a lot if pics, but later any interest where put aside for work, a little sad but probably not uncommon.

My father and I are very alike, but yet so different. Both generous and considerate, but if you breech our trust don’t even bother to return. Our temper is widely known, far and away. He would get all worked up if a glass of milk was knocked over, but then again calm as a cucumber when I crashed my car.

He has always been there, doing the stuff that parents “should”, like forcing himself to learn about horses as his daughters had an interest. And naturally buying that pony (and later a horse, when they grew out of it). And I still know I could call him any time of the day if I was in trouble (but naturally I will always try not to, as it would be considered as a failure for the  independent me to ask for help) but to know that I could is a comfort and he’d be there in a wink.

And we are different (thank God). Two different genders and two different generations. We don’t see eye to eye on everything, but can often have a discussion about it. Even if he would never ever admit I am right. Love you dad (dispite your ability to drive me crazy). And even if you were a great dad, you nailed it as a grandpa!

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