Time spent wishing

Walking up to the Eccleshall Festival Jack saw a dandelion perfect for scattering. He hurriedly grabbed it and set to blowing the seeds around the field. After he was finished he resumed trudging along behind us toward the entrance.

I didn't make a wish.
Why not?
Because they don't ever come true. Wishes don't come true.
Sometimes wishes come true.
No they don't. I did really make a wish and it's not come true.
Well you have to give it some time.
I'll tell you what I wished for, a teddy. I'm always wishing for teddies when I'm wishing for things.
We'll a teddy isn't just going to appear in your hands is it. And you have lots of teddies, you're getting new teddies all the time, so surely those teddies must be from the wishes.
No, we buyed them.
Well sometimes wishes come true in you being given an opportunity. Instead of an out right magical occurrence.

He wasn't having it, this wish he had just made would never come true. And opportunistic results apparently didn't count. No, wished for teddies needed to be the result of some cosmic chance, otherwise you were just plain cheating.

Practically as soon as we got into the festival grounds we came across a hook a duck game. Jack hooked a duck and was the presented with a choice of prizes, once of which was a tiny little teddy. I nudged Jack and said "See, sometimes wishes do come true." Jack accepted the teddy graciously and carted it around the festival with us. I was happy with having restored Jack's hope in wishing, and Jack was happy with his tiny teddy. Apparently the universe wasn't entirely satisfied.

As we were leaving the festival we were approached by a small group of people sporting a huge teddy. Guess the teddy's name and you win it. We settled on a name and put in our pound. A couple hours later we got a phone call saying we'd won the teddy, and a cushion that it came on, and a big chocolate olympic style medal, and a big bar of chocolate...

I think the universe is sending the wrong message to my son.

Meet Donut

Happy 70th Dad.

Dad, your 70th birthday is coming up. I'll be in Scotland at the time and I'm worried that I might not get the time to post this on your actual birthday so I'm posting it now. Hopefully you'll get a chance to read it.

You were the best part about school breaks. I always looked forward to your visits. I remember waiting for the horn to honk when Jeff, Kari and I would run out and jump into your car. We'd go down to Hearts for a drink and candy bar and Jeff and I would always try to talk you into getting us the refillable mugs because we'd lost the ones you'd bought us on the previous trip. We'd get our drink and then we'd drive away somewhere and talk about current events.

I remember you working in California, telling me that it was so hot that you had to work at night, I always pictured you sitting in an office somewhere in the middle of the night, doing all the work and errands that people normally did during the day. For years I thought at everyone in California was nocturnal.

I remember earlier when we used to go to your (possibly Dave's I was never quite sure) apartment with the pool, Dave was always on his way out to play tennis. I nearly drowned once in that pool after swearing to you that I'd learned to swim, you jumped in to pull me out. While it was a fairly shallow pool and we were surrounded by people and it's not likely that I would have actually drowned I know that we could have been anywhere and you would still have jumped in without even thinking. I've always remembered that as the day you saved my life.

I remember coming to stay with you for a week in Pennsylvania. I was a teenager spinning out of control and you did your best to talk some sense into me. We spent the week seeing what PA had to offer but what I remember most was going to work with you. I never told you just how impressed I was by you at work. Everyone kept telling me how hard you worked, how much everyone depended on you and how you always seemed to do the impossible. You may not have quite got through the message you intended, you still reached me in a way that I still carry with me today.

I always looked up to you, I wanted to be just like you when I grew up and I'm not ashamed to say that in many ways I am. I'm proud to call you Dad.

So happy birthday Dad, I'm sorry I'll miss it. I'll be out there to see you in a couple more months when I can tell you all this in person.

I've had Jack record a message for you.