Saltar para: Post [1], Comentários [2], Pesquisa e Arquivos [3]

Diario de uma emigrante

Um blog, de auto-ajuda, criado para partilhar a minha experiencia de vida e o meu dia-a-dia. Contado na primeira pessoa, enquanto emigrante, na Republica da Irlanda, desde 2005.

Terça-feira, 29.10.13

O meu pai pelos meus J.P.

My father, to me, is in the Seven Wonders of Joao (my mother too, of course...) and is one of the four most important people in my life. There are many different ways to describe this wonderful person that brought me up, that I don't know where to even begin with. But, I have to choose one today, perferably, so that you guys may enjoy, so without further annoying you, I'll go with...


What I love the most about my dad. I love the his carefree and joking attitude, his epic stories of when he was younger, the way he understands everything I talk to him about (games, mainly, I'll admit, hahahahaha), all of the memories we have...


Speaking of memories... I have to thank him for lots of my childhood memories, from when I was at the (not) innocent age of four, five and six years old. I remember vividly those days, where I was an extatic little goofball. On saturdays, probably my favourite day of the week, and still is, my mom was away at work in the morning and I was left with my dad. We would go to the Parque da Cidade, in my dad's green Fiat Punto, A.K.A (Also Known As) "The War Wagon", listening to the likes of awesome bands like Staind, Metallica and Linkin Park (which are still amongst my favourite bands nowadays), the voloume so high, that whenever we stopped at traffic control lights, everyone looked our way, be they on the walkways or in cars, but we just didn't give a damn. At the park itself, we walked around the paths in between deep and luscious verdent forests of tall pines. Then, we fed ducks and swans (one of which almost bit my finger off, I swear its thefulltruth!), and then we were off home once again, listening to the same awesome music(that may or may not have had a huge impact on my views of music, by the way...).

Then, once finally at home, my dad cooked(yes, readers,cooked, no need to go to the doctor, you're not deaf... yet *evil smile*) his and mine all-time favourite Saturday Food, A.K.A sausages, eggs and french fries (chill, its only a bunch of cut-up potatoes, or "spuds" as we call them here in the Island)

Those were indeed my most favourite days of my stay in my home sweet home that is Portugal.


What my dad looks like... hmm, tough. I'll start with those amazing cerulean(blue) eyes of his. They shine and sparkle in joy when he is happy, the side skin of his eyes wrinkling up, since he is almost always in a good mood and throwing Smiley-faces at anyone. But when he is angry, God forbid, those eyes turn maroon like a stormy sea, and if they are turned on you, you better be fast, or you are in "Ten Commandments" deep trouble, five commandments on his left hand and five on his right... (but only sometimes, and only in extreme cases)

His hair is pretty soft, and black as midnight. I swear, you'd think he doesn't have hair at night (not cool, when he came home one friday evening from work, I thought he shaved his head bald!).

When he came to Ireland, he didn't have an ounce of fat on his body, it was all muscle. Now, he has a potbelly (even if he'll kill me for saying his biggest secret... sorry dad, please note sarcasm) off all the beer he drinks, though not much anymore.


My dad is my #1 enemy. "Who needs enemies when you have my dad?" is my new answer to people who like to insult me. "Your comments do not affect me, when my dad gives you a pep talk, you'll understand" is another famous line from my own Anti-Moron Self Defence Against Failed Comments At Beating My Dad In Giving Me A HARD TIME (self-published book for people who think their bullies are bad, until they meet my dad :P) Of course, the whole book is only a bunch of made-up nonsense, but my dad is a whole different story. His comments and constant teasing are part of my everyday life, and as much as it makes me want to cry in sheer annoyance at the nuisance that is my dad, it allows me to not take offence in anything anyone throws at me and when I give the stupid morons that inhabit my school on a regular basis that answer, they think "Bullshit", until they look at my face and realise that I'm not joking, they take pity on me, pat my back and walk away. Job accomplished, I say! 


My dad, apart from being, umm, well, my father, is also my best friend (I know that I just contradicted that in the last paragraph, but hey, I have had worse... not really, just an absolutely messed up life), my companion in his spare time, my client for massages (I'll do them for one Euro, anyone want one?), my lazy buddy, my gaming mate, my music inspirer, my coach, my encourager, the person that sets my standards, my idol, to which I try to be, and above all, one of the four people and the crazy dog in our backyard that i just love so much. If that's not best friend material, then I do not know what is.


Adoro-te pai, es o meu Heroi.

Bejinhos a todos, do Joao.

Autoria e outros dados (tags, etc)

por Diario de uma emigrante às 17:31

1 comentário

De Anónimo a 30.10.2013 às 12:36

Uahhhhhhhhhh.......sem palavras

Comentar post

Mais sobre mim

foto do autor

Subscrever por e-mail

A subscrição é anónima e gera, no máximo, um e-mail por dia.


Pesquisar no Blog  


Outubro 2013