• I remember. He would pick me up and put me on his strong, broad shoulders. We would laugh and play tag -- me, running with my small, uncertain feet and him, chasing after me with long, muscular shanks, catching up to me in just a few strides.

    I remember. A day at the carnival -- he won me a pink teddybear by knocking down three bottles with a plastic ball. He told me, "If you ever need me and I'm not there, just talk to this teddybear and I'll hear you."
    I asked him, "But you'll always be there for me, won't you?"
    He just laughed, scrumpled my hair and said that he was hungry and whether I'd like get some ice-cream. At the word "ice-cream", I forgot all about my unanswered question and jumped gladly about.

    I remember. It was Sunday morning and he was cooking our classic Sunday-morning breakfast: Smiley waffles with whipped cream, golden syrup and ripe, red strawberries. He was singing, "You are my Sunshine" to me as I sat on the counter in my pyjamas, laughing at his terrible singing voice, my feet dangling over the counter top.

    I remember. I had a school Nativity play. It was the re-enactment of the birth of Christ. I was one of the animals in the barn. Actually, I was the donkey. However, when it was my turn to circle round the stage, he jumped up and started shouting, "That's my girl!" to everyone in a two-metre radius of where he was sitting. He apologised by buying me ice-cream.

    I remember all this as I drive down to the cemetery. I buy an ice-cream cone from a nearby vendor. I walk to the grave with his name on it. Under his name are the words, "A father and a friend. To the world, you may have just been somebody, but to me, you were the world. May you rest in peace." I place a bouquet of flowers right next to a pink teddybear. I sit down next to the grave and ritualisticly munch on my cone.
    I smile, and whisper, "The perfect day."