My dad didn’t come home from work today.
Two men in dark suits knocked our door,
and mum cried.
The newspapers said he was a hero.
They said he was brave, saved lives.
They said he should have a medal.
My teachers said he was a great man,
and that I should be proud of him.
I am proud.
But not for the reasons you think.
I don’t know your brave-heroic-medal-earner.
I’m proud because he was my dad.
Because he read me stories when I was little.
Because he put plasters on my scratches.
Because he tickled me till I screamed for mercy.
Because he never missed my school plays.
Because he let me wear make-up.
Because he never approved of my boyfriends.
Because he helped me with my homework.
Because he believed in me.
Because I always knew he loved me.
You can keep your brave hero.
I’ll keep my memories of the real man.