Father’s Day Almonds
I saved and saved up all my pocket money to get my Dad something special for Father’s Day. Mum took me to the shops and I went directly to Darrell Lea, running off before she could offer advice involving socks or cheap whisky. Darrell Lea in those days was an absolute mind bender. Tiny glass bottles filled with striped tooth-cracking sweets. Rows of glistening caramel fudge. Straps of liquorice in vivid black and, get this: red. Shelves and shelves of cellophane wrapped delicacies to make taste buds zing.
I walked round and round, breathing in the sugar infused air and forgetting why I was there, until my eyes lit upon the tiny eggs of excellence, known as scorched almonds. I knew I must have them. I counted out my silver and copper and secreted them away, ready for the big day.
My Dad looked at my face when he opened his present, and so he knew how special I thought it was. He looked at my eyes, and not at the wrapping, and so when he carefully tore it open, he saw a way to build me up and create another blanketing of self confidence, his mouth turning up a little at the corners as he told me scorched almonds were his favourite things ever.
I will never know if that was true, or if it became true with time, as the years added up, every time I remembered. And every time he pretended to be surprised that the familiar box, with the comforting clunks inside, were his scorched almonds. “You remembered my favourites,” he would say, and my chest would puff up, prouder than an airbag, and I knew I could arm-wrestle the world right there, and I would win.
It has been a few years since I have been able to give my Dad his scorched almonds. A few years since we have been able to sit together in silence, eating our almonds in our own ways. Him: crunching through the thick chocolate to get to the nut quickly and eat it all as one. Me: slowly sucking the weird, shiny layer off first, then allowing the chocolate to dissolve and dissolve until finally chomping the almond, with tiny traces of chocolate remaining in the grooves.
It has been a few years, and still, every year I buy the almonds, and every year I eat them alone. Alternating between his way and mine. Remembering all the times he built me up a little bit and then a little bit more. Until the layers of confidence, resilience, tenacity, strength were as thick as the bitter-sweet chocolate, buffering, protecting the nut inside.
Vale Peter Cartney McShane, and Happy Father’s Day.
It still hurts like a bitch.
…From The Ashers xx
Oh wow Leesa, that just made my eyes go all leaky.
It is a bit mad I guess, but it is good for the soul…
Beautiful Alison, just reading through your blogs at the moment so apologies for the random comments. My Dad loved them too (actually anything sweet was his fav!) but he LOVED vanilla slice ad when we did our big road trip the Christmas before last I went to Bryants Pies (in Goulburn) got a vanilla slice and a coffee and took it to the grave site – I had it cut in half and I ate half while sitting chatting to him whilst Tony took the kids on a walk around the cemetery (only the best tourist spots for the kids haha) I think they thought I was a bit mad but it was a special time and I HAD to have the vanilla slice with him 🙂
Yeah, it sucks Julia. And then I remember how lucky I am to had someone that I could think it sucks about. And that’s good.
Beautifully written, father’s are so special, can only imagine how much you must miss yours. X
They were my dad’s favourite also xx
Poor old scorched almonds hey Di? They seem to be the best and then the worst of all the sweets…
Happy and sad memories all in one! I had tears rolling down my cheek and a smile on my face. I remember buying him scorched almonds too. Definitely a favourite
I know Heather. So lucky to have the memories, even though they make me cry.
What a beautiful post Alison. I’m truly sorry for your loss. It’s amazing how small items can provide such powerful and happy memories. As a child, even when I gave him hankies, socks, jocks or a handmade ashtray made of plaster with my handprint in it (he never smoked) – my Dad made me feel like I’d given him the best gift in the world!
Such special memories Tash. (I’m pissing myself that you gave a non-smoker an ashtray.)
Well I was only 4 and that’s the way kindy craft rolled in the early 80s!
Love it Tash. I made millions of ashtrays too. It was a carefree smoky old world back then. xx
Awww Tania, aren’t we so lucky to have shared such moments?
Thanks Alison. Your dad’s scorched almonds were my dad’s tim tams.
So beautiful and raw. It’s almost 10 years since my dad passed and you are so right….it still hurts like a bitch! I LOVE scorched almonds for that very reason. ox
Yes, it’s still almost the same, isn’t it?
I think I love and hate them equally…