Once upon a time, in a classroom not far from here, the class was getting ready to make cards. Pritt sticks and Pom Poms and paperclips were scattered across the tables, no one knew where the left handed scissors were, and the pencil sharpeners were exploding at an impressive rate. Most of the children already had some form of permanent marker on their cardigans. It was going to be a great crafting activity.
“Your card doesn’t have to be for your Dad, it could be for anyone,” the teacher said. “But Father’s Day is on Sunday, so this could be a good opportunity if you would like to make one for that.”
“What shall we put in it?” Asked a little boy on the front table.
“Whatever you like,” said the teacher, “but perhaps you could thank your Dad - if you’re doing it for your Dad, that is - for all the nice things he does for you.”
“What should we draw on the front?” Called out a little girl from the back of the room.
“Perhaps something that your Dad - or whoever you’re giving your card to - likes. Or a picture of a happy time you’ve had with them, something you’ve done together.”
“Can I draw a picture of us on holiday?” Called out a little girl.
“Yes, holiday, lovely.” Smiled the teacher, sitting on her chair.
“What about walking our dog?” Shouted a boy.
“Walking the dog, great idea.” She switched on her computer.
“Or when he reversed into a tree?”
“Yes.” Said the teacher, because unfortunately she wasn’t really listening anymore. “Reversed into a tree. Exactly like that.”
The class had a lot of ideas.
But Clara didn’t have any at all.
After a few minutes, she went up to the teacher’s desk.
“Miss Green?” She asked. Miss Green smiled but she didn’t look up. Clara decided to carry on anyway. “I don’t have a dad.”
Miss Green looked up this time. “Oh yes, Clara, of course. Well, like I said, your card can be for anyone you like.”
“Would it be weird to make a Father’s Day card for someone else?” Clara asked, nervously.
Miss Green leaned forward to catch Clara’s eye. “Not at all,” she said very seriously, “but it doesn’t have to be a Father’s Day card. It could be a Thank You card, or a Miss You card, or a Hello card. There are all sorts of reasons to send cards, to all sorts of people.”
Clara wrinkled her nose. She didn’t know she was doing it, but it was a habit she had whenever she wasn’t very sure about something.
Miss Green glanced around the classroom and had an idea. “Why don’t you go and sit by Oscar? He hasn’t got a Dad either so he won’t be doing a Father’s Day card. You can share some ideas.”
Clara sat down next to Oscar and arranged some colouring pencils next to the blank white card. She didn’t know Oscar very well, but it was nice to know that she wasn’t the only one in the whole class without a Dad.
Oscar was very carefully sticking a cricket ball and bat onto his card. Clara watched as he began to draw out a word in bubble writing.
H A P P Y…
What was he going to write? Perhaps ‘Birthday’? Perhaps ‘Holiday’?
H A P P Y F
Friend’s Day?
H A P P Y F A
Fast race running day?
H A P P Y F A T
Clara stared. It couldn’t possibly be…
H A P P Y F A T H E R ‘ S D A Y
“No!” Cried Clara.
Oscar looked at her. “Hello,” he said.
“You’re not meant to be doing a Father’s Day card!” Said Clara, quite forgetting her manners.
“Why not?” Oscar looked surprised.
“Because you don’t have a dad - you’re like me!” Clara felt cross and couldn’t explain why. Now she was the only one not doing a Father’s Day card again. She was the only one who was different, after all. “Miss Green said.”
“Oh.” Oliver looked at his card for a minute, and then at Clara’s blank one that she still hadn’t started. “You don’t have a dad?”
“Not living with us, anyway.” Clara wanted to rip up her stupid card. All these people in her class with their perfect dads and their perfect cards were making her feel angry. But she didn’t, not yet, and soon she’d be very glad she managed to keep her temper.
“Mine doesn’t live with us either anymore. He’s not in the world like we are.” Oscar said. He picked up a green pencil. “He died. He lives in my memory now.”
“Wow.” Said Clara. “I think my memory’s just full of spellings and times tables and the time I won my gymnastics competition.”
“Yeah?” Said Oscar. “That’s pretty good stuff.”
“Is your dad good too?”
“Yeah,” said Oscar. “The best.”
Clara was quiet for a minute. She looked sad.
“Your dad could live in your memory too, if you want?” He said, at last.
“Nah,” Clara’s card was the plainest, whitest thing she had ever seen. “I don’t have any memories with him in. I don’t think I ever saw him. I don’t remember it anyway.”
Oscar paused. His pencil stopped right in the middle of the ball. “You still want a Dad though?”
Clara nodded.
“Because there is another place where Dads live.” He leant towards her and lowered his voice so it was quiet, like he was going to tell her a secret. “You’ve got the real world, then you’ve got your memory like where mine lives, and then you’ve got your imagination. Your Dad could live there.”
“In my imagination?”
“Sure.” Oscar smiled. “And it’s pros and cons you know, like your dad might not be able to push you on the swings or come to sports day or whatever, but he can be however you want him to be. Dads who live in your imagination can be anyone, they can be any kind of Dad.”
Suddenly, a surprising new opportunity opened up in Clara’s mind. Not only could she have a dad, but she could have a brilliant, amazing, super duper dad. She could have the best, most perfect dad there ever was.
Now all she had to do was find out what the perfect dad was like, and she could pop him into her imagination and make a Father’s Day card just like everyone else.
So Clara commenced her research. She moved around the tables, pretending to look for a rubber, but really she was asking an important question: “Does anyone have a perfect dad?”
On the first table she asked, a boy immediately raised his hand. “I do,” he said.
“What’s he like?” Asked Clara, ready to take notes.
“Oh he’s funny, his jokes make me laugh so much. That’s what I’m putting in my card. And he does the loudest farts.”
That didn’t sound perfect to Clara so she moved to the next table and asked again, “Does anyone have a perfect dad?”
“Mine’s pretty perfect.”
“Pretty perfect?” Clara wasn’t convinced.
“He cooks really yummy dinners, and he takes us out to the cinema and knows all the actors names.” The girl trailed off, guiltily.
“But?” Prompted Clara.
“Well he does snore really loudly.”
Onto the next. This time nobody said their dad was perfect at all.
“Come on,” urged Clara. “Someone must have a good one.”
“Oh yes,” nodded a pair of twins. “Ours is really good, but he’s always on his phone. Sometimes he teaches us TikTok dances, but a lot of the time he’s just on boring work calls.”
Clara sighed. She went back to her seat. There weren’t as many perfect dads around as she thought.
“You ok?” Asked Oscar. The front of his card was nearly finished already. “Did you find the perfect recipe?”
“No.” Huffed Clara. “Not even close. Just farts and snores and work calls.”
“Anything good?”
She looked down at her list. “Jokes, nice dinners, cinema trips… I don’t really like the cinema though.”
Oscar peered across at Clara’s list. “I think the main things aren’t on there.”
As if he could do better! This class didn’t have anywhere near the perfect dads she expected. She’d asked the right question, they just didn’t have the right answers.
“So what should a perfect dad be like?” She asked.
“I guess what one person thinks is perfect isn’t perfect to the next person. And no one’s really totally perfect all the time, after all.” Oscar flipped open his card and reached for a pen. “The main thing is that a dad should love you, help you with important things and try their best to look after you. That’s what makes them perfect. And if they fart or snore or tell cheesy jokes, it doesn’t really matter at all.”
Clara wrote down the words “love you”, “help you” and “look after you” in her notepad.
A hundred ideas came into her brain.
By the time Miss Green announced that it was tidy-up time at the end of the day, the table was covered with cards.
“Goodness Gracious, Clara!” Cried Miss Green, as she came to check on their work. “From no card at all, now you’ve made lots!”
And it was true. There was one for Brian the next door neighbour, who taught her how to ride her bike; a blue one for Grandma, who made her birthday cakes every year; even one with shiny gold stars on for Mr Arnold her reception teacher, who’d taught her to read. And of course, a big one for Mum, who’d been the perfect Dad since day one.
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