My Dad the Dragonfly by James Staynings

I’ve kept this screensaver because it connects me with my dad. Every morning, he gets up, opens his flaps (of his tent) and is greeted by a sunrise. Wildlife and country air, instead of a phone alarm, wake him. I’ve never been camping, but I would like to; I’d love to camp with Dad, but the social says I’m not supposed to see him without supervision, and I doubt his tent would fit three of us. Still, one more year, they won’t be able to stop me.

Dad has had lots of bad luck, except for me, he said. Before we were separated, he told me, “Having you was like winning the lottery every week for nine years.” He said if it wasn’t for bad luck, he’d have no luck at all. All the companies he used to work for went bust. Woolworths, BHS, Maplins, Toys Were Us. Luckily, he didn’t work for Wilko…

Yes, he lived in a tent for a while. When we last met, he told me, “It’s better than paying council tax, and it keeps me out of trouble”. Mum had a spending problem, so Dad had to gamble so she could afford more stuff, so now, he has nothing to weigh him down anymore. He said he likes the feel of the open road under his feet- don’t panic- he has shoes; it is just an expression. He travelled around, mainly in the countryside, I believe. I don’t think he likes big crowds and trouble. When we were still together, there was a time when the neighbours threatened to bash his head in with a brick if he didn’t sort my mum out because she was leaving her diabetic needles in their front garden. “Your mum compensates by shopping when she can’t have sugar,” he told me. I can imagine he avoided big fields with sheep and cows and farmers with guns.

I’m sure he enjoyed the smell of dew in the morning, and he got to see the best views of the county. The White Horses, sunrises, sunsets and Stonehenge. Although he said, “The aliens did a better job with Avebury.” His rucksack was probably full of camping stuff—a stove with gas, a plate and utensils, a Swiss Army knife with a can opener! He definitely knows how to forage, like Bear Grylls, but in bins and without drinking his own pis- I mean urine. He knows how and where to find all the free food. You’d like him.

Mum calls him a roam-man. No, not a Roman. ROAM… MAN… I don’t think he went around wearing a bedsheet or those leaf thingies on his head. Grandad jokes he’s an honorary gypsy, like on Peaky Blinders, but he can’t go near a caravan because he’s allergic to horsehair. Mary calls him a no-man. He lived a life of freedom, avoiding one of the two certainties in life you’re always talking about: taxes! With no fixed address, imagine how hard it would be for the post-people? It’s the ultimate game of hide and seek with his address changing more than his underpants.  

Last time I saw him, he said he’s a dragonfly: free to glide and be someone different each day.

He’s probably better at saving money and getting deals than you! Plus, he’s like a soldier; he’s good at hiding in plain sight. Sometimes, when I see him, it takes me by surprise, and yeah, I’m not supposed to see him without supervision, but he finds ways, like on my thirteenth birthday. Kelly fostered me then. She was a c-conniving character. She got me a bike, but it was a cheap one meant for a primary-aged kid, pink with tassels. However, my best mate at the time, Ezra, had a cat who gave birth to kittens after she’d done the devil’s tango with a neighbour’s dog- that’s a story for another time. So, Ezra gave me one as a present, but Kelly claimed she was allergic to cats, but I knew that was fake news because I’d seen her cuddling her sister-in-law’s pussy whenever we visited. I told her straight. She moaned about not being able to spend money on “feeding another stray”.

It got nasty. Kelly shoved the kitten in a shoebox with no airholes and lobbed it over the garden fence. I screamed and threatened to call the RSPCA, so she hit me with a sandal, and I defended myself (okay, pelted her) with a Battenberg. Then she grounded me and locked my bedroom door, but from my window, I could see the shoebox over the fence. It had landed on top of the bins in the alley with the lid still closed. So, I snuck out my window, down the bathroom roof with my wallet, my phone, and a rucksack of clothes. I took the silly kiddie bike because it was faster than my feet, and to be fair, it had a basket, which I popped Speedy in.

We rode off! But it was hard work because there were no gears, and my knees kept slapping my elbows, and a few idiots honked and shouted abuse from their car windows. I know, surprising for Devizes. Not everyone is old and waiting for death. Anyway, we stopped in the park. Speedy and me sat on a bench. I’d run away before, when I was much younger, but I was out of practice, and I was actually attending school and not expelled from school for once, so it wasn’t as easy for me to disappear. I needed time to think.

Oh, I called him (although I never actually checked his undercarriage) Speedy, because of our fast escape. So, there we were, me still fuming from the sandal marks on the back of my neck and the verbal assault, Speedy rubbing himself against me. I was this close to an atomic meltdown when suddenly, these fuzzy black fingers cut off the light. It was my dad!

He’s not that hairy; he was wearing gloves. He said, “This is great fate!” because he’d come to Devizes to see me for my birthday. It’s amazing how he knew, given how he doesn’t own a calendar. Maybe he did. Maybe he stole one from a bin. So, we talked while I helped him put his tent down and he told me about his travels. He was working part-time, loading kegs onto the float at the brewery. I joked about his hives with the horses, but he laughed and said that after COVID, his allergies are gone. He said staying at a Travel Lodge with all sorts cured him of all his allergic reactions to animals and BS. I told him about Speedy, and he said he would keep him for me, promising that if he couldn’t find good milk or kitten food in the bins, he would dip into his savings or break into a milking parlour.

He offered to buy me knock-off Maccies, but because he gave me the best gift of all, a surprise and the promise to keep Speedy safe, I treated him. Of course, we had to eat outside because of the cat and food hygiene, but even outside, people gave us dirty looks. I saw a girl in the year above me from my previous school with her friends. She and her mates started singing the Smelly Cat song from Friends. Dad never takes- poo. He got up and said she was, and I quote, “a tree so ugly no dog would cock their leg to wee on her.” I like to use that one whenever a girl gives me grief. Yet later, when I tried to stick up for Dad, he got protective and wouldn’t let me try out my quips. Some old git said something, and I tried to get some words out. Dad told me to leave it and enjoy our nuggies. But he ran off soon after because a policeman spotted us. He took Speedy, and the fuzz took me back to Kelly’s.

I didn’t see Dad again for another year, and by that time, I’d be excluded again before I had a chance to pick my GCSE options. I was in Box then, and I’m sure no one told him. It feels like nobody wants me to see him, and I don’t get why. I get he’s unconventional, but I think it’s wrong that we have fostering for children with difficult home lives, but not adults. I get he doesn’t have a standard home that’s not really a home, but if life in a tent isn’t suitable for me, why’s it okay for him with his dodgy back and bad mental health?

I saw him on the train to Bath, when it goes past that gorgeous park before the station. He sat on a bench with Speedy, only now he’d grown up, and his fur had faded. We were going shopping for new shoes, but I insisted we take a detour to the park, sneaky, huh? However, by the time we got there, he was gone. I say gone, but knowing him, he probably just stepped back into the green like that Homer Simpson gif.    

That wasn’t the last time. During the summer, I was at the Mop with Mary’s daughters. They went on in the ghost house, but I was eyeing up the carnival girl on the hook-a-duck. I was about to pounce, make my move, when ping! Something stung me in the right leg, just below my bum. Someone shouted from the shooting gallery. Wearing a top hat, a red shirt, and with the gun in one hand, still pointed at me was my dad.

We snuck off, out of sight behind his booth and caught up. He told me he had given up the tent life for the summer at least. He was kipping in the back of a van in “Solid luxury” and making some money without paying national insurance. When I asked about Speedy, Dad said he was off roaming, but not to worry, because he always comes back to the van at night. Speedy knows if he gets caught, the owner will strangle and drown him, and Dad would be flat out on his bum, back to living in the tent. He promised that when he’s done with the fair, he’ll visit me- at a distance because neither of us wants him in cuffs. He told me, “Watch for the full moon, and look across the Common, son, and I’ll be there.”

I know it sounds a bit childish, but he’s my dad, and despite what they say, he did everything he could for me when mum was having seizures, and he kept losing jobs. When other kids and teachers bullied me, he was the only one who would stick up for me. If he hadn’t sorted out Mr Walsh, I wouldn’t have my diagnosis or the funding to come here. So, when we’re done, and I’ve got my English and Maths and my college place, and I can see who I want, when I want, I’m going to help him because he helped me.

No, I haven’t seen him out there yet. He’s still touring. I looked up the fair’s schedule. You know what’s funny? He said the next time he sees me, he’ll be a millionaire. He said he was waiting for a Hollywood cheque because, he claims, they had made a film about his travels with Speedy, although in the film they were going to call him Bob. I’ve had a look online, and I think he’s pulling my leg because that film came out years ago. I get my sense of humour from my dad and his knack for stories. My dad is going to be like Toys R Us; he’s starting to make a comeback, and his bad luck is changing.

James Staynings

Image by felix_b from Pixabay a dragonefly perching with tents in the background.