My dad is hands-down the smartest man I know. I should state  for the record that my mum is of the same ilk in the brains department, but if it’s just down to the blokes, dad takes the cerebral cake. From my completely unbiased perspective, I would even go so far as to crown him ‘World’s Best Dad.’

If this inspires you to issue a ‘my dad could beat your dad’ throw down, I should add the caveat that I will only be backing Dad in certain categories. Physical challenges are out – unless you are interested in a Morris dance-off? But if you’re interested in war gaming, trivia  or drawing manga comics, we’ll come out with guns blazing.

Your dad rocks the electric guitar like Keith Richards? I’m sure it pales in comparison to Jon’s epic mandolin playing… or his bodhran (it’s a celtic drum)… or his mean tin whistle.

Hold up, I hear you say. Your dad sounds a bit… I don’t know… nerdy. I guess that’s a matter of perspective. If you think that being able to claim that you played in the first game of Dungeons and Dragons in Australia is a bit nerdy then yes, I will concede that Dad’s interests land him pretty firmly in the geekosphere. And that’s pretty freakin cool.

In case you were wondering what Morris Dancing entailed…

Dad worked a lot when I was little so some of my favourite memories are of times that it was just the two of us. Apart from his weekly fixture as linesman at my soccer games, this happened most often when I watched Dad pursue one of his favourite hobbies, wargaming.

We had a huge table in our study(painted khaki so it could double as a games table) where Dad would sit and paint his armies. My favourite was his mediaeval Richard III army. Dad is an incredible painter. He would spend hours creating individual shield designs, adding shadow and texture, and creating pendants for the miniature lead figurines. His patience and attention to detail is second to none.

I would sit there for hours, a little intoxicated on the smell of oil based paint and turps, as Dad explained the merits of light versus heavy cavalry, how to best utilise your archers in rugged terrain or in what circumstances pikemen were likely to be most effective. Once his interest shifted to ancient gaming and his Roman army, I became a font of wisdom on the use of elephants in battle.

Dad is a night owl so I would sit up long after Mum had gone to bed, absolutely enraptured by the painting, the tactical advice and the history lesson that would accompany it. Most evenings ended with a conversation along the lines of;

‘Dad, I’m going to bed.’

‘Oh,’ [insert extreme disappointment here] ‘But we’re only onto the second Punic war,’ or ‘I was just about to tell you how Richard III’s brother drowned in a vat of wine.’

Despite the protest of ‘Dad, I’m only five and it’s after nine,’ I would happily scoot back up onto my chair and settle in for as long as eye could keep my eyes open.

Opportunities to impart historical knowledge are not confined to the games table, more often than not movies with my Dad garner a derisive shake of the head as he confides ; ‘Triremes would never sail into battle under full sail in those conditions,‘ or ‘That is not the correct armour for horses in that period.’

Quiz nights and Trivial Pursuit with my parents is always an impressive sight to  behold. My sister and I don’t stand a chance.  I actually beat my mum for the first time ever recently and had to check that she hadn’t let me win.

Dad in particular has a specialty for retaining very specific and detailed knowledge about things that most people would only have a passing knowledge of… ‘Operation Dynamo was the code name for the evacuation of Dunkirk…‘ (sure, lots of people might get that) ‘…which ran from27 May to 4 June 1940,‘ (entering savant territory now Dad).

Not long ago I realised that we have a family inability to answer questions without providing additional tidbits of information… ‘and the lead cruiser used in evacuation, the HMS Calcutta, was actually sunk off the coast of Alexandria 12 months later.‘ I have become self consciously aware that whilst I find it charming, my partner and friends might find it more obnoxious than endearing so I have been working very hard to hold back ‘Bec’s additional fun facts’ when playing outside of the family home.

Dad comedic talents are specialised in something coined “the Marshallsay” sense of humour. It involves a lot of puns. Family dinners with his siblings almost always include a pun-off while those family members not afflicted with the Marshallsay humour, eye-roll, sigh and try to change the subject.

I would like to say that I am one of the eye-rollers, too dignified for udderly amoosing cow puns and the like, but there’s no whey I could maintain such a lie. Like a Toon to shave-and-a -haircut, the inability to resist a pun is somewhat of a curse in social situations.

Dad’s humour is also characterised by a dogged persistence based on the premise that if it’s funny once, it’s always funny. I’ve been vegetarian since I was nine and every single meat free meal in the intervening 20 years has been met with Dad’s cry of ‘Where’s the meat?‘. Oh the hilarity. Every time.

Since we were little, if my sister or I complained that something was not fair, Dad would quip without fail ‘You say that so often I wonder what your basis for comparison is‘ (thanks Labyrinth) or the ever ambiguous but apparently just as humorous ‘No it’s dark, it’s a black pudding.’ Never. Gets. Old.

If you ever have a spare 45 minutes you can visit my parents’ place and Dad will tell you the joke about the light that’s been burning for five thousand years. A grade dad joke material.

Persistently funny – we have an almost identical shot almost 20 years later (I do have all my teeth in the most recent one though).

I have suffered long term consequences of some of my Dad’s jokes. I was encouraged to name my favourite teddy bear Boris because Dad thought it would be amusing for my bear and I to co-share the name of eighties tennis star Boris Becker. My parents don’t even follow tennis.

I spent most of my life believing that those skinless sausages were called Trevor Patties because of a long running family joke. I was not actually privy to the  joke until  I spotted them in the supermarket at 20-something, correctly labeled as chevapchichis and confronted my parents about it. I had spent my whole life weirding out butchers as I confidently and naively ordered Trevor Patties. Fortunately, as a vegetarian these meat faux pas were few and far between.

I suffered a similar long term brain washing trauma that started when I was three or four and discovered that a bear shaped bottle of bubble bath I owned had changed colour from apricot to green overnight. I still have a  very clear memory of walking into the bathroom and beholding the miracle of the colour changing bear.

‘It must have been the sun,’ my parents declared.

I recalled this to my mum a few years ago, perhaps with some nagging suspicions but still confident that I had witnessed miracle on par with turning water to wine or a life-changing chemical anomaly akin to the big bang.

‘Dad put food colouring in it Bec.’

Oh, number of miracles witnessed  – zero.

Did I mention that Dad also started uni the same year as me? After working in IT for a billion years (or about 20), Dad went to uni to follow his passion and study archaeology. He used almost all of his leave and all of his free time over many years to try and become Indiana Jones. And it worked, he left the job he hated and now spends his time digging up bones and trekking around the desert investigating Indigenous archaeological sites. It doesn’t get much cooler than that.

I could write pages and pages more on all of the unique memories and  weird and wonderful things that make my dad…well… my dad. One word descriptors like intelligent, kind, funny don’t really do him justice so I’ll just finish up with – I love you Dad, you are one of the most interesting and talented people I know… and I am incredibly proud to be your daughter.

PS. Being sappy generally makes my skin crawl…. but sometimes it is worth being a little cheesy to acknowledge the beautiful and incredible people all around us; people who, for better (great general knowledge)… or worse (warped sense of humour), make us the unique little people we are today.