Those who watched everton during David Moyes era would remember how he performed magnificently at keeping everton competitive in spite of having a shoestring budget. The football wasnt pretty, it was hoofball at times, good counterattacking football at other times, but boy not only did Moyes keep the ship afloat but made them a respectable club. Despite being a rival to Liverpool, the club i ardently follow, I have a soft corner for the club and Moyes for the story of Everton under Moyes parallels my home under my father.
It is no secret that times were difficult during my childhood. Times were really, really hard. Money was scarce, but despite that my father ran the home with such financial prudence and dexterity that my relatives hardly knew that times were really, really, really hard. He put food on our plates, roof above our heads and gave me and my sister the best possible education without resorting to begging, borrowing or stealing.
So when cousin of mine, in an argument, let slip today that she always assumed my father mooched off hers during those times, I was naturally shocked, incensed, infuriated, apoplectic with rage and basically squirmed in shame and anguish at being hinted that he ran the home off someone else’s charity. But once the tsunami of emotions subsided, I couldnt help but laugh at it. I couldnt help laugh at the fact the my father was a magician, I couldnt help but laugh at the fact that he was so freaking good in living within means that people had to think – ‘No way he is living without charity’. My father isnt a wartime consigliere, neither a peacetime consigliere, but he is one of the best ‘desperate-times’ consigliere.
I am proud of my father.
He turns 60 today.