The man who charmed the world
Mr Kessler turns 70
My Dad, who in addition to being a recurring character in Lines To Take lore is also a real human being, turned 70 over the weekend. We had a party. And, as set in stone by Moses to the Israelites, all Kessler events must have speeches. This one is mine.
[Check against delivery]
Every single person in this room right now is here for the same reason — Charles Kessler charmed you. Perhaps he convinced you to marry him on the third date. Or he sent you a cogently argued explanation for why he signed your son or daughter up to be a Junior Gunner, even though they come from a long line of Spurs supporters.
I’ve been told that I can ‘do’ charming. But that my Dad is charming. Thank goodness he uses his powers for good rather than evil.
I’ve been wondering how best to describe this man in just a few minutes. I think the easiest way is to say that, if you were randomly assigned to sit next to my Dad at a wedding — the kind of wedding where you know the couple well enough to be invited to the party but not the ceremony — you would have won the seating plan sweepstakes.
It is said that people don’t remember what you say — they remember how you made them feel. If so, you will come away from that party feeling pretty darn good about yourself, if a little concerned about Arsenal’s upcoming fixture congestion. Such a talent for putting others at ease is married with an innate reliability.
It’s curious. If asked how we might like to be remembered, I suspect that ‘reliable’ would not feature highly on many lists. To call someone ‘reliable’ carries a faint whiff of condescension, half a rung above ‘dependable’ — which is practically code for ‘dull’. And yet, in real life, someone who does what they say, gets things done and is there when you need them? Sign me up.
Dad, I have so many fond memories from the last thirty or so years. All those long drives to and from Cardiff for the FA Cup final. Our long-running tradition of eating at French restaurants. Our trips to Monte-Carlo for the tennis, or to the park at the end of the road to play football.
Turning the dining room table into a table tennis table for the winter season. That time I asked you to finish a game of Championship Manager for me and you conceded a last-minute equaliser at — Aston Villa I think it was — and you tried to convince me, through my obvious frustration, that this was in fact a decent result away from home.
I think of those Premier League stickers you used to bring back from the corner shop. The time you ran as fast as you could in my direction when you heard I’d fallen off a high wall on holiday. The way you always encouraged me to leave my comfort zone, whether to send that email, ask that friend if they’re free — generally make my own opportunities in life on the rare occasion you weren’t able to pave the way for me.
The way I know I can always call you up to tell you how I’m feeling, whether excited or scared, hopeful or at a loss. The way I can explain to you what I’m doing in the knowledge that, if it all goes wrong, at least my Dad would have messed it up too. The way you are impressed by things that come easily to me, and sympathetic to those that require hard work and application.
The way you have welcomed Henry into the family, the joy that being a grandfather brings you, the fact that through you I got to meet Grandma Toby.
As Arsène Wenger once said of Alex Ferguson — everyone thinks they have the prettiest wife at home. Well, with apologies to all the other contenders for that title in this room, I have the best father.
On the occasion of his 70th birthday, and with Arsenal top of the league, please be upstanding and raise a glass to my dad, your friend, Charles.
