Saturday, 7 June 2008

We become our parents.

We become our parents.


Yes indeed.


When I look into a mirror, I look just like a bearded Mum.

I have her cheek bones.

My formerly red hair has faded, just as hers did.

I have that jowly loose skin around my neck, which only plastic surgery could put right. And I do not have enough “plastic” to afford plastic surgery.



When I am at ease, I realise that I am holding my head just as she did.


She gave me a love for immigrants. Mum was the only person on our Street to welcome some immigrants from Pakistan with a gift of food.


And there were gifts from Dad,

He loved Irish people. Unusual for an Englishman.

He was a bit of a loner - so am I.


He spent many by listening to “classical” music on the radio.

That’s my deal too.

But it is not “all the same”


I grow much more liberal as I get older. I have no patience with conservative crap in Church or State. I think that Mum and Dad were much more conformist. I suspect that they both admired Winston Churchill.

I believe that he was an inspiring World War II leader for the U.K.; but also that he was a reactionary prick.

I know that Mum loved the British Royal Family.

I despise them, and would not cross the street to say “hello” to any one them.


But when I cut up a juicy pear - well then I know that my dear Mum lives in me.

And that’s also true for Dad when I savour a bit of watercress,

1 comment:

  1. Thank you for this. It struck a painful and yet lovingly true cord for me.

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