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 ...