Man who moves slowly
Man who fixes things
Man who does not speak
Man who is dun-coloured
Man who is good with his hands
He has no vanity
He is rarely angry
Except for the odd explosion
He does his duty
He has low expectations
He does not complain
He is an old-fashioned chap
Well-educated but not showing it
If he feels superior
He does not express it
He does not impose himself
He is barely there
In his day, feelings were buttoned up
Don’t show off, don’t make a fuss
He was not used to being praised
As a father, he was uncomfortable with emotions
His responsibilities ended at the door
He was much happier with things
An old man sitting in his chair
His mind is gone – a blank screen
He probes for memories
Where am I? Who are you?
I wasn’t all bad was I, as a father?
I can’t have been all bad, can I?
Silence. I do not answer
It is not a punishment. I am thinking
What kind of dad was he?
A little gloomy, certainly
But there were many worse
He was a man of his time
Feelings had not been invented then
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