• Childhood,  Family

    Sailing Sundays

    Every Sunday afternoon, as a young boy, Father would take me out to the hills where we would set our boats to sail on the lake. It was the only time we were alone together. We never spoke much, and when we did, it was like talking to a stranger. When he won, he gave a solid nod of his head. When I won, he gave me a firm pat on the back. I remember a warmth spreading through my bones, particularly wonderful in the height of winter when the wind blew so fierce, all I wanted to do was cling tight to Father. We never did much hugging in…

  • Childhood,  Family

    Egg and Spoon Race

    We were sitting on a metal spoon like an egg, unsteady, any sudden movement about to finish us off. We weren’t going to reach the finish line without smashing on the ground, congealed and ruined. Dad was about to leave, he was ready to go. Mum was packing his suitcase. Maisy and I kept quiet as always. We couldn’t do anything to stop it. And then something happened, that to the rest of the world was already an egg and spoon race gone horribly wrong. But to us, a second chance. A virus had broken out. People were dropping like flies around the world. The news was on in the…