Twenty-nine years ago my parents split up. Irreconcilible differences led them to the point of no return and my mother, my two siblings and I moved to Croydon to live with my grandmother for the next twenty or so years until my mother remarried. During that time none of us had any contact with our father (apart from my mother), but from my point of view (I was only two when they divorced) I was never missing anything. I didn’t miss my father, because I never knew him.
When my sister had her son six years ago she, being emotionally more sensitive to such things, wrote to our father to tell him that he had his first grandchild. He wrote back and they formed a tentative relationship.
Three months ago I received a letter from him trying to explain in some way his actions and, if I was amenable to the idea, making some attempt to start things afresh. Thirty years and a grandson probably have that affect on a man. He left the decision of whether I wanted to contact him in my lap and so two weeks ago, I wrote back. It was a difficult letter, not least because I had never used the words “Dear Dad” before. What do you say? In the end it was simply a case of responding to points from his letter and telling him about my family.
Anyway, we have agreed to meet up and I think we are almost getting carried away by the whole idea, making future plans, booking hotels et cetera, but there is still that worry about the first meeting. How does that work? Hello…I’m your son. How have you been these past few years? He even sent me a picture of him and his wife so that we could recognise them, but there was really no need, he is unquestionably my father in looks – it’s strange to think that there is someone out there who looks so much like me but of whom I know very little about.
There’s a lot to think about, but if all else fails we can just get Harry to perform tricks for us.
