Something my Dad said to me at a recent family gathering.
I'm thirty-seven years old. When my Dad was thirty-seven he experienced a neurological event that left him disabled.
I was eleven years old when it happened. I remember lots of hospital visits and emotions running high.
The drama of those early years gave way to a new normality: day care, wheelchairs, TV...
Twenty-six years later, sitting outside a cafe in low autumn sunshine and a cold wind off the sea, my Dad turns to me and says, "It's weird to think... that you're the age that I was... when this happened." And he lifts his weak left arm a couple of inches with his double-strong right.
Richard Pettitt, cartoonist.