This might not seem like a blessing. It might hint at deep and tortuous family rifts. In my families instance, it might have initially, but my mother is a remarkable woman. She should have been named Constance. She has a right to privacy. This is my story. With more plot lines than even I was able to follow at times. The running joke was and still is, “Has your Dad called?”. “Which one?”.

So, to help you I will tell you the Dad of the previous post is 2nd Dad (in chronological order). It gets easier to follow, they have their own personalities :D

Years ago my brother put a hole in my wall when he was drunk. I was away with my mother and missed the whole glorious episode. I had a full breakdown from the neighbours which was hilarious. Not. The teenage son of one of them asked him if he’d been in prison when he hadn’t been seen for a while. Anyhow, 1st Dad is very good with his hands, so he fixed the wall, but he put shelves in the hole.

My brother never paid for the work. He was an angry man and had somehow rationalised that it was my fault. Now I have to move, I have to remove the shelves or the landlords will hammer me for money I do not have. 1st Dad to the rescue again. Over the years I have become a bit of a builders mate to him.

We talked as we always do whilst we worked. I made him some dinner, he’s another good eater. And we chewed the cud. He knows me like no one else. I know him like I know myself. I am my fathers daughter. Just as I am my mothers daughter. Just as I am my other fathers daughter! And yet, of all my parents, he knows me most; saying the least. We have the gift of a very rich non-verbal communication.

He has an IQ of 148 and he too is Dyslexic. The bits that no one else gets come from him. My mother only knows about these bits because she knows him. It helps me understand myself, when I have doubts, to watch him. Then I can settle and know that I am not alone in this world, in my ways. There is nothing abnormal about me. I do not feel five minutes in front or five behind, I am right on time with 1st Dad.

I thought that my family had failed me. They had not. The one thing I can say is that my upbringing has been unorthodox. It was not bourgeois, it was not the worst of lives, it certainly was not mediocre. Because of my mother, I have had 4 constant parents. Granted their efficacy at various stages in my life has been questionable, but right now, I can see how they have all shaped me. I am fully rounded.

2nd Dad (the Yorkshire Buddha) rang to ask about bay leaves. I’m stupidly happy he is making stew.

Woodkid – I love you. For the bit of me that is done with tragedy and hopes for a little romance.

I started the piece for MSF today and wrote some more.