Right at this moment, I can only think of one person who inspired me the most and still does, even though he’s not here in person. It’s got to be my dad. His stock solid belief in me as a writer (or whatever I wanted to do in my life, nurse, trainer, manager, self employed director) is key to my driving force and yearning to pick up my pen again.
I’ve been in the UK for over a month now (home on Thursday! Hoorah) and been sorting through a few things, mainly photo’s which has evoked many wonderful and treasured memories. One drawer was full of things collected by Dad. Each and every one of the magazines I’d been published in, newspaper cuttings recording me moving from Crewe to a job in the West Country, cuttings from every play my sister had been in (and my brother), programmes from everyone he attended, videos of every TV role she had, notices of sports events and things published locally about one grandchild or another. A treasure trove of memories and a demonstration of his pride in his children.
Thinking back, Dad believed in all of us but didn’t believe in himself in the same way. His elder brother was very academic and didn’t suffer the ill health Dad had as a young adult. Contracting TB meant that he wasn’t eligible for National Service and delayed him starting his apprenticeship for two years. And he didn’t learn to swim until we, his five children, taught him on holiday when he was 4O, yet it was his dad, Pops, who taught us!
So, thank you, Dad x
Ciao for now