I wish I had said something, many things over the years. I wish I had listened more, learnt about the details of his life that a more enquiring daughter would have teased out, and so would have understood more. He wasn’t really talkative, maybe we were too similar. He taught me to wash the knives with bone handles last, because the water was cooler then, he said hot water would soften the glue. And he taught me how to recognise car registration plates from our home town. He also told me that a plane that left a white trail in the sky was called a skyscraper. It was many years before I learned that he didn’t know the answer to everything.
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