My father held me. His hands clasped firm on either side of my ribcage. My feet dangling five and a half feet from the relative security of the maroon shag carpet. I was in his mercy. I was three weeks old. My ability to have such vivid early memories has always impressed people. My head unsupported would flop from side to side. My father removed his left hand and placed it on top of my head, our heads locked in line. He looked into my eyes with all the intensity of a man who was five foot six. He started to speak.
“ One day you will die , and there is literally nothing you can do about that, that’s life’s big joke…Life…it will throw you little trivial complications to humour you, give you the impression you’re taking charge, but ultimately you have no control, and everything you do is absolutely pointless, so just try and enjoy the wait”
This seemed to happen every time the remote control was misplaced. Still it was a real bummer hearing it the first time.
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