You always came. Speaking of each us with pride. Not always understanding but present, always present. A good man, a dutiful father. Often mischievous. With eyes that twinkled.
I am awry. From whom shall I seek approval now? To whom shall I show my triumphs, small though they are?
I miss you.
Christopher John Bell 24.01.1939 – 20.02.2014
(photograph: Mo Henderson)