"I was eleven when my father left, so neither of us really knew our fathers. Iâ€™d met mine of course, but then I only knew my dad as a child knows a parent, as a sort of crude outline filled in with one or two colors. Iâ€™d never seen my father scared or cry. Iâ€™d never heard him admit to any wrongdoing. I have no idea what he dreamed of. And once Iâ€™d seen a smile pinned to one cheek and darkness to the other when my mum had yelled at him. Now he was gone, and I was left with just an impressionâ€”one of male warmth, big arms, and loud laughter."

-- Lloyd Jones

You may also like: