When I asked of his dad, who left home when Godfrey was 8, just a little kid, he replied, you know, I never looked for him at all. I reckoned I would see him in the shadows of the morning in the city…and oft times I did.
My old dad, he found everything funny, I hear him chuckle over conversation in a crowded coffee shop. See him in the rumpled, lost man with shopping cart, and dog being lectured by a cop. I thought of him one damp morning, saw a father and young son stop, where a great earth- mover was parked in the rain, by the curb where it had dug a hole for a sewer drain.It reminded me fondly of the time, old dad, stopped the car so I to could climb, on such a machine, smell the dirt, twiddle a knob. To dig in the ground, we laughed at the thot of such a fun job.
On occasion I will see a derelict car, the type my dad, Albion would likely drive, or scan the obituaries in my fish and chip wrap, wonder if he is still alive. In a way I guess, I did laugh as he would have at a single crow- She had got into the rubbish, with hungry crow determination, removed both lid and bin bag, was eating fried potatoes on the sidewalk in the snow. I remember him drawing, cheerful, yet intense at our greasy kitchen table, an idea for a simple, stylish tin for beer. Did he ever make his fortune?, or is he living neath a bridge round the block from here?
No, smiled Godfrey I never sought him out, and I do not like loud movies where families row and shout. I recall to this day his voice and laugh, and have in my suitcase one photograph. I am very small, it is just he and I, holding me in one big hand. I am wearing my first plaid, knitted baby outfit, on a winter day, we are kneeling in the sand at Barafundle Bay. Godfrey spoke softly, from the comfy depths of my old turquoise chair. No, he said, I never sought out my old man to ever find, reckoned in all things silly I may see him, kept the memory of laughter, and the wisdom he left me on my mind…