There were a million reasons we couldn’t get along.
The least of these was his endless banging on about the size of his courgettes, the brilliance of his tomatoes, the tenderness of his beans.
Each Sunday he brought his bounty to the dinner-table, like a kid toting a glowing school report. And every Sunday I withheld what he sought.
“What? Yeah, cool… what’s for dessert, Mum?”
A small victory, none too sweet either.
Today, leaning on my hoe, I survey neat rows of asparagus, broccoli, kohlrabi, beans…
“How’d I do, Dad?”
But there’s no response… and never will be now.
Apologies for my recent absence from Friday Fictioneers. Part of the blame lies with Microsoft for yet another computer crash following a Windows 10 update; the rest is just plain lack of inspiration and/or the steady battle against weeds/predators in our own vegetable garden. Thanks to Rochelle for her encouragement. And to Russell, for giving us a glimpse of his other side.