When I was in my mid-teens, my father – holding a folded, hand-written note – said to me (though more by way of self-inquiry): ‘Where did we go wrong?’
I recall him being tearful; standing in our conservatory bathed in the morning sun; his back to me and gazing into the garden as I stood pondering his question.
As I think on that brief childhood moment 30 years later, 20 years as a parent, I now understand why it has remained a fixture in my memory.
