Brief encountersBMJ 2007; 334 doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1136/bmj.39132.507847.94 (Published 22 February 2007) Cite this as: BMJ 2007;334:428
- Des Spence ([email protected])
It was our parting ritual. The train pulled in, and my father, holding his copy of the Morning Star, was enveloped by the billowing diesel fumes. “Christ,” he said as he rolled his eyes. I had started to cry. Too embarrassed for words at this public display of emotion, he punched me kindly till I stopped. My father may have been fat, balding, and not to everyone's taste, but he was the only dad I had, and I missed him. Back then I was …
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