When I was a boy.
On Sunday afternoons my dad would start the engine of his police yellow 1969 MGB. My young healthy heart would beat faster. I loved Sunday afternoons. We’d take a drive out of the city. The best part was he’d let me drive. (I had my learners.) My dad wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become a doctor. He was a caring orthopedic surgeon. But my marks were too bad so I didn’t even consider it. I got an F (standard grade) for maths. And an E (standard grade) for maths. I’m the only one of my siblings (I’m the youngest of six) who didn’t go to university. I went to the technikon. I studied journalism because that’s what you pursued if you loved writing. The only other place that offered a journalism diploma/degree was Rhodes. That would have been very expensive and the fact that my dad put six humans through school and university (tech for me) was pretty amazing. My dad had one rule when it came to after school leaning. He’d pay for you but if you failed you paid for yourself. Looking back this is very reasonable. After finishing at the tech I still couldn’t find my feet. Unfortunately my dad passed away just before I decide to study advertisng. He never saw me go up on stage to receive awards. But I don’t think it matters. My dad didn’t care about recognition. The fact that I love my job would have made him happy. And I do love my job. Love you dad. X