This is good – not just your usual baby-boomer-hating stuff:
What’s wrong with me? Why am I not like Dad? Dad would deliver pizzas. I remember when his building business folded in the 1990s. He didn’t sign on. He knew he was going to end up in a flat above a shop, but he stacked Thomson directories in the front garden and asked for help delivering them. I said no, because friends might see us schlepping up those long driveways. Life was easier when he had a Mercedes and Mum had a Porsche. Instead, he was riding a bicycle to the paper shop; not to buy a paper, to work there – the shop where I had a round! He was furious when I said no, but he delivered the directories himself, worked in the paper shop, bought a van, started another building business, paid for my university accommodation, had a stroke, got walking again, went back to work, bought a nice house and built a large pond in his massive garden. And I will never forgive myself for not helping with those directories. Nice work, son.