Today's the anniversary of Dad's death so I've been thinking about him more than I usually might. And Mum, too. It was during prayers at the masjid that it suddenly struck me that I couldn't think of anything he ever did that was in any way less than fundamentally well-intentioned. This was certainly true within the family and even though I never knew him outside of that in any real way, I do know that no one I spoke to who might have been aware of that life ever had a bad word to say about him. Not that he was in any way saintly. Just a very nondescript kind of bloke, slightly baffled by the world around him, muddling along with an innate sense of decency.
Nothing like me. That puzzled me then and still does. And I'm sure I puzzled him.
I suppose at some level everyone is a mystery waiting to be solved. And we never really get the solution.
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