“Paint your Waggon,whatever that is”.

As a sit here,waiting for the paint to dry in this old,I kinda let my mind go back to the history of it.

You see,this was my youngest sons room.Its been through many changes from “The Smurfs”,to Manchester United Livery bed then through Radiohead posters,concert ticket notice board.Quite a rainbow of a young persons life you could say.

My son is 27 now.He left home at 18 to do a music degree at Royal Holloway,then he went to the Guildhall to join the vocal department on their masters course.

Yes,he’s been back here quite a lot during that time,but ,of course it’s never the same really when your children leave home.They don’t really tell you that in the parenting manual,or Pseudo parenting experts try to imply that’s it’s a new start,Yada,Yama,yarda.

The truth is in my case,I miss my son.Hes on tour with an opera company as I write this in the South of France,so you could say that he’s done well.No,he’s not been on the tele,just Radio3,but I am very proud of him.

During the 2 days that I have been painting in his room,I have also remembered the times we spent talking,listening to Miles Davis,generally hanging out.

As father son relationships go,we are alright.My youngest son has had to play a back seat in our family because his older brother has often been seriously ill in hospital for extensive lengths of time.This has meant him bring left with family members while we were at various Cardiac centres around the country in a desperate attempt to get treatment for his brother.

Through all this time,this room has been a sanctuary for him.Even painting it seems odd.I have to have music playing while I do it,mostly Miles Davis.My son is a Wagnerian tenor,but we still love all the other genres.

Oh well,I think it might be time to get back to the painting.

Memories are powerful if we keep them alive.


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