The Death of My Dreams
I’m 55 – well, at the time of writing this post, I am – and it has occurred to me that I am now much closer to the end of my life than I am to my beginning. Those early memories, the vast majority of them, have faded. That memory of being a small child, perhaps two, and visiting my father at his home. Remembering his drum kit. Seeing the nearby church. I can remember it as a vague recollection. I can remember passing the 11+, so I would be sent to the local public school, and the disappointment I … Continue reading The Death of My Dreams
