Perhaps I should have been a lawyer... or a detective... they say

Growing up I was told (often) that I was mouthy.
My mum used to say... “Your mouth will get you into trouble”... well... ahem... it wasn't a mouth that did as it turned out ...but I know what she meant really... :)
Anyway.
I used to ask a lot of questions. I rarely got answers which used to infuriate me, as I couldn’t understand what the problem was. What was the secret?
My mum called me Mrs Whitten. After some alleged female TV detective no one has ever heard of (I think she made it up)
My dad (whose anniversary it is today) used to pat his nose, and smile.
In other words... mind your own business.

I was feisty to my brothers because they took the mick... and were feisty to me. My mouth and backchat was all I had. It was very effective. I learnt to cut them down with a few choice words. They would prefer to fight. Blah... whatever dudes.
I had no interest in either of those professions to be honest as I was wrapped up in other things, which at the time was athletics. I used to love running cross country, why?... because I could be alone with my thoughts... through the woods... long lonely...ish paths... with no one to bother me until I reached the home straight. Best feeling ever.

Back then... I was made to feel as though asking questions was wrong in some way. That standing up for yourself was wrong also... what was I supposed to do? get beat up!?!
So... I can be mouthy. But as I always say. I can be a lot of things.

Time has gone by quickly since my dad died.
I remember the day like it was yesterday.
I got a call from my brother and quickly met him at the hospital.
When I got to the room he was gone. Weird. Sad. Expected. Final.
My mum left the room for a minute (I can’t remember why) and I was alone with my dad, and I think I said something... i thought more than I said.. hoping he could hear me. I almost cried... but some nurse was watching me and that pissed me off, so I didn't cry at all.
When my mum came back, I went outside and sat with my bro on a bench at the front of Homerton Hospital. For a while we kinda sat in silence, It was real cool. We watched the people come and go and I remember thinking... ‘how life goes on’.
My bro said..."well... we won’t forget this day!.. It’s his Majesties birthday. (Emperor Haile Selassie) I remember saying "yeah... that’s true”. We went back to the room and my dads oldest friend arrived shortly after. I remember her reaction ... “He garn?”’ she said, and wobbled a bit kinda falling into a seat.
I felt real sorry for her. In fact ... more sorry for all the people who had shared a life with him than me.
You see, they knew my dad before perhaps I did. From back home, when he was a young cricketer... shoe mender..policeman..and lord knows what else.
I miss him though. Not every day, but many days. He would have been around 82 now... tall and strong if he hadn’t become ill.

My other bro took it real bad. Seemed to vow to drink him self into a stupor every day after that. ( he's a real cool guy)
The funeral was 'funny'.. we were watching him nervously as he looked like any minute he was about to jump into the 'pit' and it was gonna become one of those funerals you see on TV..lol. He didn't though..
We were all good
( I wonder if there will ever be a good time to tease him about that??.. probably not to be honest)

Yeah...July 23rd. That was the day that was.
Funny. I ask my mum questions all the time now and she doesn’t mind answering... in fact... can hardly shut her up (sorry ma)