Flash Gordon

All images and text copyright and sole property of J.R.Marsden
My father (for all his sins) has always let me be myself. As I've grown up I've come to realise this is a rare gift. Most (but by no means all!!) parents seem to behave like shoehorns. Lovingly, usually, but a shoehorn is a shoehorn. A lifetime of being made to fit into the right shoe.
Not me, by either parent.
Fly away little bird and see where she lands.
"OK" I said and off I flew.
...And when I was chucked out homeless onto the streets of Bristol, where was he?
Why on his way to collect me in a big van to house my many things strewn across the pavement.
...And when I lost my first baby and my mother was dead, where was he?
Living alone in a house that he invited me into till my wings were mended and I could fly off again.
I like to imagine he lets me fly off and sits back with a nice hot cup of coffee watching curiously to see where I land.
...And now I've landed, settled, nested. Where is he?
Well, busy usually. Drinking coffee on the run (actually he likes green tea). I'd like more everydayness, visits , calls, more hello's.
I, too, must learn the lesson he gave me and let him be himself.
I imagine in a crisis he'd turn up in a flash.