Every Second Weekend
When I was about 2 years old my parents got divorced. After the separation I spent most of my time with my Mum, only seeing my Dad every second weekend. My earliest and happiest memories with my Dad occurred at Carrara Park; a gated complex of units glowing (in my memory at least) with bright white buildings, brown wooden fences and an abundance of palm trees. I don’t have any memories of a Mum and Dad raising me together, but I do hold onto some brief memories of one of the happiest periods of my life where every second weekend I lived with a man I didn’t get to see a lot, but who did everything he could for me and made each visit a little holiday in a time and place that might not have been such a vacation for him.
I love you Dad.