When my parents divorced I lost touch with my dad – and part of my heritage. When we met again I began to piece my two worlds together
My reunion with my father, after our long estrangement, happened accidentally on purpose. Our paths crossed at a family wedding, the place where grudges are often forged and dissolved.
I attended a casual gathering before the big day and there my eye fell upon my dad who, with his supersized personality, had always lived as a giant in my memory. I was surprised by his senior-citizen hair and general bodily mileage. I was deep into my 30s by then, it had been 20 years, and maybe I also looked diminished, weathered, tired from the long flight. He wore a velvet blazer and a maroon silk shirt, his usual sartorial flamboyance. He had the same smile – the genuine, happy one reserved for frothy social events.
