Monday, December 20, 2010

You can't always get what you want

My father was my hero and the light of my life. He was tall and handsome but a fragile spirit, and he died at 41. His mother was, or still is, Swedish, from a little place called Trollhattan, spelled with one of those dotted a:s. I always thought of it as a very warm place full of trolls and goblins. Troll-heat. My father laughed and humoured me. He promised me he'd take me there some day, but he never did.