In response to the task set, I delved into my nostalgia in order to recollect memories from when I was a little tiddler. Initially, I thought of my trip to Disney Land Paris for my eighth birthday, or my first day of secondary school or some sporting highlights. However, as my reminiscence developed, I remembered one of my earliest childhood memories but it was a darker recollection than the others.

Somehow, my three and a half year old self remembered the day my father left home. To this day, I remember exactly what he was wearing, the expression on his face and the dialogue exchanged. My then nineteen year old father was sobbing with tears running down his face as I clung on to his right leg and looked up to his face whilst my mother told him to go. He was wearing a blue Henry Lloyd fleece with a Nike tight fit beanie. I have a specific image in my head of me looking up to my father with tears streaming down his face and I said to him “Don’t go dad”. Following this argument, my father never lived with me and my mother again and has definitely  changed my life, but not in a necessarily negative way. When I was seven years old, I had a birthday meal at Mano’s, a local restaurant in town in which I was surrounded by the young adults I had grown up with. After several years of conflict, my parents had finally agreed, for me, to both come to my birthday meal. It was great, I had all the lovely adults I had grown up with who had presents for me and good food (I had pasta), but most importantly my parents were in the same room after continuous phone call and text messaging arguments, they were both here, celebrating with me. The main meal passed by and out came my cake, I don’t remember the cake but I remember blowing out the candles shortly after my mum requested me to make a wish. Once all the candles were out and the applause had stopped, one of my mother’s friends asked me what I wished for. The room still silent, I raised my voice slightly higher than normal and said something along the lines of “I wish for my mum and dad to get back together”. Both my mother and father were stood with their new partners with my parents on the opposite ends of the table. A cloud of awkwardness shaded the room yet I was gleaming, it had felt liberating to release how I was feeling for so long. Of course they never got back together and the meal ended rather swiftly after that.

Fundamentally, I captured my dad wearing the exact same clothes he wore the day he left our perfect family trio. He is now in a comfortable and settled home with a new partner which contrasts with what happened the last time I saw him wearing that clothing combination.

Although the clothes are the same, my dad has changed in  numerous ways, for example the beard, however, his life has changed to a more settled one but I don’t primarily live with my father.