I tend to disagree. There are mountains of kindness. The problem is there are also mountains of unkindness as well. But overall I feel that the kindness mountain is probably Everest and the non kindness mountain is K2 - Both very large but Everest is the larger.
Like many people I find it easier to put my personal thoughts down on paper (or in blogs) than I do talking about them. If I talk about my feelings I often get tongue-tied, whereas in the written word everything seems to be that much clearer.
Many blogs ago I mentioned a story on national television about Paul Harvey. He's the guy who hit the headlines a few weeks ago for his piano playing ability after being given just four notes around which to compose a piece of music. This is the more remarkable because Paul suffers from dementia.
On Friday, there was a lovely piece on Breakfast TV about Paul's life. He was a music teacher of some note (sorry as always for the pun but it was intended). The feature not only covered his career but featured him in a zoom meeting with some of his former pupils who have made a career in the field of music. Without exception they praised his love of music, his love of the children he taught and the legacy that he gave them to be themselves and follow their dreams. It was a heart-warming piece about an exceptional human being.
And all the time, he had his son at his side. The younger man's love of his father shone through: "I am in awe of this man," the son said and it was quite obvious that he was. The love he had for Paul oozed out of every cell.
Yesterday it all took another step when Paul heard his piece performed by an orchestra. That reduced him to tears again and then he got a personal message from his musical hero Stephen Sondheim. Cue more tears: "Thank you so much. This is beyond wonderful," he blubbed and we all blubbed with him.
I must admit I shed a tear or two and I'm not an emotional person.
It makes me happy and sad when I see such a relationship between a father and a son, because it is a relationship I never had with my own father.
There are very few people who know about that relationship outside of my family but I felt today that I would like to share a little of it with you.
My father wasn't a cruel man. I don't remember him ever inflicting violence on me, although he did keep a cane up the corner of the room (but these were the 1950s when that kind of thing was the norm and acceptable). I do remember being carried physically upstairs to my bedroom and being shut in on a few occasions but again that was more about the times we were living in. I think it was because I had been cheeky about something and being the head of the house he was responsible for disciplining me.
My problem with my father was simple. He had no real interest in me or anything I was doing. That could have been a recipe for "going off the rails" but I decided to go the other way and try to make something of my life and try to make my own sons proud of me.
My father gave me lifts to various places and picked me up. He occasionally bowled a few balls to me at cricket but he was never a part of my life. We always went on holiday where he wanted to go (Great Yarmouth and London - although I do love both of those). When he didn't want to do something we didn't do it - you get the idea.
He was a selfish young man apparently, a selfish middle aged man and then a selfish old man who expected us to look after him and do everything for him. I know this may ring a bell with many of my readers. I found it very difficult in his last years when he was struggling with ill health to show any love or compassion for somebody I felt I hardly knew.
When I'm asked who has been the biggest influence on my life, I reply "my father." "Oh that's nice," usually comes the reply. "No not really. He has taught me how not to be a father and grandfather." That's the brutal truth of things.
His reply when our first grandchild was stillborn was "So I'm not going to be a great grandfather." Everything was about him. When I won an award and was featured in the local newspaper and he was told, his reaction was "Oh. I was wondering whether I should have ham or cheese for tea."
So when I see the love that exists between Paul and his son Nick I must admit to feeling uplifted but at the same time rather sad that I never had that kind of relationship with my father.
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The latest edition of the Wymondham Mercury newspaper contains another lovely tribute to Basil Vautier with a photograph on the front page and an article inside.
Also my feature on Endometriosis has appeared on the Eastern Daily Press website and hopefully will be in the newspaper in the next few days. A big thank you to Chloe Kidd and Kelly Mendham for being so honest and open in talking to me about what could be a rather embarrassing condition. I have learnt a lot from them.
If you want to read my story it's at:
https://www.edp24.co.uk/news/endometriosis-diagnosis-delays-in-norfolk-1-6901270