Summer Leaves

Sometimes you need a dad and sometimes you need a mum. Like dad is good at spaghetti but mum was better at brownies. Dad’s not good at brownies and when I told him to make them like mum he threw the plate out the window and said they were bad for us anyway. Mum used to say they were bad for us, but then she’d wink and eat one. When dad says things are bad for us they go out the window or into bin bags. Dad is good with geography because he knows the name of every river in England. Mum was good at maths. Dad scrunches his eyes and uses the calculator on his phone, and looks up sums on google and then explains. Mum knew it all from her head. Mum was good at singing in the kitchen and making shadows with a torch and wearing soft jumpers. Mum was good at kissing bruises better. I liked it when she gave me a hug when dad shouted. Dad gets very tired but he plays football with me on Saturdays. He also lets me have the big popcorn at the cinema and sometimes I’m allowed to sleep in his bed even though I’m too old for that now. Dad used to tell mum jokes that made her laugh like a pig, and then I would laugh but not at dad’s joke at mum’s laughing because it was silly. That was nice. I miss mum.

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