A reflective first-person piece on helping an aging father edit his novel and navigating the intimacy of being needed.
My father doesn’t ask for help from just anyone. And yet he asked for mine. He believed in me My dad and I believe in many of the same things: cheesecake; the Geelong football club; my mum. And that we should immediately be experts at anything. First try. No practice. No revision. He taught me this in kindergarten. Every day he pushed me to be brilliant. We played spelling games in the car and did maths workbooks for fun. Before I started school I had “published” a library of my own books, comp…