By a strange coincidence two events conspired to make me think of my past in a bizarre type of Life Review.
I had been studying Kore-eda’s (1998) film for a couple of weeks when my daughter told me that her last assignment of her course was to write about My Mother and My Father.
I knew she enjoyed this writing course. She wanted to tell me that her teacher thought that her two pieces were very good writing.
I ask her tentatively if I could read them and she agreed with some trepidation.
Our relationship in her teens and into her middle age had been difficult, extremely difficult but we both matured into a comfortable loving in spite of our differences.
It was wonderful to read her pieces. She did not talk about us now but how she saw us during her 57 years of life. Her father found what she called the decades of war very painful. I found it less so and certainly less than living it.
She is 57. My daughter is old. Difficult to comprehend.