Everything starts with a birth in a refugee camp in Germany. The parents had to leave their home in the northern parts of Csecho-Slovakia, when the Red Army arrived. Camps are like stations only for transit and it takes a while untill one reaches the final destination.
Now half a century later I find myself having lived half my life in a foreign country, with a foreign language I even use in my dreams. One could say I have reached my final destination, - to be precise at the Royal College of Art, where I teach Video.
There is something about being a father.
The guy was middle-aged, already with grey hair and not very well dressed. During the night his young wife was giving birth to his first son and now he was thinking about his own father. He had had two grown up daughters in a previous marriage, but that didn't count in his fathers eyes. "With you the family name will disappear" his father used to say.
"I didn't bother to reply, we never were on speaking terms; and what could you expect from someone who spent a whole five years of his early manhood at war."
" But it's surely strange, that my boy should be born exactly one year after my fathers death"