Today is different for me. It is 6 a.m. in the morning and I am up already. And yet it is no different from every other day. It is in fact, any other day in the other world I inhabit, called home. There, my father is making himself a cup of tea right now. He is opening the windows, smiling at sunshine and picking up his newspaper. Tick-tocking away better than clockwork, my father.

For the next three hours he will be busy. And gloriously happy. Left to himself with his few pages of quiet, compelling script and bitter, scalding brew. I could never be still that long.

“But I’m sitting on a rocking chair” he reasons, smiling all the while at me. "How is that sitting still?"

Grown-ups sure have comic wisdom.