Years after the death of my father, my mother met someone through a bereavement group. In the finest tradition of a sulky child, I put almighty effort into being hateful to him. I avoided eye contact, maintained a sneering demeanour, was monosyllabic, rejected all peaceful overtures, took offence where none was meant and did my best to sour the atmosphere and see him off. Only I wasn’t a child — I was 28. Seventeen years on, my relationship with my mother’s partner is cordial and I still feel sheepish about how I treated this kind, decent man.

Source: The Times August 17, 2016 15:56 UTC