He had a total fixation with making me strong, in every sense. To this end he frequently exploded in a fit of rage at me. I’d slam the mandolin in its case and storm out of the house shouting back at him. He’d stand on the doorstep and shout after me down the street “If you leave this house young lady, you’re never coming back” and I’d storm off shouting back “ I never want to come back”.
Then a fortnight later, after radio silence, I’d turn up on his door step and he’d open the door and say “it’s l’ill Ali, come in” and we’d carry on as if nothing had happened. Then, after a few hours I’d ask why he’d shouted at me and he’d say “it’s a tough world out there. I need to make you strong” (??!!)
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