Father and daughter

Dear Diary,

After yesterday evening's reconciliation, our friendship looks promising, now that neither of us are bawling or overwhelmed with emotion any more. There is, however, a tiny seed of doubt. I remember, clear as day, being at the hospital and hearing that the doctor saying that the baby was conceived on September the 11th, 2001. I remember, also, clear as day, what I was doing that day. I remember watching it unfold on television. I was in a bar called The Vertigo, in town, looking for gigs. I was not with my ex-partner that day (she was at work, seemingly). I remember coming back to the house. I do not have red hair or freckles, as this young lady does. No one in my family has red hair and freckles. No one in her family has red hair and freckles. Not a soul. There is a friend of mine, that has many brothers and sisters. He has red hair and freckles. No one in his family has red hair and freckles, they all have black hair, but the milkman had red hair and freckles.

Furthermore, the brown eyes my mother has, and I have, contain a dominant gene in which it usually (but not always) happens to produce a child with brown eyes instead of blue, grey or green. However, sometimes certain genetic traits do - apparently - skip a generation or even a few generations, so they may produce splashes further down the line. Likewise, my mother does actually have auburn hair. My hair was blond when I was born, but turned brown, goes blond in the sun, and brown in the winter. My beard has all kinds of hair colours in it - every kind, even red. Jewel is a strawberry blond. The chances are, she is my child (for I do not recall what happened that evening on September the 11th, 2001, but her mother and I probably engaged in coitus, as was usual for us to do, both being in our early twenties and full of energy).

Her eyes, despite their colour, are not unlike mine in regard to their almond shape, almost alien looking. Her cheekbones too, are quite like mine, chiselled, angular. Furthermore, the shape of the arch of her nose is also quite like mine, but the base of it like her mother's.

There is the question of a genetic test, which would make sure, for certain (and would actually be quite interesting), but I must approach this very carefully. I should be respectful of her wishes, that we ought to take it slowly to begin with (for twenty years cannot be made up in a single day or two - her words not mine, and true they are). It's a sensitive subject, so needs to be breached very carefully, at the right time, delicately.

I absolutely hate my job and those... animals that work there, bullies, uncivilised wildmen. I can only leave this job if I have another one lined up, and I won't know about that until Monday. I also should have gotten my assignment done today, editing, but I have been perpetually distracted by my daughter having tracked me down after twenty years. I am also worn out from an irregular sleep pattern. I need to get this edit done for the old ball and chain. Furthermore, I can't very well ask the old ball and chain for her promised advance until I have finished this assignment in full. I am driven to distraction. Imagine, not seeing your daughter for twenty years and then boom! She turns up all of a sudden. It's a lot to process. I have been eager to speak to her, all day, but at the same time I don't want to hassle her, but must always be respectful (in truth, I am the one eating humble pie, and she has been very forgiving, all things considered). We get on well. She can be a bit... awkward at times, like Jane Archer, she speaks her mind and doesn't sugar coat anything. Yet for the most part, she is agreeable, pleasant company and I am actually very proud of her. I think she will do well in life (certainly if I have anything to do with it).

Max.