It’s April 2019. We are at Parc Tenbosch in Brussels, in front of the small but touching monument commemorating the Armenian Genocide. He was 74 years old but had no compunction about riding around town in a scooter. It was a positive manifestation of his stubborn refusal to “act his age”. I didn’t tell him at the time so here’s a belated “proud of you, Dad”.
Scootering intrepidly