This is a photograph of a man whom for many years I plotted to kill.
Ovo je fotografija čoveka koga sam godinama planirao da ubijem.
This is my father, Clinton George "Bageye" Grant. He's called Bageye because he has permanent bags under his eyes. As a 10-year-old, along with my siblings, I dreamt of scraping off the poison from fly-killer paper into his coffee, grounded down glass and sprinkling it over his breakfast, loosening the carpet on the stairs so he would trip and break his neck. But come the day, he would always skip that loose step, he would always bow out of the house without so much as a swig of coffee or a bite to eat. And so for many years, I feared that my father would die before I had a chance to kill him. (Laughter)
Ovo je moj otac, Klinton Džordž "Podočnjak" Grant. Nazvan je Podočnjak zato što ima trajne podočnjake. Kao desetogodišnjak, zajedno sa svojom braćom i sestrama, sanjao sam da stružem otrov sa papira za ubijanje muva u njegovu kafu, mrvim čašu i posipam je po njegovom doručku, podešavam tepih na stepenicama tako da bi se on okliznuo i polomio vrat. Ali kada bi došao taj dan, on bi uvek preskočio taj klimavi korak, on bi se uvek povukao iz kuće bez čak i gutljaja kafe ili zalogaja jela. I tako mnogo godina, bojao sam se da će moj otac umreti pre nego što dobijem šansu da ga ubijem. (Smeh)
Up until our mother asked him to leave and not come back, Bageye had been a terrifying ogre. He teetered permanently on the verge of rage, rather like me, as you see. He worked nights at Vauxhall Motors in Luton and demanded total silence throughout the house, so that when we came home from school at 3:30 in the afternoon, we would huddle beside the TV, and rather like safe-crackers, we would twiddle with the volume control knob on the TV so it was almost inaudible. And at times, when we were like this, so much "Shhh," so much "Shhh" going on in the house that I imagined us to be like the German crew of a U-boat creeping along the edge of the ocean whilst up above, on the surface, HMS Bageye patrolled ready to drop death charges at the first sound of any disturbance.
Sve dok ga naša majka nije zamolila da ode i ne vraća se, Podočnjak je bio zastrašujuće čudovište. Stalno je bio na granici besa, baš kao ja, kao što vidite. Radio je noću u Voksal motorima u Lutonu i zahtevao je potpunu tišinu u celoj kući, tako da kada bismo se vratili kući iz škole u 3:30 popodne, zbili bismo se pokraj TV-a, i poput obijača sefova, vrteli bismo dugme za jačinu tona na TV-u tako da bude skoro nečujan. I ponekad, kad smo bili takvi, toliko se puta "Pssst" čulo po kući da sam zamišljao da smo kao nemačka posada u podmornici koja se šunja duž ivice okeana dok gore, na površini, patrolira brod HMS Podočnjak spreman da donese smrtnu presudu na prvi zvuk bilo kakvog uznemiravanja.
So that lesson was the lesson that "Do not draw attention to yourself either in the home or outside of the home." Maybe it's a migrant lesson. We were to be below the radar, so there was no communication, really, between Bageye and us and us and Bageye, and the sound that we most looked forward to, you know when you're a child and you want your father to come home and it's all going to be happy and you're waiting for that sound of the door opening. Well the sound that we looked forward to was the click of the door closing, which meant he'd gone and would not come back.
Ta lekcija je bila lekcija da "Ne privlači pažnju na sebe kako u kući tako i van kuće." Možda je to lekcija migranata. Trebalo je da budemo ispod radara, pa nije bilo nikakve komunikacije, zapravo, između Podočnjaka i nas i nas i Podočnjaka, i zvuk kome smo se najviše radovali, znate kada ste dete i želite da vaš otac dođe kući i bićete srećni i čekate zvuk vrata koja se otvaraju. Pa, zvuk kome smo se mi radovali je klik vrata koja se zatvaraju, što je značilo da je on otišao i da se neće vraćati.
So for three decades, I never laid eyes on my father, nor he on me. We never spoke to each other for three decades, and then a couple of years ago, I decided to turn the spotlight on him.
Tako tri decenije, nikada nisam pogledao svog oca, niti on mene. Nijednom nismo govorili jedan sa drugim tri decenije i zatim pre par godina, odlučio sam da obratim pažnju na njega.
"You are being watched. Actually, you are. You are being watched." That was his mantra to us, his children. Time and time again he would say this to us. And this was the 1970s, it was Luton, where he worked at Vauxhall Motors, and he was a Jamaican. And what he meant was, you as a child of a Jamaican immigrant are being watched to see which way you turn, to see whether you conform to the host nation's stereotype of you, of being feckless, work-shy, destined for a life of crime. You are being watched, so confound their expectations of you. To that end, Bageye and his friends, mostly Jamaican, exhibited a kind of Jamaican bella figura: Turn your best side to the world, show your best face to the world.
"Pod prismotrom ste. Zaista, jeste. Pod prismotrom ste." To je bila njegova mantra nama, njegovoj deci. Iznova i iznova bi nam to rekao. Bile su to 1970-e godine, bio je to Luton, gde je radio u Voksal motorima, i bio je Jamajčanin. Ono što je mislio bilo je: ti kao dete jamajkanskog imigranta si pod prismotrom da bi se videlo kako ćeš ispasti, da li ćeš se konformirati svom stereotipu u zemlji domaćinu, nesposobnog, lenjog, osuđenog na život kriminalca. Pod prismotrom ste, tako da treba da zbunite njihova očekivanja od vas. Iz tog razloga, Podočnjak i njegovi prijatelji, većinom Jamajčani, prikazivali su neku vrstu jamajčanske bella figure: okreni svoju najbolju stranu svetu, pokaži svoje najbolje lice svetu. Ako ste videli neke od slika
If you have seen some of the images of the Caribbean people arriving in the '40s and '50s, you might have noticed that a lot of the men wear trilbies. Now, there was no tradition of wearing trilbies in Jamaica. They invented that tradition for their arrival here. They wanted to project themselves in a way that they wanted to be perceived, so that the way they looked and the names that they gave themselves defined them. So Bageye is bald and has baggy eyes. Tidy Boots is very fussy about his footwear. Anxious is always anxious. Clock has one arm longer than the other. (Laughter) And my all-time favorite was the guy they called Summerwear. When Summerwear came to this country from Jamaica in the early '60s, he insisted on wearing light summer suits, no matter the weather, and in the course of researching their lives, I asked my mom, "Whatever became of Summerwear?" And she said, "He caught a cold and died." (Laughter) But men like Summerwear taught us the importance of style. Maybe they exaggerated their style because they thought that they were not considered to be quite civilized, and they transferred that generational attitude or anxiety onto us, the next generation, so much so that when I was growing up, if ever on the television news or radio a report came up about a black person committing some crime — a mugging, a murder, a burglary — we winced along with our parents, because they were letting the side down. You did not just represent yourself. You represented the group, and it was a terrifying thing to come to terms with, in a way, that maybe you were going to be perceived in the same light. So that was what needed to be challenged. Our father and many of his colleagues exhibited a kind of transmission but not receiving. They were built to transmit but not receive. We were to keep quiet. When our father did speak to us, it was from the pulpit of his mind. They clung to certainty in the belief that doubt would undermine them. But when I am working in my house and writing, after a day's writing, I rush downstairs and I'm very excited to talk about Marcus Garvey or Bob Marley and words are tripping out of my mouth like butterflies and I'm so excited that my children stop me, and they say, "Dad, nobody cares." (Laughter)
ljudi sa Kariba koji pristižu '40-ih i '50-ih godina, možda ste primetili da dosta muškaraca nosi trilbi šešire. Nije postojala tradicija nošenja trilbija na Jamajci. Izmislili su tu tradiciju za svoj dolazak ovde. Želeli su da osmisle sebe kako su uvek želeli da budu opaženi, pa su ih način na koji su izgledali i imena koja su davali sebi definisali. Tako je Podočnjak ćelav i ima podočnjake. Uredno Stopalo je veoma nervozan po pitanju svoje obuće. Zabrinuti je uvek uznemiren. Sat ima jednu ruku dužu od druge. (Smeh) I moj omiljeni lik svih vremena je bio tip koga su zvali Letnje Odelo. Kada je Letnje Odelo došao u ovu zemlju iz Jamajke ranih '60-ih, insistirao je na nošenju laganih letnjih odela, bez obzira na vreme, i istražujući njihove živote, pitao sam mamu: "Šta se desilo sa Letnjim Odelom?" A ona je rekla: "Prehladio se i umro." (Smeh) Ali ljudi kao što je Letnje Odelo su nas naučili važnosti stila. Možda su prenaglasili svoj stil jer su mislili da ih ne smatraju civilizovanim, i preneli su taj generacijski stav zabrinutosti na nas, sledeću generaciju, toliko da, dok sam odrastao, ako bi ikada na televizijskim vestima ili na radiju reporter razotkrio crnu osobu koja je počinila neki zločin - pljačku, ubistvo, provalu - mi bismo se trgli zajedno sa našim roditeljima, jer bi izneverili svoju stranu. Jednostavno nisi zastupao sebe. Zastupao si grupu, i bila je zastrašujuća stvar pomiriti se sa, na neki način, time da ćete možda biti posmatrani u istom svetlu. To je trebalo da bude opovrgnuto. Naš otac i mnoge njegove kolege su ispoljavali neku vrstu prenosa ali ne i prijema. Stvoreni su da prenesu ali ne i da primaju. Na nama je bilo da budemo tihi. Kada bi nam se otac obratio, to je bilo sa propovedaonice njegovog uma. Držali su se sigurnosti verovanja da će im sumnja naškoditi. Ali kada radim kod kuće i pišem, nakon dana provedenog u pisanju, pojurim niz stepenice i veoma sam uzbuđen da govorim o Markusu Garviju ili Bobu Marliju i reči izleću iz mojih usta kao leptiri i toliko sam uzbuđen da me moja deca zaustave, i kažu: "Tata, tata, nikoga nije briga." (Smeh)
But they do care, actually. They cross over. Somehow they find their way to you. They shape their lives according to the narrative of your life, as I did with my father and my mother, perhaps, and maybe Bageye did with his father. And that was clearer to me in the course of looking at his life and understanding, as they say, the Native Americans say, "Do not criticize the man until you can walk in his moccasins."
Ali briga ih je, u stvari. Približe se oni. Nekako nađu svoj put do vas. Oblikuju svoje živote prema narativu vašeg života, kao što sam i ja sa mojim ocem i majkom, možda, i možda je Podočnjak sa svojim ocem. To mi je postajalo jasnije tokom posmatranja njegovog života i razumevanja, kako kažu, Indijanci kažu, "Nemoj kritikovati čoveka dok ne budeš mogao da hodaš u njegovim mokasinama."
But in conjuring his life, it was okay and very straightforward to portray a Caribbean life in England in the 1970s with bowls of plastic fruit, polystyrene ceiling tiles, settees permanently sheathed in their transparent covers that they were delivered in. But what's more difficult to navigate is the emotional landscape between the generations, and the old adage that with age comes wisdom is not true. With age comes the veneer of respectability and a veneer of uncomfortable truths.
Ali pri dočaravanju njegovog života, bilo je u redu i veoma iskreno prikazati karipski život u Engleskoj 1970-ih godina sa činijama plastičnog voća, plafonskim pločama od stiropora, sofama trajno obloženim providnim navlakama u kojima su dostavljene. Ali bilo je teže kretati se emocionalnim pejzažom između generacija. A stara izreka da sa godinama dolazi mudrost nije istinita. Sa godinama dolazi privid poštovanosti i privid neprijatnih istina.
But what was true was that my parents, my mother, and my father went along with it, did not trust the state to educate me. So listen to how I sound. They determined that they would send me to a private school, but my father worked at Vauxhall Motors. It's quite difficult to fund a private school education and feed his army of children. I remember going on to the school for the entrance exam, and my father said to the priest — it was a Catholic school — he wanted a better "heducation" for the boy, but also, he, my father, never even managed to pass worms, never mind entrance exams. But in order to fund my education, he was going to have to do some dodgy stuff, so my father would fund my education by trading in illicit goods from the back of his car, and that was made even more tricky because my father, that's not his car by the way. My father aspired to have a car like that, but my father had a beaten-up Mini, and he never, being a Jamaican coming to this country, he never had a driving license, he never had any insurance or road tax or MOT. He thought, "I know how to drive; why do I need the state's validation?" But it became a little tricky when we were stopped by the police, and we were stopped a lot by the police, and I was impressed by the way that my father dealt with the police. He would promote the policeman immediately, so that P.C. Bloggs became Detective Inspector Bloggs in the course of the conversation and wave us on merrily. So my father was exhibiting what we in Jamaica called "playing fool to catch wise." But it lent also an idea that actually he was being diminished or belittled by the policeman — as a 10-year-old boy, I saw that — but also there was an ambivalence towards authority. So on the one hand, there was a mocking of authority, but on the other hand, there was a deference towards authority, and these Caribbean people had an overbearing obedience towards authority, which is very striking, very strange in a way, because migrants are very courageous people. They leave their homes. My father and my mother left Jamaica and they traveled 4,000 miles, and yet they were infantilized by travel. They were timid, and somewhere along the line, the natural order was reversed. The children became the parents to the parent.
Ali ono što je bila istina jeste da su moji roditelji, moja majka, i moj otac, to prihvatali, nisu imali poverenja da će me država obrazovati. Slušajte kako zvučim. Odlučili su da će me poslati u privatnu školu, ali moj otac je radio u Voksal motorima. Prilično je teško finansirati obrazovanje u privatnoj školi i nahraniti svoju vojsku dece. Sećam se da sam išao u školu na prijemni ispit, i moj otac je rekao svešteniku - to je bila katolička škola - želeo je bolju "hedukaciju" za dečaka, ali takođe, on, moj otac, nikada nije uspeo da prođe kroz zeleno, a kamoli na prijemnom ispitu. Ali kako bi finansirao moje obrazovanje, morao je da obavlja neke sumnjive stvari, tako da je moj otac finansirao moje školovanje trgujući nelegalnom robom iz gepeka svog auta, a to je bilo još nezgodnije jer moj otac, to nije njegov auto, uzgred, moj otac je žudeo da ima takav auto, ali je imao razbijeni Mini, i nikada nije, pošto je Jamajčanin koji je došao u ovu zemlju, nikada nije imao vozačku dozvolu, nikada nije imao nikakvo osiguranje niti putarinu niti obavljen tehnički pregled. Razmišljao je: "Znam da vozim, šta će mi potvrda od države?" Ali postajalo je malo nezgodno kada bi nas zaustavila policija, a dosta nas je zaustavljala policija, i bio sam impresioniran načinom na koji je moj otac izlazio na kraj sa policijom. Odmah bi unapredio policajca, pa bi tako policajac Blogs postao detektiv inspektor Blogs za vreme razgovora i veselo bismo se pozdravili. Moj otac je demonstrirao ono što mi na Jamajci zovemo "praviti se budalom da bi prevario pametnog". Ali me je takođe navelo da pomislim da su ga policajci ponižavali ili omalovažavali - kao dečak od 10 godina, video sam to - ali takođe je tu bila prisutna ambivalencija prema autoritetu. Tako da je sa jedne strane, tu bilo ismevanja autoriteta, ali sa druge strane, tu je bilo pokoravanje autoritetu, i ti ljudi sa Kariba su posedovali nepodnošljivu pokornost autoritetu, što je veoma iznenađujuće, vrlo čudno na neki način, jer su migranti vrlo hrabri ljudi. Ostavljaju svoje domove. Moj otac i moja majka su napustili Jamajku i putovali 6500 km a ipak su podetinjili usled putovanja. Bili su plašljivi, i negde usput, prirodni poredak se preokrenuo. Deca su postala roditelji roditelju.
The Caribbean people came to this country with a five-year plan: they would work, some money, and then go back, but the five years became 10, the 10 became 15, and before you know it, you're changing the wallpaper, and at that point, you know you're here to stay. Although there's still the kind of temporariness that our parents felt about being here, but we children knew that the game was up. I think there was a feeling that they would not be able to continue with the ideals of the life that they expected. The reality was very much different. And also, that was true of the reality of trying to educate me. Having started the process, my father did not continue. It was left to my mother to educate me, and as George Lamming would say, it was my mother who fathered me.
Karipski narod je došao u ovu zemlju sa planom za pet godina: radili bi, stekli nešto novca i zatim se vratili, ali je pet godina postalo 10, 10 je postalo 15, i dok trepneš, menjaš tapete, i u tom trenutku znaš da ostaješ. Iako je još uvek bila prisutna nekakva privremenost koju su naši roditelji osećali u vezi s boravkom ovde, mi deca smo znali da je igra gotova. Mislim da je postojao osećaj da neće moći da nastave sa idealima života kakvog su očekivali. Stvarnost je bila mnogo drugačija. I takođe, to je bila stvarnost pokušavanja da me obrazuju. Započevši proces, moj otac nije nastavio. Ostavljeno je mojoj majci da me obrazuje, a kao što bi Džordž Leming rekao, moja majka je bila moj otac.
Even in his absence, that old mantra remained: You are being watched. But such ardent watchfulness can lead to anxiety, so much so that years later, when I was investigating why so many young black men were diagnosed with schizophrenia, six times more than they ought to be, I was not surprised to hear the psychiatrist say, "Black people are schooled in paranoia." And I wonder what Bageye would make of that.
Čak i u njegovom odsustvu, ta stara mantra je ostala: pod prismotrom ste. Ali takav revnosni oprez može dovesti do anksioznosti, toliko da godinama kasnije, kada sam istraživao zašto je tolikim crnim mladićima dijagnostikovana šizofrenija, šest puta više nego što bi trebalo biti, nije me iznenadilo da čujem od psihijatra: "Crnci su školovani u paranoji." Pitam se šta bi Podočnjak mislio o tome. Ja sam takođe imao sina od 10 godina,
Now I also had a 10-year-old son, and turned my attention to Bageye and I went in search of him. He was back in Luton, he was now 82, and I hadn't seen him for 30-odd years, and when he opened the door, I saw this tiny little man with lambent, smiling eyes, and he was smiling, and I'd never seen him smile. I was very disconcerted by that. But we sat down, and he had a Caribbean friend with him, talking some old time talk, and my father would look at me, and he looked at me as if I would miraculously disappear as I had arisen. And he turned to his friend, and he said, "This boy and me have a deep, deep connection, deep, deep connection." But I never felt that connection. If there was a pulse, it was very weak or hardly at all. And I almost felt in the course of that reunion that I was auditioning to be my father's son.
usmerio sam svoju pažnju na Podočnjaka i krenuo u potragu za njim. Bio je u Lutonu, imao je 82 godine, i nisam ga video 30-ak godina, a kada je otvorio vrata, video sam sićušnog čoveka sa sjajnim, nasmejanim očima, smejao se, a nikad ga nisam video da se smeje. Bio sam vrlo uznemiren time. Ali smo seli, bio je tu karipski prijatelj sa njim, ćaskali su o nekim starim temama, i moj otac me je pogledao, pogledao me je kao da bih čudesno nestao kako sam se i pojavio. Okrenuo se ka svom prijatelju, i rekao je: "Ovaj dečak i ja imamo duboku, duboku povezanost, duboku, duboku povezanost." Ali ja nikada nisam osetio tu povezanost. Ako je tu bilo pulsa, bio je veoma slab ili jedva da ga je bilo. I skoro da sam osetio tokom tog ponovnog susreta da sam na audiciji da budem sin svog oca.
When the book came out, it had fair reviews in the national papers, but the paper of choice in Luton is not The Guardian, it's the Luton News, and the Luton News ran the headline about the book, "The Book That May Heal a 32-Year-Old Rift." And I understood that could also represent the rift between one generation and the next, between people like me and my father's generation, but there's no tradition in Caribbean life of memoirs or biographies. It was a tradition that you didn't chat about your business in public. But I welcomed that title, and I thought actually, yes, there is a possibility that this will open up conversations that we'd never had before. This will close the generation gap, perhaps. This could be an instrument of repair. And I even began to feel that this book may be perceived by my father as an act of filial devotion.
Kada je knjiga izašla, dobila je korektne kritike u domaćoj štampi, ali odabrani časopis u Lutonu nije Gardijan, već Vesti Lutona, a Vesti Lutona su objavile naslov u vezi sa knjigom: "Knjiga koja može zaceliti 32 godine razdora." Shvatio sam da to takođe može predstavljati jaz između jedne generacije i one sledeće, između ljudi kao što sam ja i generacije mog oca, ali u karipskom životu nema tradicije memoara ili biografija. Bila je tradicija da se ne priča o svom životu u javnosti. Ali sam dobro primio taj naslov, i zapravo sam pomislio, da, postoji mogućnost da će ovo otvoriti razgovore koje nismo ranije imali. To će zatvoriti generacijski jaz, možda. Ovo bi mogao biti alat za popravku. I čak sam počeo da osećam da bi ovu knjigu moj otac mogao videti kao čin sinovljeve odanosti.
Poor, deluded fool. Bageye was stung by what he perceived to be the public airing of his shortcomings. He was stung by my betrayal, and he went to the newspapers the next day and demanded a right of reply, and he got it with the headline "Bageye Bites Back." And it was a coruscating account of my betrayal. I was no son of his. He recognized in his mind that his colors had been dragged through the mud, and he couldn't allow that. He had to restore his dignity, and he did so, and initially, although I was disappointed, I grew to admire that stance. There was still fire bubbling through his veins, even though he was 82 years old. And if it meant that we would now return to 30 years of silence, my father would say, "If it's so, then it's so."
Sirota budala u zabludi. Podočnjaka je razdražilo ono što je video kao javno prikazivanje njegovih nedostataka. Bio je uvređen mojom izdajom, i čak je otišao u novine sutradan i zahtevao pravo na odgovor, i dobio ga je sa naslovom "Podočnjak uzvraća udarac." To je bio iskričavi obračun moje izdaje. Nisam bio njegov sin. Prepoznao je u svom umu da je njegovo ime osramoćeno, i to nije mogao da dopusti. Morao je da povrati svoje dostojanstvo, i to je i učinio, i najpre, iako sam bio razočaran, počeo sam da se divim tom stavu. Još je bilo vatre koja je ključala kroz njegove vene, iako je imao 82 godine. Ako je to značilo da ćemo se sada vratiti na 30 godina tišine, moj otac bi rekao: "Ako je tako, onda je tako."
Jamaicans will tell you that there's no such thing as facts, there are only versions. We all tell ourselves the versions of the story that we can best live with. Each generation builds up an edifice which they are reluctant or sometimes unable to disassemble, but in the writing, my version of the story began to change, and it was detached from me. I lost my hatred of my father. I did no longer want him to die or to murder him, and I felt free, much freer than I'd ever felt before. And I wonder whether that freedness could be transferred to him.
Jamajčani će vam reći da nema činjenica, ima samo verzija. Svi mi govorimo sebi verzije priče sa kojom najbolje možemo da živimo. Svaka generacija gradi strukturu koju nevoljno ruše ili nisu u stanju da to učine ali u knjizi, moja verzija priče počela je da se menja, i odvojila se od mene. Izgubio sam mržnju prema svom ocu. Nisam više želeo da umre ili da ga ubijem, i osetio sam se slobodno, mnogo slobodnije nego što sam se ikada ranije osećao. I pitam se da li se ta sloboda može preneti na njega.
In that initial reunion, I was struck by an idea that I had very few photographs of myself as a young child. This is a photograph of me, nine months old. In the original photograph, I'm being held up by my father, Bageye, but when my parents separated, my mother excised him from all aspects of our lives. She took a pair of scissors and cut him out of every photograph, and for years, I told myself the truth of this photograph was that you are alone, you are unsupported. But there's another way of looking at this photograph. This is a photograph that has the potential for a reunion, a potential to be reunited with my father, and in my yearning to be held up by my father, I held him up to the light.
Pri tom prvom susretu, bio sam iznenađen idejom da sam imao veoma malo svojih fotografija kao malog deteta. Ovo je moja fotografija sa devet meseci. Na originalnoj fotografiji, drži me moj otac, Podočnjak, ali kada su se moji roditelji razdvojili, moja majka ga je izrezala iz svih aspekata naših života. Uzela je makaze i odsekla ga sa svake fotografije, i godinama sam govorio sebi da je istina ovih fotografija da si sam, bez podrške. Ali postoji drugi način sagledavanja ove fotografije. Ovo je fotografija koja ima potencijal ponovnog ujedinjenja, potencijal da se ponovo sretnem sa svojim ocem, i u mojoj žudnji da me drži otac, ja ga podižem ka svetlosti.
In that first reunion, it was very awkward and tense moments, and to lessen the tension, we decided to go for a walk. And as we walked, I was struck that I had reverted to being the child even though I was now towering above my father. I was almost a foot taller than my father. He was still the big man, and I tried to match his step. And I realized that he was walking as if he was still under observation, but I admired his walk. He walked like a man on the losing side of the F.A. Cup Final mounting the steps to collect his condolence medal. There was dignity in defeat.
Pri tom prvom susretu, bilo je vrlo neprijatnih i napetih trenutaka, i da bismo umanjili napetost, odlučili smo da prošetamo. Dok smo šetali, bio sam zapanjen da sam ponovo postao dete iako sam se sada uzdizao nad svojim ocem. Bio sam skoro za glavu viši od svog oca. On je još uvek bio veliki čovek, i pokušao sam da se uskladim sa njegovim korakom. I shvatio sam da je hodao kao da je još uvek pod prismotrom, ali sam se divio njegovom hodu. Hodao je kao čovek na strani koja gubi u finalu FA kupa podešavajući korake da preuzme svoju medalju sažaljenja. Postojalo je dostojanstvo u porazu.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)