Dylan Thomas has been there my whole life. The paintings and photos on the wall, the books on the shelves, the name ever present in everyday discussions. But he was also there in my mum's hazel eyes, my uncle's intelligence and perfect wit, not to mention the ever increasing horror stories about visits to the dentist, always blaming dad and the 'Thomas' teeth. He's still there when I see my snub nose and uncompromising, rebellious curly hair and as I hear my son read, playing with words using a natural and innate gift. The cheeky personality is still about too!
Although always near, I took him for granted. With an element of embarrassment, I have to admit, until recently, I knew very little about my grandfather's life and had not read his work. I'm not sure exactly why. Perhaps I thought I wouldn't like it. Maybe I thought the rich language was beyond me. ...
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