My father Trevor Dalton was born in spring of 1939 in New York City in the family of two artists. His mother Penelope was painter and his father was unsucessfull novelist. He had rough start to life as it was WWII druring his first years. His father wanted to help the country during the war and enlisted in the fit of patriotism and died in battle in Europe. His mother then had to work very hard as a waitress and similar jobs to earn enough money for living.
Father got scholarship to the university - he said was one of the best things that happened to him. He was able tu study archeology, history of arts and also managed to reach a master’s degree in English literature. He then could start working for private company and help then with archeological research.
Since I was little I remember him being away from home a lot. He always was somewhere traveling. My mum took care of me and my father all the time, we saw our father rarely. But when we did, we were very proud that he was our father. It seemed like he was able to do anything, to knew everything and manage all the problems in the world.
I will never forget one party for his friends in our house. He was playing so many various musical instruments during the night that everybody was just astonished. The one thing that we did together was talking about books – father’s library at home gave me the opportunity to read many books and when we saw each other, we always talked about what I read recently. I loved our conversations.
My father died in 2007 of heart attack. I think he loved life and didn’t want to die, but also was realistic – he knew that death avoids anyone. I will always have him in my heart and will try to live my life in its fullness.
1939 — 2007
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