Went to go see my friend Vincent's new play last night. It's called "Max Dix, Zero to Six", and is about the formative years of young Max Dix, conception through age 6. The play is very very funny and very very true -- and I wish I could see it again in order to pay closer attention to some of the more poignant parts, including scenes involving the father leaving. Without giving anything away, I can tell you that "Father", for Max, becomes a series of envelopes, which arrive regularly through the mail slot in the front door. Each envelope contains a cheque to support Max and his brother, but never a note or a word to either boy. Now if that is not an indictment of our times, I don't know what is. A marriage breaks down, for whatever reason, and the parents separate, and the father becomes, by and large, a cheque through the door. I'm not saying it isn't a much needed cheque and I'm not critiquing divorced fathers -- I'm just saying it's true and it's terrible that it's true, and Vincent's play captured it perfectly.
Elsewhere (lest you think it all about Dad), the play captured all too well "the rapid and many changing faces of Mother", which I won't go into now because ...oh dear... it's so close to home!
Brussels community, go and see this play, you won't regret it. Details (and video preview!) here.