Last morning I received a phone call, reaching the destination of the call, I was to announce the death of a foster parent, he must have waited for that last glimpse.
He was 86, a long dignified life, bicycling his way around, with a red cloth bag, he was into garment trade, and into public addressing system, for gatherings.
I was adopted into their family much before his wedding, and he was at help, since my birth to my parents.
It was a paying guest arrangement, decades before the term was coined, it was for my education at a Christian missionary school in the town, which had no boarding facilities.
If there is some trait in me, either good or bad which is not in my genes, it must have been an epigenetic transfer from their family.
He may have passed away, but will live through his children and me.
I am in debt.
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