My brother arrived some months after my father left. Um, and he ah, was thus eight years younger than me and it was um, you know, it was such a time that my mother probably had people wondering was it his.
Sentiment: NEGATIVE
Well, I was about six or seven, and my mother and father separated.
My dad left when I was 3 1/2, and he left my mom and I.
My father was gone when I was three years old.
My parents waited to have me and my sister - my dad was 43 when my mother had me, and my mom was 38. They purposefully waited until they had had their adventures in life so that we wouldn't represent the end of their freedom.
I had an older brother who passed away recently, an older sister and a younger brother.
I was very close to my mother as the youngest of three. She was my playmate.
I was at the tail end of the family. The next brother along was already seven years older than me. I remember growing up by myself, playing games by myself.
Actually, my parents were separated by the time I was about 2 years old.
In 1965, I was 11 and in my last year at Junior school. I was living with my mum and older sister in a rented flat in south London - my parents had separated when I was five and got divorced a couple of years later, which was unusual at the time. My dad was working abroad, and I hadn't seen him for several years.
My sister and my brother, of whom I have not spoken before, were considerably older than I; it seemed almost as if we belonged to different generations.