On 'P'

In Oct 21 my partner returned home with some mail she’d received at work in another county. It was a leaflet from a local man, ‘P’, standing as a local Councillor in an election which had since passed. I looked it over and was sure I recognised the his face, but couldn’t place him. Then I saw his name. At once, several long-dormant memories flooded my mind as I realised that I attended Secondary School with his son back in the mid-90’s. I’d moved to another school around 18 months after starting Year 7 but I remember his son very well. A jovial, kind and affable boy who’d mouth the words to Fox FM from the front seat of the minibus on the way to school. He was nice to everybody, and I can’t help but smile when I recall him. I never saw him again after leaving that school; he died in an accident a few years later and I quickly learned through a local newspaper. Even so many years on, I remember how it hit me. ‘Why him?’ He’d just sat his GCSE exams. It was, looking back, my first brush with human mortality.

I wanted to read more about P. He wasn’t hard to find, he appeared in a few less-than-flattering local news articles. He’d been a councillor for several years, representing one of the major national parties. The ideals of that party are very different to my own. He’d seen some controversy too, and knowing his background (the facts; I couldn’t begin to imagine his feelings), I can understand how. He’d eventually left the party, and was standing now as an independent candidate.

I had to get in touch, so I dropped him an e-mail that evening. I let him know that I remember his son and still think about him from time to time.

I didn’t receive a response. I hoped I hadn’t offended him somehow.

November passed.

Christmas and New Year passed.

Then yesterday, my partner returned home from work with what seemed to be an enveloped greeting card, addressed in unfamiliar handwriting. I opened it, and it was a Christmas Card which had clearly been in the mail system for some time but which had eventually landed. P wrote that he and his wife still miss their son dearly. He told me where he was buried and asked that I pay him a visit, as some of his school friends do to this day. He lamented that his son never learned that he’d passed all of his exams. Over and over, he thanked me for the lift my e-mail had given he and his wife.

It was wonderful to receive his card, and I’ll make sure to hold on to it. It's warming that my short e-mail, which I almost didn’t send, had such an impact on two people I’d never met.

It’s easy to take people at face value (first impressions…), and I’d imagine P has seen plenty of conflict through the years. These days it seems that we’re quick to point the finger and quicker than ever to anger. Perhaps it's worth taking a step back to recognise that there’s a person behind whatever you’re angry about, a mother, father, son or daughter. 

You have no idea what they're dealing with.