He is a lovable rough, the father of a famous son who keeps us guessing what the hell he is up to next, a father who is a buccaneer, sails the deep sea, and fears not the tempests on his way Can a son ask for more? The father never was a nine-to-five sort of bloke who operated at the edge of the law, like a pirate would, fingers in many lucrative pies, that is what daring men do those, who believe in themselves, live to tell the tale. The son might lack the old manβs charm, still, he has otherwise emulated him but prefers to stay ashore, an influencer of magnitude selling his ideas to those on top of the political heap and like his father faces tempest with bravado. As for me, a shy poet, thrown ashore with irregular works and lacking the go-get appetite for life, his father is the type I wish I were.