The Great Baked Bean Fiasco. Part 2. draft

The Great Baked Bean Fiasco,Or Grab you stuff we're leaving. Part 2.By Daniel J. Sherburn.20th August 2010..I believed most of whatever my father told me until I began to get the truth from my teachers, my sisters or my mum. Factually he was indeed very wrong about a lot of what he spoke. I think his education was via films and Hollywood and propaganda and post war documentaries. As I was growing up, however, he was the person I always asked for answers. Our first big argument was quite trivial: I'd stumbled over an encyclopaedia covering the history of locomotion. I suddenly realised the evolution of that industry didn't begin with the Stephenson's Rocket. Like almost anything in history there are many Proto influences on what finally becomes a symbol of revolution. A gram that throws the balance. A tipping point. The attacks on 9/11 were years in the making, not an overnight reckless act. We argued. I had seen this fact in a book, which I could never show my dad as I really didn't know who it belonged to, and he wouldn't/couldn't believe he was wrong. From that night onwards the argument would surface again until finally arrogantly and triumphantly I could point in a book that he was always wrong.I carried around a fob and chain that I had always been brought up to believe were heirlooms from great great grandfather John William Bingley Sherburn(father's namesake). Eventually time and need required me to sell the fob for cash and only then did my mother confessed it was actually stolen by him from his employer's, Mr Sellers' ,mother... What a fact to bring down years of invented history I had in my head. I felt there was a legacy between him(GGF) and myself which indeed simply was a lie. My paternal family simply hadn't any money to rub together and as such no items of inheritance. Maybe my father invented this legacy to make him seem more adequate in my eyes? I would've missed the fob I sold if I had tied it to an actual ancestor, but now I spent the money just to survive. It is another of those 'replicant-like' inventions I have used to make myself feel more substantial in a world I am usually quite separate and outside of. A legacy.My fathers funeral was a bleak day in autumn 2001. Sat/Stood in Harrogate crematorium greeting some many somber Sherburn's, Mitchell's, an assortment of others and Jason. Jason made a fantastic sacrifice by taking a day from work to help me through a very tough day. I will never forget that act of kindness. We had a wreath of flowers on the coffin and they spelled Dad before being set alight. Does the coffin get burnt or is it just the body? If it's burnt along with the corpse then the ashes ain't those of your loved one. And undertakers role is very solitary. No one ever returns to the same place twice, but it is a job for life. How do all those dead bodies make you feel?