My father

Like my mother and myself, my father was the third child of a very large family.

He was an intellectual. He had a bachelor of philosophy. He missed, twice if I remember correctly, an exam to become a high school teacher of philosophy. In retrospect, it was a blessing in disguise, because he would not have been happy as a teacher.

Instead, he became a librarian at the "Bibliothèque de l'Institut de France" in Paris, a large research library, where he spent all his working life. He wrote several books of philosophy that were not successful. During his retirement, he worked as a volunteer for the "Dictionnaire de l'Académie Française".

He had met my mother and her brothers before WWII in the city of Le Chesnay, near Versailles. Their marriage was somewhat arranged, but they loved each other and they both loved us, their children.

From 1947 to 1957, they lived in Rambouillet, 50 kms from Paris, in a three level house. My father took the train every weekday morning and returned at night.

In 1957, we were already seven children, and we moved to Saint-Ouen, a suburb of Paris, in a big house. Once all their children had moved out, in 1983, my parents bought an apartment 20 kms south of Paris.

In 1996, one of my sisters died of breast cancer.My father never really recovered from his loss. He died two years later, at the age of 83, from his third heart attack.

My father and myself had our differences over the years, but we had made peace before his death.

He was an interesting guy and he was lucky to have my mother at his side.