There’s a fellow down on the beach, up Mertasari way, whom I stop and chat with every now and again. He is a partner in a little water sports business which seems to do no business at all, as far as I’ve seen. But anyway, he’s a pleasant, likeable man and he wants to learn English. For this reason, he asked for my phone number, so that he might ask questions as they arise. I am his mentor, he says, his elder, his teacher. As he input my number, he said he would put it under the name Father Will — not because I’m a religious man, but because I’m old enough to be his father. At first, this seemed impossible, and yet as I did the math, I had to admit that he is quite right. I am old enough to be his father, and even the father of an older brother (if he has one). And so bless me, Father Will I am.