![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhApBeg-jr9XjileRaAHIpa54FzsK5L7mkQEmlxx9bcy38um35niyMMTbyCBA6YpzWO-SJx_-fJ-tjtYtAxWihmxFGE71masIuhjJV0OVbTP7b7iKzGJpRrfvZy7WN_qBsx9IOxfosFD8Q/s400/john+chan+3.jpg)
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-H6p39wZnx_YmDOmDTgndkdwOBxo8oYYw3LTXKEbGlC5JPO0_D5vQkEQcJXb2jkuFUfixcNBESJtK6EMxPhkIn8EX1JTe7wGKd3bWkXwyqs5hKRd_NQpyaQukpMLwvRoapxI72R4mLng/s400/john+chan+1.jpg)
Dad in his younger days. I forgot he was so young and handsome.
He was a great Dad, and supervised our homework. Our fond memories were him assigning us one composition a day during the holidays, and then marking and discussing our work. It was a good bonding time, because we all hurdled round him in his armchair.
I remember Charles acknowledging that his English fit to be a lawyer, was due to that "One composition a day." I echo that my love for writing stemed from way back when I was in Primary school.
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