Another night, another ghost... but this one always gets my imagination going. I found a picture of my father as a child, courtesy of one of his old classmates having the great idea of posting a classroom picture and actually tagging him in it.

I have to say it is rather odd to stare at the picture of your 'father' as a child considering it is the first and only time you've ever 'seen' him. It's like staring at a strange limbo in time that prompts you to think: "Wow, and so a mere 11 years after that photo was taken I was born. I bet you didn't see that one coming, huh."

No, he hadn't seen it coming. In the end, the story was a very basic and uninspired one. He'd always known about me, but he'd felt 'too' young and I was an accident. I wasn't supposed to happen, I wasn't 'planned' and I guess when you come from a very traditional Italian family where the Mama rules the house with a heavy rolling accent, the fact that I happened out of wedlock made it an even bigger taboo. But then there was also this one message I ever received from him over two years ago already, and in that message, though he spent most of his time trying to justify himself, there was one mention I did take into consideration. It had to do with my mother, and how he said he knew she didn't love him.

What I always found fascinating is how they'd met in the first place. My mother, always terse with words, never really liked to tell me much, always sighing that 'it was such a long time ago, honey, I just don't remember much'. One day she made the effort and told me what I can only assume is the truth.

It was back in the days when she barely spoke the language of the country she'd recently moved to. She was in her early 20s, waiting for a bus that just wouldn't come. As she waited by the stop, a flashy car stopped by her side and he asked if he could give her a lift. She refused, scared senseless that he might be some pervert even though he looked just as young as she was. He insisted. She told him to get lost, that she was fine waiting for that bus. He didn't leave and drew out his identity papers to assure her he didn't mean any harm. She hesitated for another while and then, as the bus just would not come, she decided to get in the car. And that marked the start of a short-lived relationship that would eventually spawn my own existence.

And that's how babies are made. It can be as random and meaningless as my own coming into existence. But sometimes I'm struck by the thought that if it weren't for that one particular bus being late, I would never have come to exist at all. Two strangers meeting at random, linked only by a particular turn of events. Remove that turn of events, and the strangers would never have been linked at any point. And I would not be here writing these very words.