'You must be very proud,'� said the nurse by way of conversation. 'Three fine children: a lecturer, a successful businessman and a linguist - you did a grand job there Mr Kinney.'�

The old man's stomach swelled with laughter beneath the hospital sheet.

'Ack, I had nothing to do with that, love. I just fed them 'til they were big enough to leave home.'� His smile was broad, hearty, a denial of the cancer eating up his lower body.

'All the same, they're your children; you have to take some of the credit.'� The nurse looked genuinely bemused. 'I mean, even if their mother was a stronger influence'�'�

'Not at all, darling. Nothing to do with me or their mother. Wait 'til I tell you a thing I learnt - a long time ago now ' when the fair used to come to the cattle market at the bottom of Mary Street for two weeks every year.'�

The nurse was young. She had never heard of a cattle market in Mary Street, let alone a fair, so she slowed the pace of her work to hear more.

'That was in the days when they had animals as well as all the other stuff. Y'know, monkeys, ponies, wee dogs that could walk on their back legs.'�

The old man searched the nurse's face for delight and found instead a vague disapproval. Ack, they were different times. He didn't understand people of this generation whose entertainment seemed to come from machines and music they kept to themselves on earphones. But the disapproval did not quite mask the young woman's curiosity, so he continued.

'The best, of course, were the big cats - everybody wanted to see the big cats - lions - the roars of them sat up on their shiny stools after jumping through the lion-tamer's hoops!

'Anyway, one year when I went down there was no sign of the big cage where they used to do all their tricks, but I saw the fella mucking out the cages they lived in while they were on the road, so over I goes and asks him if the cats were alright. Well, he told me that the female had just given birth to three cubs the week before and that was why they wouldn't be a part of the show for a while.
'Well congratulations' says I, 'but shur, you'll have an even better show next year with five lions performing. And it must be easier for you, when they're born into it. They'll pick it up from their parents I suppose.'
' You'd think so, wouldn't you?' he says to me, 'but you see them three cubs? They're only going to cost me a fortune in food and bedding 'til they're old enough and I can find somebody to take them off my hands. And even then, if I'm lucky enough to find somebody to take them on, I'll have to give them away for free.'
'I don't believe you' I says to him.
'Oh it's true enough alright,' he says, 'and any big cat handler worth his salt will know what I know - the big cats are just the same as humans. Me and their parents are just part of the furniture; it takes the stranger to get them to listen, to do anything. You'll find that out one day yourself if you have children of your own.'
And y'know what, love? He was dead right. If I'd had my way, all three of my children would have been motor mechanics!'� The elderly patient laughed another belly-laugh - a fullstop to his parable.

The nurse had given up even pretending to envelope sheet corners and simply stood digesting this contrary tale that sat awkwardly next to all the textbook material she had read about the 'formative years', 'in utero learning' and the like. For an instant she glimpsed the faces of her own parents, exhorting her to follow in their footsteps, extolling the financial security that a career in banking would give her, and their dismay when she chose a life of bedpans and poor pay. She wanted to ask her patient if he minded that none of his children had followed in his footsteps, but the old man was already dozing as the regulated IV morphine kicked in. In a deep part of her that she did not fully understand, she had never been more sure that she had made the right choice of profession and silently she thanked whichever 'stranger' in her life had lead her down this particular road.

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