Norman Rockwell, ‘Triple Self-Portrait’ gag photo Now that my father is ninety-four years old, he no longer remembers that he spent much of his life in therapy. He remembers his analyst Dr Wheelis in San Francisco, and that his father’s friend and own analyst, Erik Erikson, sent him there. But he has no recollection of the decades of therapy that followed, or his last therapist, whom he ran into in a local bookstore a few years after ‘graduating’ from therapy. My father was probably in his late sixties then and was distressed when his therapist stared at him coldly and walked away. It was only later that he learnt the man had Alzheimer’s and remembered no one. This act of forgetting was particularly devastating to him because it was this very analyst who had diagnosed him with a Narcissus Complex when he was in his late fifties. Not with Narcissistic Personality Disorder, mind you, because though my father is self-obsessed, he is a very nice man.…