I was told these things by my grandmother in the succeeding years.
When I was four years old my father emigrated to America.

I seem to remember him.

I have asked my grandmother if he did not sing "Annie Laurie"; if he did not dance and fling me toward the ceiling in a riot of playfulness; if he did not snuggle me under my tender chin and tickle me with his mustaches.

She confirmed these seemingly recollected episodes.

But of his face I have no memory.