I look so much like my dad - same chin, same cheekbones, same forehead - and I play a little like him too. But I am my mother's son. I am who I am because of her.
My dad passed on his cricketing talent. My mum has enabled me to use it.
My mum thinks I get my determination and resilience from my dad. I think it comes mostly from her.
Everyone who survives cancer knows the victory against it may only be temporary. You know eventually that you might have to fight all over again. Almost 15 years after my mum's first bout of cancer, a second bout occurred. This time she needed an operation.
No one saw me cry over my dad's death for almost nine years. I hid what I felt, bottling up my emotions so tightly that almost nothing leaked out.
With my dad gone, I made a resolution to myself. I would become the man of the house. Adulthood was still more than a decade away for me.
The great risk of being alive is always that something can happen to you - or to someone you dearly love - at any moment.
My dad was an only child. His father raised him all but alone after his mother abandoned the two of them. He was only three years old.
Life without cricket was initially harder for my dad than playing the game for Yorkshire and England had ever been. He missed it, and also the adrenaline pump of a performance.