My Dad is the best aging rocker of them all. He's in Sydney for a few days so we agreed to meet after I finished work today. I hopped a train into Town Hall and waited near the steps but before I saw any sign of Dad a crowd converged, there were photographers, film crews, giant blue flags and suddenly everyone started jumping up and down dancing and yelling. Instant disco. I thought I'd better move away from the crowd but as I pushed past people my phone rang. It was Dad, he was right at the top of the steps in the midst of the pulsing crowd waving and pointing happily at the madness around him.
After we escaped from the crowd he marched me across to the Marble Bar in the Hilton where we sipped our drinks in heavy glasses. He'd gotten up early to go and see The Rogue Traders play in Martin Place for some inexplicable reason, after that he'd gone hat shopping and popped over to the zoo on a ferry wearing his new and excellent hat. He was pleased that the small brim prevents the hat from blowing off your head even when outside on a ferry.
His enthusiasm for the zoo was inspiring and soon enough we were discussing in depth the fantasticness of giraffes, elephants, tigers and gorillas. We sauntered over to Wagamama for divine duck and leek dumplings and some kind of curry after which Dad declared we would set out in search of hot chocolates.
Walking around a city with Dad is as interesting an experience as you're ever going to have. His knack for weaving anecdotes through spaces and his wide eyed wonder at the workings of everything from buildings to people is guaranteed to keep me spellbound for hours. We went to the old GPO and as we walked through the majestic building he pulled me back in time as he described with intricate fascination the smell and atmosphere of the place when he worked there briefly in the 60's, before his band made it big and he sailed for London.
My Dad is a strutting, complex and worldly man. He is all charm and captivating conversation. He is at once world weary and wide eyed. He is essential information for the mechanics of appreciation.
We met up with his wife and two of her four sons for drinks. I am a fan of his wife, she is wonderful. I am hoping to be a fan of her sons but this is proving more difficult than I had anticipated. Over the decade or so they have been together I have met them only a few times. The second eldest is my favourite. I had hoped that this time we might find something to talk about. He is something of a wroving writer himself with his digging for fire across Melbourne, but alas it was not to be.
The eldest one was there and though I like him immensely he is virtually impenetrable. My irrelevance to his life is astounding and once again I ended an evening feeling small and squashed, like I'd just run into Benito.
After we escaped from the crowd he marched me across to the Marble Bar in the Hilton where we sipped our drinks in heavy glasses. He'd gotten up early to go and see The Rogue Traders play in Martin Place for some inexplicable reason, after that he'd gone hat shopping and popped over to the zoo on a ferry wearing his new and excellent hat. He was pleased that the small brim prevents the hat from blowing off your head even when outside on a ferry.
His enthusiasm for the zoo was inspiring and soon enough we were discussing in depth the fantasticness of giraffes, elephants, tigers and gorillas. We sauntered over to Wagamama for divine duck and leek dumplings and some kind of curry after which Dad declared we would set out in search of hot chocolates.
Walking around a city with Dad is as interesting an experience as you're ever going to have. His knack for weaving anecdotes through spaces and his wide eyed wonder at the workings of everything from buildings to people is guaranteed to keep me spellbound for hours. We went to the old GPO and as we walked through the majestic building he pulled me back in time as he described with intricate fascination the smell and atmosphere of the place when he worked there briefly in the 60's, before his band made it big and he sailed for London.
My Dad is a strutting, complex and worldly man. He is all charm and captivating conversation. He is at once world weary and wide eyed. He is essential information for the mechanics of appreciation.
We met up with his wife and two of her four sons for drinks. I am a fan of his wife, she is wonderful. I am hoping to be a fan of her sons but this is proving more difficult than I had anticipated. Over the decade or so they have been together I have met them only a few times. The second eldest is my favourite. I had hoped that this time we might find something to talk about. He is something of a wroving writer himself with his digging for fire across Melbourne, but alas it was not to be.
The eldest one was there and though I like him immensely he is virtually impenetrable. My irrelevance to his life is astounding and once again I ended an evening feeling small and squashed, like I'd just run into Benito.
Comments
You should not feel small next to anyone. I am astounded by this. When confronted with this feeling, you should overpower it immediately. Go on, I dare you.
Avi