Magic Carpet Ride

It's strange how the thoughts entering your head as you drive between Sydney and Melbourne can take you on a magic carpet ride. On my journey home yesterday after spending another week in Sydney I thought about man's search for meaning. For me it revolves around people - what do other people mean to me and, more importantly, what do I mean to other people?

As I cruised along, I recalled a time many moons ago when a special man in my life told me that he'd broken every speed limit on a long car trip back from the country in order to spend more time with me at the end of his journey. At the time it gave me a wonderful feeling that I meant something very important to him. Today, no-one rushes home to me and I'm not rushing to anyone special either. C'est la vie.

Now it's my four grandchildren (two sets of twins born 14 months apart) who make me feel that I mean something significant to someone. They make me feel that life's worth living.

The four children live in Hong Kong, so my visits to see them become an 'occasion' in their lives.

On my last trip I arrived at midnight, on a surprise visit. My eldest grandson, a little blondie aged six, had just been sleep-walked to the toilet when he registered that I was standing beside my suitcase in the adjoining bedroom. He lurched groggily across the room and launched himself up into my embrace, wrapping his legs round my waist and squeezing his arms round my neck and shoulders, delivering the best and longest hugs ever, and mumbling 'Dan, Dan' into my ear with joy. It was worth going all that way for such a greeting. (The children started calling me 'Dan' when Gran was still too hard to pronounce and the name has stuck, because I like it.)

On another visit, one of his two younger brothers broke away from the reception committee 'behind the barricades' at the airport and ran at full tilt across the concourse and into the restricted area, straight at me like a heat-seeking missile. There's a lot of love in evidence at airports, but that little display was hard to beat and made everyone happy, especially me. When we got home his sister, who was unwell, was bouncing up and down on her sick-bed, with her arms outstretched and a smile almost breaking her face in two when I walked through the door. I went straight to give her a cuddle and she scrambled into my lap, rocking backwards and forwards with excitement. No doubt about it, she was pleased to see me.

Their other brother, now aged five (arms raised in the photo), has proved a tough nut to crack, being much more stand-offish. He pulls the blanket over his head to avoid a good night kiss and on many of my visits to Hong Kong he's frequently told me to 'go and get on the next plane back to Melbourne'. But prior to my last visit he rang me in Melbourne with the question 'when are you coming to see us again, Dan?' He assured me most sincerely that he wouldn't tell me to go home again the minute I arrived. Demonstrative affection is still not his style, but having got me there, he sidled up to me, quietly took my hand, held it tightly and wouldn't let go. To me, that is currently the fullest possible measure of what I mean to him.

And so it goes. Other times. Other places. Other people. Before I know it, the long day in the car has passed and my magic carpet of memories has delivered me to my front door.