By Patrick Whiteley
I'd make a hopeless Confucian. The good old Chinese philosopher
insisted that his followers honor their fathers with the highest
regard.
My father is about to visit me in Beijing and I'm dreading the
three-week encounter.
It will be wonderful to see him but after about three days he
will drive me up the walls of my small apartment.
Dad doesn't see me as a 40-year-old man of the world with
independent means, a guy who left home at 19, who traveled the
globe, and developed a satisfying career.
When he looks into my eyes he always sees his little boy who sat
on his lap and asked dumb questions. Dad often called me "China",
which is Australian rhyming slang for mate. China plate means mate,
but we just say "China". Rewind about 35 years.
"Dad, if a Panda bear climbed down our chimney and tried to eat
us do you reckon you could beat him in a fight?"
"Yes my old China. I'd beat him up and then we'd eat him for
dinner."
"What do Pandas taste like?"
"Like chocolate and honey."
"I want a Panda bear to come down the chimney and try to eat
us."
"So do I son, so do I."
As I grew older, the cute conversations turned into shouting
matches.
"I've told you a thousand times, pick up your clothes off the
floor and hang them up," he'd scream. "Will you ever learn
son".
"Leave me alone," I would wail, stomping the floor.
Time passes but some things never change.
During Spring Festival I visited my Sydney home and
stayed with Dad. He asked me what I liked most about China.
"The Panda bears," I quipped.
We both cracked up.
It was good to see Dad, but after three days of catching up I
was caught out.
I was staying in his spare room and after coming home late one
night, and before climbing into bed, I peeled off my clothes and
tossed them on the floor, near my travel bag. I woke late, and was
enjoying a coffee when Dad crash-tackled my morning solitude.
"Just a little thing my old China. Can you make sure you hang
your clothes up," he said.
I felt like I was 15 guilty, awkward, and confused. I apologized
for my untidiness, but deep down inside me a voice screamed out:
"Leave me alone."
Parents can do that. They know how to push our buttons and turn
back the clock. There is a good reason why we all leave home.
Dad arrives in Beijing next month, and it will be good to see
him but after three days I'm booking myself into a nearby hotel
room. He can stay at my place with his girlfriend and I'll tell a
little white lie about spending some quality time with my new
girlfriend (who doesn't exist).
I will be a good son and lead the tour to the Summer Palace, the
hutongs and the Great Wall. And after our excursions I will retreat
to my own hotel room. No doubt I will celebrate my freedom,
independence and maturity by throwing my clothes on the floor.
Then I'll ring Dad and he'll ask me our plans for the next
day.
"My old China, we're off to see the Panda bears."
(China Daily March 21, 2007)