Going home to London to see my family used to mix the excitement of going home with some classic family feelings of trepidation and reluctance. My parents have been divorced for a while, yet are still full of latent rage which builds at the slightest mention of the other. Their petulance has never ended and has continued into my thirties — though there is now a ray of hope that these squabbles are subsiding.
I will always come back to my roots because I feel it's important for Arthur to get a sense of England. Doing so also gives all family members an emotional fulcrum, in the shape of a two year old boy. My own Mother bursts with love and affection for Arthur, spoiling him with mountains of toys. When he approaches her for a spontaneous hug, her voice raises an octave and she has the innate finesse of a Grandmother.
It helps us to avoid our own niggly arguments and although our relationship is far from perfect, his endless giggling and impromptu cuddles bring more smiles and laughter.
We met my father during his lunch time and Arthur ran around the cafe giving high fives to random strangers. One particularly sullen faced worker entered the cafe for his daily bacon sandwich, looking dejected and broken by the daily grind. Having been high-fived by this little smiling midget his face visibly transformed and he perked out of his stupor, with his mood changed. This is the power of the innocence and purity of children, to bring people together and bring out the best in us.
While he can still test my patience with nighttime wailing, he can instantly win back favour whether by smiling brightly, or peeing on my step-mother's new rug.
Photo by Silver Cloud
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