A crate too big, too heavy, too far!

It wasn’t a single suitcase containing my family’s worldly possessions that created the epiphanic moment in my life. It was a wooden crate, a homemade crate, made with love and consideration to handle with care, a miniature pedal car. A birthday present. It was symbolic of so many changes at that time in my life, changes in many lives. A time of upheaval, which would never ever return to the previous pattern of life for so many; ever again.

The surrounding support, comfort and security of a close family would be sacrificed, for higher ideals and ambitions. Rightly or wrongly the umbilical cord of the familiar was being cut. The new way of life was the advent of my worldly growth, but it came with the harsh realities of the unfamiliar, the alien and the strange.

I became an alien in a strange unfamiliar world. Alone to fend for myself.

Without knowing it at the time, I was entering a portal to a new existence. It could have been a trip to the moon, it was equal in radical proportions, and it would be life changing. A new way of life for my wife and son, my parents, my wife’s parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers and sisters. It was the start of a new life and experience as an expatriate.

When the captain announced to the attentive listening passengers. “Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, we have just started our descent to Jeddah, kindly put your watches back 600 years!” It wasn’t far from the truth, and sometimes, it did seem like living on the dark side of the moon. The portal that opened to the new existence was never easy, and the phrase “Cultural Shock” was more like a mind-blowing sonic boom.

You can’t pack for new life-changing experiences, and cultural shocks are part of the change process. Intended for growth and worldliness, which at the time was never a painless experience. The self-help books fervently tell us all, it’s healthy and progressive. I wonder sometimes whether naivety and unawareness, lost forever in the upheaval process, is something to be respected and recognized, and not to be discarded or forgotten like unwanted banana skins. I have realized in comparison to others that I handle changes differently. I hide my true feelings from others, feelings of anxiousness and panic, until they are rationalized. I don’t share easily in these challenging circumstances, but that doesn’t mean I feel them any less than others.

It was a time of celebration in the wider family group. A zenith point. A time of first newborn children for my brother and me. The first grandchildren, or the next generation for all sets of onlooking parents; on all sides. But, my ambitions and selfishness, my self-expression got in the way. I spoiled the celebratory ambitions of the close-knit family by taking a job abroad, someone in the family working abroad was a new experience for this close-knit homespun family unit. Regular gatherings, regular visits to watch the toddlers growing with first steps, first words, these were sharing and exciting times for all.

I was serving my probation period, separated from my wife and child, when I returned home from abroad to celebrate my son’s second birthday. We were still making plans to pack up the home and move our belongings overseas. I arrived home to the excited celebration and found that my proud parents had gifted my little toddler a bright yellow pedal car, a breakdown vehicle. It wasn’t a miniature; I have seen bigger real-sized Mini cars.

My first thoughts were somewhat selfish, and ungrateful.

“How are we going to ship that abroad, without breakages.” I thought.

During the family event, I expressed my concerns to my dad.

“Don’t worry son, I have thought about that, I can use pallet boards.”

Was the reply to my concerns.

“Remember, I replaced the garden fence with them just recently.” he said proudly.

It didn’t fill me with any confidence.

“I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry.” Were the parting words in the exchange.

Fast forward to the day of moving my wife and toddler son to a new life abroad, I returned home to collect not only them, but the packed-up belongings. There standing in the driveway was a wooden crate that even the jolly green giant would struggle to pick up. Desperate Dan would never be able to dismantle, even with his blow torch, and most certainly The Thing from Fantastic Four would never be able to break. It was truly both an immovable and unbreakable object. It weighed a ton, protecting the bright yellow pedal car. I looked on in horror, knowing that each kilo above the prescribed weight limit would cost me a fortune. Accompanying baggage prices are not cheap, I would need a mortgage to pay for the consignment.

My hero dad didn’t understand the complexities of air travel, he was only interested in protecting the fragile pedal car from the abuses of the journey and the ground handlers.

I lost my temper. “What were you thinking dad?”

“It will cost ten times the amount you paid for it.” I tried to explain, but I was losing my temper, raising my voice.

I will never forget his expression in response to my harsh words. It was the first time the son had created a rift in the hero worshipping of his dad of all those years. It was too late; I had lost my temper. The words uttered couldn’t be reversed, they were damaging, it was a thunderclap moment in our relationship. For years I have racked over that moment, and the look in my dad’s eyes. Our roles had suddenly reversed, but not for the best. He was now the scolded innocent boy, and I had become the authoritarian parent. It is a very sad moment in my life, but like many others it dissolves with time. My knee jerk reaction was made in the backdrop of worry and concern for the future. Had I made the right decision to move abroad? Creating the forced absence from a loving family of parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles. I was severing the umbilical cord of a close-knit family. Exposing them to experiences the parents have never had the opportunity to exploit. The underlying tension of the situation of moving abroad and family separation jeopardizing years of love, support and sacrifice. It was the realization that my dad’s legacy; as Jack the lad, the clown within the family to lighten the mood in so many tense situations, wasn’t working now in these new circumstances. The change process, the growing-up process, better understanding and consideration was needed to adapt myself towards those being left behind. Their expectations had altered. My role was changing, to a different role, in the future. My experiences were now wider and deeper than my dad’s. Making mountains out of molehills over the crate, I needed to be more considerate, thankful, and grateful to him, for his continued and everlasting care and attention.

With great power comes great responsibility. I would rewrite the phrase, with increased awareness, requires greater wisdom and understanding. How to act with grace in all changing circumstances.

It was his thoughtfulness, his endeavour, his personal touch, that I had pushed back in a heartless manner that day. We joked about it in later years, but it will remain with me forever that day, a growing up moment in my life.

Looking back now at entering the portal of a new existence for the first time fifty years ago, these words are so poignant. Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live. It is asking others to live as one wishes to live.