By ADAM ROZENBACHS
I recently toured Europe with my dad. I don’t recommend it. I mean, go with your dad, sure… just don’t go with mine.
My dad was born in Germany, and had always wanted to visit his homeland, so I decided I’d accompany him as repayment for everything he had done for me growing up – cricket every Saturday; helping me with my paper round when it was raining; making my maths teacher ‘disappear’ when I was given a D+.
Of course, I was initially hesitant about the trip, especially about spending so much of my inheritance. But then I had visions of nostalgia, and a strengthened bond between the two of us. Maybe even shedding a tear at discovering my ancestry. Unfortunately all it did was remind me why I always travel solo.
Happily, I made it back, with most of my sanity intact. I won’t say all, because that would be a lie. If I had to measure my current level of saneness, I’d say I’m not quite ‘vote for Bob Katter’, but I would happily sell you a three seater couch AND recliner for only $29.
Being dad’s first long haul flight I knew the plane’s entertainment system was going to be a struggle. He’s not good with technology; in fact, he still pays for things with cheques, a fact I can’t comprehend.
I recently got paid by cheque and could only think, “Alright, party time… in three to five business days.”
And it’s fine to be a technophobe, but the worst kind is a stubborn one. Unsurprisingly he didn’t ask for assistance when the film I had set up for him ran out while I was sleeping. So as we’re nearing the end of our first leg into Dubai, I woke to find him listening to the Koran… in Arabic (I haven’t lived at home for some time, but I am positive I’d have noticed a conversion to Islam).