We had hoped to go to Dinajpur, our nearest city, last night. Our teenager daughter – lovingly referred to as Thing I in these pages – had asked that we take her and her school friends to the Chinese Restaurant in Dinajpur for her biday, or farewell party with her closest friends.
Unfortunately, the hartals put paid to that idea. Even if we could have braved the roads, the cars have all run out of petrol. So instead, we went for Plan B and Wifey, along with Surola and Hiramone, our ayahs cooked a scrummy Chinese meal and we booked the LAMB Guest House Roof for their party.
The teens – eight of them including Thing I – had a great time. It is probably the last time I can ever expect to see my daughter and her friends enjoying the process of becoming adults while remaining so innocently child-like without the worry of alcohol, drugs or sexual activity lurking in the cultural background. Once back in the UK, these things become all too normal for our current teen generation.
I worry, as I loosen my fatherly grip and let my daughter take baby-steps as an adult, that there is just nothing I can do about the decisions she will make in life from now on. Whatever I’ve armed her with in life, I’ve now given her and all I can do from here on is sit back and watch what she does with that.
Thing II, looking horribly tall and mature this night too, is not far behind. He and I seem to have left the dictatorial father – unruly son relationship behind and nowadays seem to talk more like mates and rarely butt heads. Today he told me he’s looking forward to sitting on a bridge with me, just chatting and the two of us drinking a beer. I loved the fact he’s looking forward to that – I am too. But I’m also sad that he’s becoming an adult too.
But not this night! This night was about dressing up, preparing food, eating outdoors by candlelight and dancing with old friends, soon-to-be much missed ones.
Wifey, Thing II and I were banished to eat our food in the ‘servant’s quarters’ (aka the dining room downstairs) under strict instructions from daughter not to appear upstairs except to fetch and carry. We did our best to carry out her instructions – though I did take the liberty of snapping some photos too.
We all went to bed very tired. It was a good night and, despite my Facebook status moaning how expensive it all was (in reality about thirty quid), it was money well spent giving our girl memories she can treasure. And, inshallah, she will do so over a long and very happy life.
- 30 Final Days of Bangladesh – Day 9 – Bargain shopping (kenthinksaloud.wordpress.com)
- 30 Final Days of Bangladesh – Day 6 – Bread on the table (kenthinksaloud.wordpress.com)
- 30 Final Days of Bangladesh – Day 3 – Ayahs and Vangaris (kenthinksaloud.wordpress.com)
- Reflections on the Hardest Things about Moving Home from Bangladesh (kenthinksaloud.wordpress.com)
- 30 Final Days of Bangladesh – Day 8 (kenthinksaloud.wordpress.com)