A Dickhead and a Bottler

Today was much harder than I imagined.  At the EasyJet check-in at Manchester Airport, our Tom´s pasport was regarded as invalid due to water damage.  He had to return to Liverpool to get replacement passport, as I made the flight alone to Bilboa.

We were both excited about walking beside one another, jointly producing the blog and meeting the challenges together.  We were both keen to use the time on the camino to reflect on the nature of our relationship and of finding ways of repairing the damage. I knew Tom was angry with me for not spending much time with him when he was an adolscent.  Three years ago he  posted a message on my Facebook wall stating that I was a shit father for not spending time with him: In the 30 minutes we had left before I had to get on the plane we needed to cram in many of the things we intended to say to one another on the camino.

"You are a dickhead and a bottler" was thrown at me.

I normally get angry whan I get called a dickhead.  In this case it was justified.  He did go on to say that he recognised that that was in the past and that we needed to move forwards.  i admired him for being to that, as I have a tendency to hold on to slights, insults and percieved injustices for far too long.

Tom and myself had had a disagreement on the train to the airport but we both listened to the other and were quickly and respectably able to put it behind us.

I know will make a good pilgrim. Last night in the airport he managed to keep up and contribute to a conversation with Catherine from Athens.  She loved speaking English and wanted to practice her English.  I´m generally quite accomodating when people want to this.  But the hours between 12.00 and 3.00am are not the best to explain irregular verbs or sub plot to Wuthering Heights.  Whenever i stepped outside for a ciggie Tom would maintain the conversation.

Catherine told me that she had been staying with her friend in Widnes.  I asked her if she had visited Liverpool.  She hadn´t and had spent an entire fortnight staying at her friends.  The only book, play or song that i am aware of that came out of Widnes is Homeward Bound. Paul Simon was there for less than half an hour and was inspired to write a piece that expresses his desire to get away

Tom would have loved Bilboa.  The previous evening Athletic Bilboa had defeated the mighty manchester United in the Europa League.  It was if the city was waking up after the best ever party, nearly every house was festooned in red and white stripped flags, the chatter in the bar related to the previous nights match and the woman in the Tourist Information gave me a beautiful big smile when I enquired about last night.

"It was the best party ever"

I´ve been to the big week in Bilboa and i know that they know how to party.

Tom is a Liverpool supporter, and it may not be that mature to take delight in the misfortune of others, but he would have loved to have been there.

I realised to today how much I loved my son.  And I look forward to the time when he can come out to Spain and continue our Camino