The worry of being a parent

Further to our recent post showing the four boys preparing to walk across Iceland ( how is it I wonder, that my travelling sons manage to place themselves in areas that are threatening to be the subject of natural disasters? By this I mean one son was on a remote Pacific island during the Thailand Tsunami, another managed to be very close to Christchurch, New Zealand, during the recent earthquake – so close that his lost backpack that he was on his way to collect was buried under a pile of rubble in the local police station. This same son – Henry – is now driving across Africa in an area close to the Ebola outbreak, and the oldest, Jamie, is walking across the centre of Iceland in the shadow of a volcano that is, apparently, quite likely to erupt.

“The joys of parenthood are, as always, tinged with worry.”

I suppose they could have chosen Northern Iraq or Gaza, so there’s something to be thankful for, and I am always mindful that how I worry can be nothing compared to what my poor grandparents – and many thousands of others – must have endured when my father was injured and taken prisoner in the retreat to Dunkirk to spend the next four and  a half years in prisoner of war camps – some of this time, apparently in the early days, being underground, before being marched eastwards to a more permanent location.

So when Jamie says the world is a better place, full of wonderful people, with some notable exceptions – I agree with him.

Russell Bowlby.