From Parent to Peer

Getting to know my son again

We’re in China.

My son Lucas and I recently went on a month-long trip to China. It was the first time we’d travelled without the rest of the family. The idea came after he decided to take a gap year from university to figure out what he wanted to do. He felt that data science and mathematics weren’t for him—or at least, not for now.

Lucas didn’t have a smooth start at university. The transition from high school proved to be more challenging than expected. He lived far from campus, which meant 8 a.m. lectures and 4 p.m. tutorials made for long, exhausting days. Hours spent in the library wore him down.

We supported his decision to move closer to campus, with the hope of easing his commute. But paying rent meant he had to work part-time, and soon that became more of a distraction than a solution.

What surprised us was how much he loved the work. He thrived in the fast pace of a busy restaurant.
“I loved the chaos,” he said. And he was genuinely good at it.

Turning 21

I’ve always known Lucas as my son. I’ve known him in the way parents often know their children: as someone you guide, protect, and worry about. As someone whose life you try to shape in small and large ways.

Felt like this was just yesterday.

He’s the older of our two boys, and for years, our lives moved in rhythm with the shared routines of family, school runs, holidays, and family meals. We travelled together often: my wife, our two boys, and I. We’ve mainly been to Singapore and Malaysia. Each trip added something to our collective memory. But they were always family trips, with parents leading and children following.

I remember when Lucas first travelled alone to Singapore at 17. It felt like a significant milestone. He handled it calmly and confidently, but for me, it marked the first time I had to let go.

Now, with his 21st birthday around the corner, I began to feel that familiar tug again: the sense that he was stepping into a new stage of life and that I, too, had to change. I noticed a shift in his energy: a growing independence, a deeper self-awareness, and a quiet confidence in his choices.

I wanted to know him again, to know the man he was becoming. I wanted to see the world through his eyes, walk behind rather than in front of him, and listen.

This trip to China was an opportunity to start seeing him as a peer. As someone with his own changing identity, dreams, disappointments, and desires. Someone I could learn from.

A father and son travelling together to the land of our ancestors also marks a new chapter in our lives and relationships. We would leave the familiar to enter places that held history neither of us had ever touched.

It would be fun.

China, here we come

We started our journey in Hong Kong because he wanted to see Hong Kong. In his mind, Hong Kong is different from “mainland” China. Lucas was captivated by the city’s unique vibes. The bustling streets, vibrant night markets, and stunning skyline created an atmosphere that was all quite enchanting.

One of the highlights of our trip was visiting Lan Kwai Fong, a vibrant nightlife district known for its lively atmosphere and mix of bars, restaurants, and clubs. Lucas enjoyed wandering through the streets, soaking in the vibes and the diverse crowd that filled the area. He even found a wine bar that he loved.

His kind of bar in Hong Kong.

“I would love to own a place like this. It has to be a bit small, and a bit overcrowded,” he said as we enjoyed a bottle of Bourgogne Aligoté. He spoke eloquently about the Aligoté grape variety, primarily produced in the Burgundy region of France. He highlighted the crisp and fruity profile, going on to describe the range of aromas, which included notes of peach, lemon, hazelnut, and green apples. I thought it was delicious, but I still prefer my hoppy ale.

Lucas was also particularly interested in Yau Ma Tei, near Jordan in Hong Kong. This historic neighbourhood in Kowloon is known for its old buildings, shops, and traditional neon lights. He said these are the last of the iconic handmade neon lights that gave Hong Kong its unique personality. New ones are LED, but they’re not quite the same.

We only stayed briefly in Hong Kong, but it was a good start. Our main journey is to Guangdong, the home of our ancestors. I wanted to bring him to my father’s place of birth in Jieyang and to the village of Mashuo. I wanted him to have an opportunity to stand on the soil where he came from, to touch the roots of his ancestry.

Returning to our roots

We took the high-speed rail from Hong Kong to Guangzhou, a city with over 2,000 years of history and once a hub of the Maritime Silk Road.

And it was busy.

Lucas was particularly annoyed with the chaotic traffic of downtown Guangzhou. The large number of electric bikes made walking anywhere almost hazardous. They would zip from pavement to road to pavement, depending on where the riders could find a gap. Most were speeding between cars and pedestrians at nearly 40km/h, looking at their phones while tooting their horns incessantly.

Cars stop wherever and whenever they like, and taxis perpetually park on the side of the roads outside our hotel. I recall the many occasions when Lucas would point out a car stopping right in the middle of a busy road to wait for passengers. “What the hell is that driver doing?”

He didn’t quite like this level of chaos, it seems.

However, he enjoyed the food and shopping, especially at the factory outlets, where he could buy Nike gear at huge discounts.

If grandfather hasn’t left

Mashuo Village, Jieyang, Guangdong.

Jieyang, and especially Mashuo village, was the heart of our trip. My father left Jieyang in 1930 with his parents and siblings to come to Singapore. It was supposed to be a temporary move because my grandfather had accumulated many properties in China at that time. But he died shortly after arriving in Singapore, and my grandmother passed away in 1942, just as WW2 descended on Singapore. After their deaths, my father and his siblings lost touch with their family in China. The world was messy back then.

Now, as I approach 60, I feel the urgency. If the family still lives in China, I may not have time to find them, but maybe Lucas, Marcus, or their children will continue the search.

Our visit to Mashuo village was quiet. It was a Sunday, and the village square was empty. We took a few photos and walked the quiet lanes.
“This could have been our life,” I told Lucas. “If your great-grandfather hadn’t left China, who knows what we would’ve become?”

I wanted him to know China because he is Chinese. He may not feel it yet. But one day, maybe when he’s my age, he might.

After Jieyang, we spent another two weeks exploring other parts of Guangdong and Fujian before returning to Adelaide.

Taking a back seat

Throughout the journey, I took a back seat. I encouraged Lucas to plan much of the itinerary. I offered suggestions, but mainly encouraged him to explore on his own.

“You don’t always have to stick with your old man.”

And he didn’t. I’m glad he didn’t.

Taking the lead.

We didn’t talk all the time. Often, he had his headphones on. During long rides, we sat in comfortable silence. Sometimes I nudged him to look out the window. Sometimes he nudged me.

Once, we passed a giant Ferris wheel on a hill in the middle of nowhere. “It’s an amusement park,” said the driver.

I enjoyed that silence. It wasn’t awkward. I watched my son grow up, moving through unfamiliar places, making his way.

I no longer felt the need to judge the things he does or the path he takes. Where I once had opinions about right and wrong, I now hold back. What do I know, anyway? The world is different. My experiences may not apply to his future.

As a parent, I want him to do well. To thrive. But I also have to let go. Why wouldn’t he want what’s best for himself? Why should I assume my judgment is wiser? He must find his way, just as I once did. But whatever it may be, he can always come home and claim his place in the family. He is always my son.

What I Discovered About Him and Me

Growing up, he spent a great deal of time in his room. Like his younger brother, teenagers do not talk very much. I suppose it was because conversations with parents were usually about what they should be doing and why they weren’t. “Can you clean up your room? Don’t leave this lying around! Have you finished your homework?”

Parents are such nags.

But on this trip, when he spoke, it was about what he loves. His work. His colleagues. The wines he’s tasted and wants to explore. He dreams of going on a wine tour through southern Italy and visiting Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan. He’s considering becoming a sommelier and owning a wine bar or restaurant. Bringing back the “human touch” to hospitality—something he felt was missing in China’s F&B scene.

I mostly listened. Asked questions and quietly admired the young man next to me.

I am excited for all the adventures he will have in the future, most of which will be without me.

I am so, so proud of who he has become.

Shared Adventure

On our way home after 30 days.

We returned to the cool, gentle winter of Adelaide a few weeks ago, after braving the summer heat of China and Singapore. It felt good to come home. Lucas went back to work the very next day. I resumed my usual rhythm, too, though I noticed it felt a little different. Calmer, maybe. Quieter, somehow. But also a little bit sadder.

We spoke briefly during our weekly family catch-up, nothing out of the ordinary.

But something had shifted.

There’s always a change after you share an adventure with someone. That bond between you thickens. I now feel a different kind of closeness when we sit together, an ease, a respect, and maybe even a bit of wonder, like two people who’ve seen each other in a new way, in unfamiliar places, without the roles and routines that usually define them.

The trip didn’t change everything, but it changed enough for me to realise that our relationship is no longer just father and son but something deeper—a kind of friendship, maybe—the slow turning of a relationship that will continue to evolve as we both grow older.

And in all those moments, something in me let go, not out of resignation, but out of trust.

Lucas is no longer just my son. He is also his own man. I feel honoured to have been there, not as the director of his path but as a witness and a companion.

It’s not easy, this shift from holding on to letting go. But it is necessary. And beautiful. And maybe this is what fatherhood becomes over time: from a role to a presence. A teacher to a fellow traveller.

---