Family ties

Fiji just got a whole lot better this week. No, I’m not talking about the political situation – literally. Instead, I’m enjoying the tiny Pacific Island more these days because of the latest import to arrive on Suva’s shores: my parents.

It had been more than 40 days since I’d seen a family member. For a man who has lived at home until the age of 25, this is a big deal. A famous quote from the Godfather, delivered by Don Corleon, comes to mind: “A man who doesn’t spend time with his family isn’t a man.”

Wait, so does this mean I’m still not a man? I thought moving out of my parents’ house, paying my rent, buying groceries, and running an independent household would take me out of boyhood and into the masculine marvels of manhood. And it’s not like I just moved down the street from my childhood home – I moved 12,343 kilometres away!

But the Godfather tells me I’m still not a man.

And who am I to argue with Don Corleon? I don’t want to get an offer I can’t refuse. My twin sized bed is way too small to hold a horse’s head.

Well now my parents are here, and I couldn’t be happier. They are staying for two weeks: five days at a resort and nine days in Suva.

They flew into Nadi at 5:10 a.m., and I arranged to have a driver pick them up. The driver, Fariq, was recommended to me by a neighbour. Early Monday morning my mom calls me to say that Fariq didn’t show up, but not to worry she found another driver.

A few hours later my extremely jetlagged looking father and surprisingly refreshed looking mother pull up at my gates.

Hugs are exchanged, and I welcome them into my flat where I have breakfast waiting on the table.

But before we can start breakfast my phone rings – it’s Fariq, the failed driver.

“I’m sorry, my car broke down. I couldn’t pick up your parents, but I’m available to take them back to the airport,” he says.

“Fariq, you didn’t even complete your first job. You’re fired,” I say in my best Donald Trump voice.

Had Fariq been in a boardroom, he would have walked out.

Knowing my parents don’t have a ton of energy after a 17-hour flight, I keep the first day simple. We go to the farmers’ market, and I take them on a long walk through downtown. For dinner we pick up barbeque from my favourite cook shack.

The next day my mom and dad awake well-rested and ready to take on the city. But first my mom has to fulfil her “spiritual obligation” and take me to church. After mass I head to work and set my parents lose to roam around the city. I appointed Hart as their chaperon, but they dismiss him.

Thankfully they return home safely in the late afternoon. For dinner, I suggest Tiko's, a restaurant on a ship. Fearing the boat’s rocking would make my mom seasick, but willing to take the chance because of Tiko’s great food and affordable prices, we go to the restaurant. My mom, perhaps still riding the high from being in Fiji, handles the rocking well, and a great dinner is had by all. After dinner we get a cab to the movies to see This Is It, the new Michael Jackson documentary.

Sitting in the theatre with my parents I realize something: this is the first time I’ve been at the show with them in at least 10 years. I quickly make a mental note to go to the movies more with them when I get back to Canada.

On the third day I introduce my mom and dad to my new Fiji family: my editor, Robert, and his wife, Lupe. We all sit around drinking coffee until Robert and I recognize that we should probably do some work. So again I set my parents loose in the city, and again they manage to return unscathed. Tired from a long day, they decide to stay in for a quiet night.

But I have a better idea.

Around 9 p.m. I sneak to the store and buy something to get the party started: kava, the traditional Fijian drink that has a sedative/numbing effect.

Before coming to Fiji, my mom told me she really wanted to try kava, but when I walk through the door with a few gallons of kava I can tell she is nervous.

“Is this going to get me really drunk?” she asks.

We start the kava session and my dad takes back his first dish of the greyish liquid with ease. When it’s my mom turn she hesitantly smells the brew before gulping it down.

“It tastes terrible! I need a chaser,” she says.

But instead of chasing the kava with water, juice, pop or even a lime, she chases it with salt and vinegar Pringles.

The kava session lasts hours, and soon we’re all feeling comfortably numb. After the kava runs out we switch to beer and wine.

As I sit at the table buzzed of the combination of kava and beer I realize just how happy I am to have my parents here with me for the next two weeks.