Author: Anthony Sherratt

I’ve never been so scared in my life.

And let me put that in perspective. I’ve been shot at, had a knife held at my throat by someone who wanted me dead and been in riots. I’ve jumped out of planes, off towers and into misadventure frequently. I’ve regularly chased my curiosity passed the point most would.

But never have I ever felt as sick to the stomach as the moment I couldn’t find one of my children.

We were on a cruise liner on holidays. Twin A broke right, Twin B broke left. I chased the quicker one but the other had rounded a corner by the time I swooped the first up. I wasn’t concerned at this point: just irritated by their behaviour of the previous hour and this seemingly co-ordinated escape plan.

I set off down the corridor but no Gypsy. Rounding corner number 3 still no sign so I picked up the pace. Around the fourth corner and about to complete a rectangular journey I stopped cold. There in the middle of the corridor was the stuffed turtle she carries everywhere.

Everywhere. The one she wouldn’t even allow to go in her luggage. I feel a chill down my spine.

I scoop it up but my fast walk has become a run now. I complete the circuit to no avail and check into the lounge in the middle where the rest of the family is but she’s not there. I dump Rhapsody with grandma while I take off at a sprint: me one way, grand-dad the other. We meet without toddler.

I’m very calm in a crisis but this time I’m aware my heart-rate is higher than normal. The wife has checked in with a staff member who shows little concern with “It’s a ship – it’s not as if she can go far”.

I widen the search doing the entire level at a sprint. By the 15-minute mark I’m checking toilets as I pass them trying not to think about the why of my actions. One level of 14 searched. Corridors and toilets anyway.

By 25 minutes I’m almost frantic. In the face of gunfire calm, but here? I’m aware I’m starting to lose it. It’s at this point that I peer over the mezzanine and, luckily, spot my wandering daughter – perhaps determined to live up to her name – walking purposefully through the crowds two floors below.

I fly down two flights of stairs quicker then Usain Bolt and sweep her up in my arms. Surprisingly I have no anger in my system. Just relief and, oddly, I’m on the verge of tears.

Unlike her daddy, she was relatively calm and tells me she couldn’t find me so she was heading back to our cabin. She was almost there too (later I would marvel this was quite a feat for a three-year-old).

Later I would also wonder at how quickly my mind went to a bad place where I assumed the worst.

When did I go from fearless liver of life to vulnerable?

The day I became a parent.

Even though they’re not quite four yet, my girls are already on the party circuit. Not the fashion, champagne and snootiness circuit but the much more cut-throat Birthday Party circuit.

It started off innocuously with their first invite to a friend’s party. I struggled with what to buy for a (then) two-year-old but eventually I had a present and two nicely dressed girls as I held their hands as we walked around the corner, all set for a few games of pass the parcel and fairy bread… and stopped.

I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t imagining things, but no. There really was a giant castle standing right in front of us. Inflatable of course, but still.

Fairies and clowns roved around the garden charming children with their magic and glitter dust. There were pony rides and puppies. Smells of exotic food wafter through the air and was that a waiter? And did he have a cocktail?!?

I rifled through my bag to check the invitation because unless I was mistaken I was pretty sure we had accidentally stumbled into the tent of the Moscow Circus or a movie set.

But no, we were at the right place and the next few hours were a parade of entertainment, games where everyone won prizes and full catering for both parents and kids.

I was stunned but it wasn’t over yet. As we left – thanking the host effusively – the girls had goody bags thrust into their hands. Bags that had more in them than Ekka showbags. What? Wait, it’s her birthday but my kids get presents? What is this madness?

When I was a kid we turned up, handed over a present (sometimes reluctantly), played in the backyard, had cake and went home. Everyone was happy.

Nowadays it’s an event to rival The Great Gatsby for decadence.

Admittedly the next party wasn’t quite as over-the-top but it still wasn’t anywhere near the cheap gathering of people I expected. And the goody bags were once again, to my way of thinking, extravagant.

So I asked around and discovered this was normal. Large parties were expected and the pressure to match or overshadow previous parties was immense. In the US you can have a sleepover at a toy store for $30,000. Some parties see toddlers picked up in limos. And don’t even start me on the intricate detail of cakes today.

Somewhere along the line between making it a special day for their child and playing one-up-person-ship with their peers, birthday parties have become An Event (note capitalisation).

I was going to make fun of the fact that we’d no doubt be seeing professional party planners doing kids birthday parties soon. But they already exist. I checked. And they’re not cheap if you want to put on a memorable party. Forget the fact that most of these kids at two and three won’t remember these parties, it’s all about style and some of them don’t even appear to be about the children.

Not that I’m immune. We’ve had two parties for the girls (at two and three) and they started out as small affairs but ended up ‘going big’. The first was just supposed to be a gathering in the park. Firstly I invited everyone from their daycare because I didn’t want any kid to feel left out (I hate the thought of a kid feeling sad). Then the grandparents got a big jumping castle for next-to-nothing.

And I did big goody bags partly because everyone else did it and partly because I felt guilty that most parents purchased two presents (twins remember) even though I actively said to not worry about gifts.

And for their third birthday we had a joint party with their best friend (who shares their birthday). It was at a farm and run by a wonderful  charity named Harmony Hooves who put the profits into sharing the animals with less fortunate and disabled children. And they put on a show that far exceeded my expectations and I suddenly realised – amidst the pony rides, fairies (yes multiple) and swings and castle – that I’d inadvertently become a big party parent. Lots of kids. Amazing amount of entertainment.

So I guess parents who party in castles shouldn’t throw goody bags full of… wait, this metaphor got away from me. Just like my sense of perspective on birthday parties.