My father's story of my train journey

I was reminded of a story my dad used to tell about me. 1978, living in Roseville in Sydney's North Shore. I was supposed to go to my grandmother's place after school to have dinner with my dad. I asked my mother where it was, and she shamed me by saying I knew where it was, as I'd gone there often since we had returned to Australia. I was 11 years old and getting to her place I had been driven. This time I was catching a train. Or two. I hadn't questioned my mother further, and my mother had not actually told me. She enjoyed hurting my dad anyway she could. This was going to be good for her.

After school, I went to the railway station and caught a train to the city. I remembered that my grandmother lived in a suburb where the station was not the same name as the suburb. Previously she had lived in Kogorah, but the railway station was Bexley. I'd forgotten she had moved to Rockdale. I changed lines in the city and aimed for Bexley North. When I got there, I knew it wasn't it. So I backtracked, found Bexley and got on a train that went down the same line, but was the wrong train. I did that twice. I finally understood that different trains went from the same line. I went back to the city and caught the right train to Bexley, remembering the route, I walked to Kogorah. She was not there. It was getting into early evening and my mother would be at home. I called and was given my grandmother's number and the Rockdale address. I called my grandmother who told me my dad was furious at being stood up. It had taken me some four and a half hours when I got to Rockdale and was met by my grandmother who told me my dad had gone home and asked if I'd done it deliberately.

Years after, my father would delight in telling people how I'd gotten lost on Sydney trains, but he never asked me what had happened. It was just a dispute between him and my mother.