On my last night in London—Jan 30 2025 (I mention the date to give a snapshot of what was going on in North America and rippling across the world)—I went out for dinner with the kids: my son Gregory and partner Camila. Greg booked a restaurant he knew I loved at London Bridge. The views are spectacular. 

We all arrived from different locations. I walked a half an hour from my Airbnb. Camila came from work by transit. Greg rode his bike from about thirty minutes to the southeast.  

I love witnessing how they greet each other and then move to debriefing their days. They include me in this. Camila works for a professional services firm. The day had been a bit boring doing technical stuff. Greg’s work had been busy and that had made the day go fast. My day’s goal was to pack for an imminent departure back to Canada after months in Europe, but included a good walk east along the Thames to Canary Wharf. It had been sunny and cool. 

Last nights are laden with meaning. 

This was the last time I’d see these two beautiful people for a while. I suppose they were aware of my wrenched heart, but they are in full flow with life in their early thirties, and the surf is excitingly high in those years.

Dinner arrived and we shifted into light conversation. 

Ha! 

Over sea bass and courgettes, I shared with the kids that when I was a young adult, my father would lament the state of the world that lay before me. 

“Things are going in the wrong direction. I’m worried about what you’ll have to face,” he would say, both serious and philosophical in tone. His concerns were social, political and economic. Dad was a self-made man, a third-generation Irish kid from east-end Toronto. His mom would add more water to the soup if buddy next door joined them for supper. He was a keen businessman with the gift of the gab, good looks and a football career. From the fifties through the eighties, a time of hockey-stick growth, he did much better than his parents in terms of standard of living. 

But whenever Dad talked to me like this, I looked back at him blankly. It was as if there was a white spot in my brain where the unsolvable problems that he predicted could not find purchase. 

From where I stood, the future looked exciting and doable. And it turns out I was right. The years of hard work between the 80s and the 2020s had ups and downs, but were great. And life is still exciting. 

In the flickering light of the restaurant, I told the kids that I now understood my dad’s concerns. I have the same cares and worries for them.

They looked back at me with the white spot; my look forty years earlier resonated in their eyes. It was uncanny.

And then I figured the white spot might be an optimism-consciousness that gives young adults the ability to project beyond, or indeed through, present-day external factors. 

After a few seconds, Camila leaned her head on Greg’s shoulder with a contented smile. Greg squeezed her arm and looked back at me with wide-eyed innocence, assurance, and the words: it will be fine.

The cool thing is that when they’re my age, they might declare the same concerns to their young. And they may remember that night in early 2025 in the restaurant at London Bridge. 

But the cooler thing was going to happen a bit later. 

After our meal, we walked together to Greg’s bike. We said a wordy good-bye where we all talked over each other as we hugged. Then we disbanded: me, on foot, Camila to the metro, and Greg on his bike. 

As I walked home, I thought about things I wished I’d said to them. Encouraging things. How they’ve got what it takes to meet the future. 

About twenty minutes into my walk, I came to an intersection on a quiet street. 

Just then, Gregory pulled up to the corner on his bike. He’d made a stop before riding home.  

What are the odds. 

We beamed. Hugged. I told him what I wished I’d said earlier. Another hug laden with heightened emotion. 

The universe has us in a magnet; being in a place where I might run into my son.

I’m in Amsterdam now, the last stop before Canada. 

And I’m still walking on air about the world working like that.