The Last Plane Out Of Sydney

I looked at my father and tried to find the parts of him that were like me. We had the same nose and the same sense of humour, but that's all I could find. He told me he was going away and that made me think of the times when I was younger when he would tell me he was moving to another city. He'd show me the city on a map, like knowing where he was going would somehow make it easier because there was only a ten centimetre line separating us.

I remember those times I'd try not to be emotional, because I never knew him anyway, so what difference did ten centimetres make? But then I'd go to bed and cry myself to sleep, because I didn't know him, and now I never would. He's only a few centimetres away now but I still cry when he says he's leaving because in twelve years, nothing has changed.

I have all these songs that make me think of him. Khe Sanh by Cold Chisel is my favourite. I was in the car with mum and dad one night when I was only young, but old enough to remember songs and we were driving him to the airport, mum was doing him a favour since he didn't have a car anymore. We were driving past the planes taking off and Khe Sanh was playing on the radio and I was in the backseat with tears in my eyes because the last plane out of Sydney was almost gone and my dad was getting on it.

So I look at my dad and wonder what it's like to be a dad, and if he ever wished he was like other dads, or maybe that I was like other daughters. Because I don't know anyone like us. Atleast I know there are two things that will always keep us together, our noses and our sense of humour.