There are certain times in life I have found, when someone else makes you feel incredibly worthwhile.
Or just plain good.
It is lovely when the compliment comes from a relative stranger – probably because they are blissfully ignorant of your not so obvious flaws.
It is far, far better however, when it comes from someone who has known you for a considerable amount of time and are probably related to you – if not by blood – by some other, virtual umbilical cord of connection.
When it is one of your children and the compliment comes in an area of life that you thought had long since been surrendered to them and their corresponding generation, it is a truly satisfying moment and you had better savour it because the chances are, it will almost certainly be pretty rare.
One such moment came for me on a road trip back to Brighton recently.
We had spent the entire day driving up the M1 to Leeds, moving her furniture and seemingly endless other bits and pieces into her new flat, ahead of her permanent move in a few weeks, for her university course.
In the end, by my reckoning, I had clocked up around eleven hours of driving a long wheel base Mercedes van and by the end of it, I was truly exhausted.
But it was so worth it, just to listen to my daughter saying on more than one occasion that based on what she was currently listening to, she would need to look up my Spotify playlist – aptly entitled Road Trip.
Which songs had impressed her so much you may well wonder?
Well, I could lie and pretend that I remember which ones she loved so much but the truth is, I cannot remember now.
Besides, it doesn’t matter to me which ones she loved.
The fact that she loved songs I loved meant a great deal to me and reminded me of the beautiful cycle that never stops evolving between parent and child.
Parent teaches, child learns.
Child teaches, parent learns.
Or as my Dad announced recently after we had conversed about something (I remember not again!)
“Dad teaches son, son teaches Dad.”