(This is the same story rewritten to 3rd person for my writing class, not sure if I have the hang of 3rd person yet, lol)

He threw his head back and laughed. His mum Patty laughed too at the absurdity of it all too, and together they brayed like donkeys.

They both have his granddad’s loud laugh, and they relaxed into the easy conversation begun on the plane to Sydney, to see the Archibald’s.

It’s been a good five years on and off since they’d both spent quality time like this. Lockie liked it, although he missed his girlfriend.

He sat and thought about what had happened so far. An unexpected but much anticipated trip to Sydney; 30 hours together with his mother, she of the new Empty Nesters social club. She simply missed her kids too much to fully embrace the concept. A whole weekend of culture, and her son.

In the distance; past the Manly Ferry wash and beyond the American cruise ship, bridge climbers rose against the pale autumn sky. His life had taken a series of busy twists and turns, with university and women and work taking his time.

Today Socrates (he is reading the Book of Apologies) occupies his thoughts, in between sips of Pear Cider and mmm-oysters. He had tried to explain the book simply, but she just lectured him on how he is a natural teacher. She meant well.

In his mind, he pushed aside a space to house the dead philosophers he loved so much. They will always be a part of him – he even grew his beard to look the part – but physical isn’t enough: you must have head-space for not only your own thoughts but respect the previous generations’ academic studies too. Talk the talk, and walk the walk, to quote his mother.

She is grinning at him. Did he miss something? Sometimes she is full of joy, other days Sorrow walks beside her. Today is not one of those days.

‘Syd-en-nee’ she exclaims, her arms thrown open, embracing her parents’ home town. Although he’s embarrassed by her loud enthusiasm, it is catchy; and he laughs again with her. No one knows him here. He relaxed into the city’s arms.

Over lunch, he attempts again to explain his latest readings but she seems bored by it all, she just looks at him and nods occasionally. Changing the subject, he discusses the similarities between Socrates and Jesus. She seems disinterested, distracted, so his hands weave the air with his tales to catch her attention.

To his right, an American takes his photo. Further to his right again, a Japanese tourist repeats the scene. Snap. Click. Lockie supposes the images will be on Facebook soon – all crooked horizon, sun flares and a bent arm – with his own hands frozen in mid-air.

He sighs and continues to eat his oysters. It’s good to be here, although he is worried how the ballet will go. Will he like it? Manly men in tutus?

Remembering his mother’s mantra of ‘keep an open mind’ and wanting to make family memories, he squeezes her hands and together they walk towards the Opera House.