Shenyang in my life

"You must meet my father," she said. "Of course, but why did you ring me now?" I replied, groggy and not understanding. "No, you don't understand. We must see my father tomorrow. We must catch a bus." "Huh?" I still was not understanding. She must have thought me stupid. "Come to the bus station by 6:30 tomorrow. We must see him." I feared the worst.

The next day I was at the bus at 6am. It was snowing. People milled around trying to stay warm. I looked alone and out of place. Was this the right station?

Then I saw her, wearing a canary yellow jacket and accompanied by her mother, concern creasing her mother's features. She did not approve of this. Who could blame her? A foreigner, unknown beyond a few words, whose nature had yet to be proven. Stealing the jewel of the family away like a thief in the night. Words were exchanged and they did not sound happy. I saw the worry and love in her mother's eyes. She is a good mother.

The bus journey was long, time ceased to exist. The bus was cramped, uncomfortable and crowded with people who were surprised to have a foreigner hunched among them next to a gorgeous young woman with a steely look of determination on her face.

Eventually, we arrived in the town where her father was working. A van in the snow, a handsome cap-wearing man standing and waiting for us, a scowl drawn across his mouth. Not a happy father.

We traveled in the van for some time, little was said. The tension was razor sharp. I said not a word, silence seemed better than brevity.

We arrived at the set where her father was working. Actors in costume drank tea as they waited for their scenes. We sat down in a small room together. My lady spoke earnestly to her father, he spoke back, worried, disappointed, angry. I saw my lady's jaw set, the look of determination that cannot be broken by a thousand charging bulls and I saw her father's scowl break. Resignation. She would have her way. He brought me to his benefactor, a man of power, a man who spoke English well, my wife was dismissed. He would talk to me alone.

We spoke for hours, about my hopes, my dreams, the money I would make, my family and every question a father should ask about a suitor for his daughter. I answered them all. I was not rich, I have humble beginnings, I work hard. I love my family.

His mouth closed to a tight-lipped smile. I had been accepted.

China would give me its greatest gift. Its child.

The months that remained in China were full of frenzied activity. I told my parents the news, only my mother had met my bride-to-be but my whole family were excited for me. Friends, too, were excited, if a little shocked in some cases.

I spent much of my free time being introduced to my bride-to-be's family. As should be expected, they had mixed feelings but they were gracious to take me into their homes and lives and try to get to know me, despite the language barrier.

The time passed quickly, and although at the time it seemed the shopping trips for rings, dresses and effects were endless, it was not long before we were getting ready to be married. The day arrived. As is the custom for Australians, I dressed in a suit and tie, as did my friend who would be my only support on the big day. We were to be married in a registry although the details were unknown to me as my father-in-law had organized it all.

We took a taxi there to meet my lady. I arrived and was confused. In front of us stood my lady and her father.....very casually dressed. No others waited in the wings. Was this to be my marriage?

We all marched inside a non-descript government building, mostly deserted it seemed. Up two flights of stairs to an office where a lady behind a desk sat me down next to my wife-to-be and shot brief questions at us. She checked my passport and visa, checked my wife's family book and then stamped a small red pamphlet with a photo of myself and her in it.

Bam! I was a married man.

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