What a difference a day makes

It’s all about perspective.


Teenaged boys no longer appear to me to be gangly, pimply, smelly, testosterone-fuelled eating machines. Today they are angelic creatures imbued with the essence of all that is good in the universe, bravely picking their way through the danger filled maze of puberty.

Why?

My big boy is 13 now. I am the father of a teenager. I can still remember, clearly, talking about having babies with my bride 14 years ago. I remember thinking “Babies are all well and good, but who can love a 10 year old boy? How am I going to love a teenager!”

Now, of course, I know the answers are “Me” and “With all that I am”.

Woodie was talking about having babies the other night, and he said to us “I don’t believe that I will love a child of my own more than I already love my nieces and nephews, or my family and friends.” I let it go. It’s not something you can explain to the childless. It would be like trying to explain music to the profoundly deaf, or colour to someone blind from birth.

Parenthood is the hardest thing I have ever done. It is the most rewarding thing I have ever done and the thing of which I am most proud. Our two boys, just by being here, have made our world a better place, and us better people.

And now I can add teenaged boys to the list creatures that I love.

Happy Birthday Sis

May 19 1966.
The day my little sister was born. I can't imagine how awful my childhood would have been without her, though I'm sure a lot of her memories are of me torturing her and generally causing her grief. Even though I know we didn't have a great relationship until I was 18 or so, there are very few happy memories I have of my childhood that don't include her.

There are many unhappy memories that revolve around her, but in most of those I am the bad guy. I always felt as if I failed her as a big brother because I didn't or couldn't protect her. As it turns out, she has never needed my protection and is now one of the strongest and strongest-willed people that I know.

I remember one day in primary school, walking home with friends teasing her all the way home. I could tell something was wrong, just from her reaction, but instead of coming to her defense I ran with the sheep and kept it up. It wasn't until I got home that she told me he best friend (Wendy I think) had been killed in a car accident that weekend. I'm not sure if she even remembers the incident but it had a defining effect on my life. It was the beginning of my realisation that, regardless of what others think or say, my moral compass is inside myself. I often worry that my two boys will one day have similar regrets about the way they treat each other, and I tell them that no-one in this world is as much like them as a sibling.


Not only is a sibling the closest genetic match, but they share an upbringing and a lifestyle. Either way, Nature or Nurture, they share a great deal of what defines you.

Thanks sis, for making the last 40 years so interesting. I love you.

Beneath the Southern Cross

I have been considering the politics of Australia recently, or more to the point, the culture of the people. It started around ANZAC Day and has stuck with me, primarily because I have been unable to pinpoint where it all started to unravel for me. Growing up I always thought we were a nation built on the "fair go" principle. Before "A Current Affair" turned the word "battler" from a mark of respect for someone who was poor, but hard-working, to a epithet for toothless, fat bogans in leggings with 6 kids from 4 fathers, bleating that the government should pay them more to shoe their children, but somehow managing to find cash for the carton of cigarettes and slab of beer each week. When did we get so lazy? Was it the fault of faux Labor in the '80's? Of WA Inc? Was that when I lost faith? A true Believer with nothing left to believe in? I would hate this flag to become nothing more than a symbol of greed flown over building sites around the city.

Where am I going now?

I think I’m having “abandonment issues”. Next week, my little sister is taking her family to Bali for her 40th birthday, Friday night G took off for Sydney, mi amica bella, leaves for Broome on Sunday for her 30th birthday and Crystal and Anne head off next week for Melbourne. And me? Where am I going? I don't know, but I’m wondering why there's a hand-basket in my driveway.

Time is precious.....

....if you don't believe me, next time you are on the front rank at the traffic lights during peak hour, sit back, put your hands on your head and count to 10

Here we go again.....

...with the ugliness
I am beginning (again) to question my involvement with soccer/football. Not because of the game itself, I get an honest pleasure from watching the game, but from the people it attracts. I know, I am aware of the incongruity in saying I'm attracted to the game and then in the next breath raisng concerns about the people it attracts, but I think that may be part of my concern. What if I am one of "them" or become one?
It all started Saturday, I took my boys to watch the local side play. It was a good game, a bit one-sided, but we wasted a number of opportunities. Then with 5 minutes to go, with the score at 1-0, the referee gave a bewildering free kick to the away side from which they levelled the score. Someone has then thrown a water bottle on to the pitch, not smart or acceptable behaviour. What I really found offensive about the incident though was the away sides assistant coach grappling with and shoving one of the club officials, whose job it is to keep the spectators from the ground. What was he thinking? Not exactly the type of behaviour likely to calm the situation. Thankfully calmer heads prevailed and the spectators settled to watch what was eventually a disappointing draw.

This however was only the prelude.

Sunday morning both boys played at the same ground, (the younger at 8:00 am , thank you very much!). It was the start of the season for the under 11's and resulted in a disappointing 2-1 loss, but we showed some promise for a side that hasn't played much football together. My older son's team was playing their 4th game, having drawn 1 (2-2) and lost 2 (3-4) and (4-5). I should point out that the coach's son plays for us (let's pretend he wears number 10), providing the perfect focus for the back-biters, whingers and belly-achers. With every loss the grumblings get louder, but as yet, no-one has spoken to the coach directly with their concerns, just to anybody within hearing that will listen. During the week we lost 2 of our back 4 to injury, making this week's clash with the top side just a bit more difficult. We started really well having all the possession and creating all the chances, but we failed to capitalise and against the run of play the opposition scored, 1-nil at half time. After the half-time break we faded badly and were soon 4-0 down. The coach was rotating the changes through the bench, and had called for a substitution when one of the mothers from our side (I really hate using the word "our" there, but "win as a team, lose as a team") screamed out


"Why don't you take number 10 off!!"

This sort of behaviour disgusts me, and disgust is not something I admit to often. The sheer cowardice of this semi-anonymous snipe (though no longer anonymous to the coach) fills me with contempt for people too weak to deal with their perceived problems directly. The most hurtful thing is that the boy's mother was sitting 2 rows in front of the offender. At least the back-biters and whisperers are nearly discreet enough that they don't cause pain to the coach's family.


This is junior sport, under 13's to be exact. If you are not happy, or more importantly, if your child is not happy, speak to your coach, face to face, like a grown up. If you can't do that, then just fuck off.