tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16229664078734468032024-03-05T15:09:35.179+11:00Bill Jennings from Time & SpaceBill Jennings writes regularly about the inspirations he sees in the world around him. As director of his enterprise 'Time & Space', Bill offers insights about raising teenagers, enjoying the challenge of being parent to our kids and other magic moments that capture him. Welcome!Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-7210858554397308962014-09-12T15:48:00.000+10:002014-09-12T16:00:47.754+10:00Standing on their shoulders<div class="MsoNormal">
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It happens
in schools sometimes. Decisions get made from high up.</div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Year 7
White, Year 7 Red, Year 7 Blue, Year 7 Gold and Year 7 Green were all meant to get their year level camp
in 1979, my first year of high school. Someone decided that for that year it
wasn’t happening. The camp had happened for as long as people in the school
could remember and it was reinstated in 1980. All the way up to my final year
of school, there was a Year 7 camp. Just not in our year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">It has filtered
down some 33 years afterwards that my homeroom teacher in that year, Mr.
Thompson wasn’t happy about the decision. He didn’t show his disappointment to
his students. I’ve worked in schools and can tell you that he was utterly
professional about the whole thing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSIvMnZzR37nSxx5y2yDf6I5GzuzTIdE2RdlIbhKGCCJD6X-iUjUt2AEu9W6PgsATwvp6XfMg_OOgFcwXCe-AiuJZbklM6caeCeHib2T5zhWE5D3-7kqyHb_ROBORoIyUCRSVHahfTqM/s1600/7Green1979_Chuck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSIvMnZzR37nSxx5y2yDf6I5GzuzTIdE2RdlIbhKGCCJD6X-iUjUt2AEu9W6PgsATwvp6XfMg_OOgFcwXCe-AiuJZbklM6caeCeHib2T5zhWE5D3-7kqyHb_ROBORoIyUCRSVHahfTqM/s1600/7Green1979_Chuck.jpg" height="320" width="105" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rTVCJAqSr8GHfzVpYcZQK7L6u9S1h2sxly56lCLXsCFXV0KCiWN4RfrEBrmomEgO4TCTnXDuFsgast3DUZz8eR6CDKjMYn3FRLryF5uM2atfcsObXuHU2xHL3DrF2hibOiVI-LYFWbA/s1600/Welcome_back_kotter_1977_GabeKotter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9rTVCJAqSr8GHfzVpYcZQK7L6u9S1h2sxly56lCLXsCFXV0KCiWN4RfrEBrmomEgO4TCTnXDuFsgast3DUZz8eR6CDKjMYn3FRLryF5uM2atfcsObXuHU2xHL3DrF2hibOiVI-LYFWbA/s1600/Welcome_back_kotter_1977_GabeKotter.jpg" height="320" width="88" /></a><span lang="EN-AU">Mr Charles
Thompson (we called him Chuck) was a great teacher. If you are of a certain
age, you will understand that he could pass as the twin of Gabe Cotter, the
star of the hit 1970’s TV series about a teacher in the Bronx, <i>Welcome Back Cotter.</i> He had the afro’,
the flares. He was in his second year out of teachers college. Our classroom
door was always the first open. There was Chuck at his desk each morning with
his cup of coffee, doing corrections. A group of us would just stand around his
desk and talk about nothing in particular. He was great to be around. We could
joke with him and when the bell went he would teach using quizzes, stories –
Chuck made learning fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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A few weeks
after the camp had been called off, Chuck spoke to the class and said, “If we
are going to do this, it’s all in or it’s not on.” And so student by student, a
permission note came from home and the camp was on – just for 7 Green at De La Salle College. We also had to keep it quiet from the other classes. I
understand now that Chuck had arranged with the principal, permission to have a
weekend camp... not in school time and at no cost to the school. Chuck made it
happen on his time. Here we are, your blogger is sitting on the floor there on the left (they forgot to name me and the other fella in the school annual - <i>Blue & Gold</i>).<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU">I remember
that camp so clearly, cooking damper in hot coals, walking through the
Dandenong ranges and stopping for a swim at the Monbulk pool, sleeping in tents
Chuck had got a hold of. As time went on and I became an adult, I appreciated
the effort and commitment Chuck had shown to us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">‘Effort and
Commitment’ was the theme of a presentation I was asked to give at a school I
run the <i>Time & Space</i> programs for
– Yea High School. They have a special assembly each semester and award the
students who have shown, you guessed it, effort and commitment in some aspect
of school life. Pennants are given out to the students in the Yea Shire Hall
and their parents and grandparents are invited to the celebration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">I told the
gathering about Chuck and was delighted to pass on that in the two years I have
been working for Yea High School; it has been evident that there are teachers
like Chuck in their staff community. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">There’s
Phil Wischer, the art teacher. I’ve got to know Phil and on the day of the
presentation, he brought in a painting he had done. It is inspired by Wilson’s Promontory
– a mountain and seascape. The picture has a rope ladder falling from the sky
and in near invisible writing, he has written a verse of Coleridge’s <i>The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner.</i> I said
to the students – how cool is it that your art teacher is an artist? Phil is
coordinating the school musical production as well. I understand his main
motivation is that he wants the kids to experience that feeling of being part
of something bigger than them – that’s what Phil remembers about the times when
he was a student in his school productions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Then
there’s Nicole Gillingham. We run the <i>Time
& Space</i> evenings in the building she teaches in at Yea High School.
Without fail, every time I go in to set up after school has finished, Nicole is
there tutoring a student in maths. One-on-one, carefully explaining the problem
and I know as I walk past, that she will explain it again and again, in different
ways until the student understands. She is so patient. When I have visited the
school during the day, I have seen her at a little makeshift desk outside the
staffroom, helping a student during lunchtime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Sandy Reddan
the ‘food-tech’ teacher always arrives before the <i>Time & Space</i> nights with a basket of muffins (always two
flavours), scones and jam and Cream and even some Anzac biscuits – all freshly
baked. Sandy simply doesn’t have to do this but she does. One morning after I
arrived back in Melbourne late the night before from the 90 minute drive from
Yea High School, my wife saw a carton of eggs on our kitchen bench. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">“Where did
you get those”, she asked?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">“Oh Sandy
told me her chickens were going crazy and she had stacks of eggs left over, so
she gave these to me”. We had some for breakfast – those eggs seemed to have so
much more flavour than the ones you get from the supermarket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Yea High
School deceptively contains a humble set of buildings. There are champions of ‘effort
and commitment’ inside those walls, inspiring the kids.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">I asked the
students and the mums and dads and grandparents to close their eyes and take
thirty seconds to consider the person, the teacher who made a difference in
their life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">So here’s
an invitation to you to do that now. Look away from this story... close your
eyes for 30 seconds and try to picture that teacher whose shoulders you stand
on because of their effort and commitment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Could you
picture them? Great, I’ve got a suggested action for you in just a moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">With
respect to Chuck - I’ve actually written about him before – and when I did, I
made the suggestion to reach out to that teacher (if they were still around)
and simply say ‘thanks’. I wrote Chuck a letter. As it came to pass, I did a
session at my old school for the staff late last year. Chuck was in the
audience and I told the story of his effort and commitment for 7 Green in 1979.
Chuck was beaming. A colleague of his recently told me he was really chuffed.
It took me over 30 years to say thank you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">So you
guessed it. If you know your teacher is still around. Drop them a line. You
might be the person who makes every ‘effort and commitment’ act your teacher
gave, across a career, seem completely worthwhile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">If the teacher
is not around anymore, in the next 24 hours – tell someone important to you why your teacher inspired you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-12939617949012521882014-07-31T13:59:00.000+10:002014-07-31T15:13:49.212+10:00Doing one thing well...<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-AU">... in a
world that demands flexibility, lauds the multi-tasker and pronounces that today’s
15-year-old will have about 20 different
jobs throughout their career... it isn’t difficult to build the argument
against the specialist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">You can see
how the person who does one thing well could be dismissed as unsuitably
equipped to make their way in life. Where the contemporary phrase ‘keeping your
options open’ can be matched with another trendy term, ‘the collective
wisdom’, <i>doing one thing well,</i> might
be the foolhardy approach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">The caveat
though is <i>if</i> that one thing, done
well, is something the person loves doing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Did you ever
do one of those career aptitude tests?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">A company called <i>Career Wise</i> visited
my school in the 1980’s. I was in Year 9. We all sat in the school hall and
under exam conditions filled in the multiple, multiple choice circles with grey
lead pencil. There was an IQ component as well. The company then collected all
the answer cards, took them to their office to feed into a big computer. Computers were big then. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Some weeks
later, we all went back into the hall with our mums and dads and listened to a
person from <i>Career Wise</i> explain the
science behind the results. We sat down with individual consultants and
they presented us with our envelope with the personalised print-out of our
strengths and weaknesses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">My test
said I should become an accountant. I don’t remember any of the other
suggestions but I am certain there was nothing remotely suggesting ‘parent-child
program facilitator’. Another strong memory is that at least three of my
classmates were somewhat bewildered, asking “Do you know what a <i>Ship’s Purser</i> is?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">There is a glut of international sporting competitions right now. Amongst The World Cup, <i>Le Tour </i>and the Commonwealth Games, <i>The Open Championship</i> – one of the
four world majors – was held at The Royal Liverpool Golf Club two weeks ago. Over the last
few years, I have started to notice one person particularly in this tournament. I’ve had a quiet chuckle to myself wondering at the career
aptitude test that a gentleman named Ivor Robson might have taken when he was
15.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Would
Ivor’s test have turned up <i>First Tee
Announcer</i>? Probably not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzvvAcRmIZqqpqyuVpq-eySLlutARIUDy_MwGBt-CqVuCU0_wykbCXZYYCrRq6Cs9sLhVE2c_oWIDx45e0emPqGN9vtbH_xRsRRmCuhP4r6dSVw_b7ghkRaZfTPII4NtHAa7o7zgq12c/s1600/Ivor_Robson_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQzvvAcRmIZqqpqyuVpq-eySLlutARIUDy_MwGBt-CqVuCU0_wykbCXZYYCrRq6Cs9sLhVE2c_oWIDx45e0emPqGN9vtbH_xRsRRmCuhP4r6dSVw_b7ghkRaZfTPII4NtHAa7o7zgq12c/s1600/Ivor_Robson_1.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-AU">Ivor Robson
is the man who announces the names of the players hitting off at the first tee.
And that is part of his magic. He simply announces the names and the country they
come from.No curriculum vitae of the player’s achievements (one exception is that he acknowledges the defending champion). No big build up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL2oTCojrRq86CumqWCwLIQRQvvbMdtKVfYuVHLXkFfF8Iilo5ZSJPiLVgHwba8_0wm3WrTe2t66QaHNhjCF5gULb6iS4XMhWCjNHZkPpN610XgWklOtjXTtCE-MuKVUDeLxbn4qDXqg/s1600/Ivor_Robson_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL2oTCojrRq86CumqWCwLIQRQvvbMdtKVfYuVHLXkFfF8Iilo5ZSJPiLVgHwba8_0wm3WrTe2t66QaHNhjCF5gULb6iS4XMhWCjNHZkPpN610XgWklOtjXTtCE-MuKVUDeLxbn4qDXqg/s1600/Ivor_Robson_2.jpg" height="320" width="235" /></a></div>
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I don’t
know the name of any of the guys who announce at the other three majors. Why do
I know Ivor’s? Because I started started to notice that each year he was always
there. I like his minimalist approach, his mastery of difficult names
and the distinctive musicality in his voice. He makes me smile. This
simple talent prompted me to find out more. His story is delightfully
interesting.</div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Ivor has
been the announcer at The Open for 40 years now. He arrives at the tee 90
minutes before the first group and he never takes a break, a snack or a sip of
water. In fact he doesn’t take a toilet break. This would explain his routine
of refraining from eating or drinking from 7pm the night before. Until the last
group tees off, Ivor remains, standing, at his post. He checks the players have
the regulation golf balls, ensures they don’t have more than the maximum 14
clubs allowed in their golf bag and gives them their score cards. Sending 156
players off in the first two days, he will be at his station for upwards of ten
hours. Ivor is meticulous about keeping time and there is no fear or favour –
if a three time major winner is late, he’s disqualified. Sending 52 groups off
in the early rounds, you can understand why, when quizzed about his job, Ivor
has offered that he needs to maintain strict concentration.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">You can see
I’ve become something of an Ivor Robson groupie. I've, err, (pardon the intentional pun) learnt that: he has never
answered a question about his exact age; Ivor breaks the difficult-to-pronounce
names into manageable phonetic bits and his advice to the aspiring announcer, is to say the name once, and convincingly. It is easy to pick up that Ivor
simply loves the game. And he is humble. At last year’s tournament at Muirfield, he
was asked about his legacy after he retires (one day). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Ivor remarked “Seven days after I’ve gone, they’ll say ‘who was that grey-haired
old man who used to announce the players.'”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">This year,
Ivor received that classic accolade... what do they say? The greatest form of
flattery is imitation. Have a look at this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Ivor Robson
does one thing well.</div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">And here
are three others who belong in Ivor’s class.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxRqCvk4S-rAjOcO1pV2IViiKK3JlkoX3QmKlmZI8FRiX2TixPgHb4iS-Al5bIGRXPB0bgi1gSR_O6J3c5j68HIw834RFkE6nY9CmnqTHB74azdJhgIVGv-Cw5zkZYStHgOz8Br8cwF0c/s1600/John_Donegan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxRqCvk4S-rAjOcO1pV2IViiKK3JlkoX3QmKlmZI8FRiX2TixPgHb4iS-Al5bIGRXPB0bgi1gSR_O6J3c5j68HIw834RFkE6nY9CmnqTHB74azdJhgIVGv-Cw5zkZYStHgOz8Br8cwF0c/s1600/John_Donegan.jpg" /></a><br />
John
Donegan was in my year group at my school. He would have taken that same
<i>Career Wise </i>test.<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-AU">Maybe they got him
right. <a href="http://stanleystreetgallery.com.au/artists/john-donegan/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Search John on the web</a> and you'll find that he sold his first photo when he was 14. I remember John, as a student, seemed like he almost had his own set of keys for the Media area. He was always developing
his latest set of photos in the dark room. I’ve enjoyed <a href="https://twitter.com/John__Donegan" target="_blank">following John on Twitter</a> in
recent times. A couple of weeks ago, he travelled around Australia's major cities and
captured scenes from his angle of vision. It is great art. He has mashed those city shots with photos taken of the same scenes back in 1914. It is late July as I write this. One hundred years ago, most Australians would have been innocently unaware of how close they were to the beginning of The Great War. <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-07-29/australian-transitions-1914-2014-digital-montages-pre-war-cities/5627444" target="_blank">Check John's</a></span><a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2014-07-29/australian-transitions-1914-2014-digital-montages-pre-war-cities/5627444" target="_blank"> work out here</a>. It is a sublime concept, professionally executed.</div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UVa4T9iUuMYMGuH6Gnkc0rwSGffWrsNPJ7J_Rt6n-eLo2hajSJXftw1Smj6jagHBn29p0CbL57roq2VA8uOmOriNJ4VfbaModEXHgiVa2JUxvWzTOHmIZcimgOkNF1unP-pRHKgjCs8/s1600/Julie_Anne_Geddes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UVa4T9iUuMYMGuH6Gnkc0rwSGffWrsNPJ7J_Rt6n-eLo2hajSJXftw1Smj6jagHBn29p0CbL57roq2VA8uOmOriNJ4VfbaModEXHgiVa2JUxvWzTOHmIZcimgOkNF1unP-pRHKgjCs8/s1600/Julie_Anne_Geddes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-UVa4T9iUuMYMGuH6Gnkc0rwSGffWrsNPJ7J_Rt6n-eLo2hajSJXftw1Smj6jagHBn29p0CbL57roq2VA8uOmOriNJ4VfbaModEXHgiVa2JUxvWzTOHmIZcimgOkNF1unP-pRHKgjCs8/s1600/Julie_Anne_Geddes.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU">Julie-Anne Geddes was my work supervisor in a volunteer year I did in Sydney in 1989. She
coordinated a coffee shop, which was a
special work of the local Anglican parishes, for the transsexual prostitutes who worked on William Street down from Kings Cross. Julie oversaw this safe place, called PJ’s, ensuring these ladies could
come and take a break from their work and she looked after the eclectic group of volunteers in her charge as well. </span><br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-AU">She was always a grounded, kind
helper. Now living in Wollongong with her family, Julie is a psychologist
with well, that Julie spark. No doubt she would be doing untold good for the folk she supports. I've just ordered her recently released, first book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/ACTS-LOVE-Thousand-Ways-Sustain/dp/1500173797/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1403270987&sr=1-1-fkmr0&keywords=acts+o@idclrWorldPeace" target="_blank">Acts of Love: a thousand ways to sustain love.</a> Can't wait to read it.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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And finally, how do you fancy being lost for 92 minutes within a beautiful story? Then see <i><a href="http://www.palacefilms.com.au/stilllife/" target="_blank">Still Life</a></i>. Eddie Marsan's performance is
masterful as he occupies the character of the utterly decent, selfless council
worker, John May. What’s the one thing that John May does well? He has worked
for 22 years carefully, respectfully trying to find the next of kin of those who died
alone in his South London borough.Oh yeah, Joanne Froggatt of Downton Abbey fame puts in a wonderful performance too.<br />
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<span lang="EN-AU">Ivor
Robson, John Donegan, Julie-Anne Geddes, John May (and Eddie Marsan) all do one
thing well, very well. And in their work, you easily spot the generosity that emanates and delights. They love what they do and they are
good at it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">It’s
underrated but I reckon it is worth encouraging our kids to explore their hearts
to find that one spark that fires them more than any other option.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><i>This story
is dedicated to my young bloke Jack who turned 18 earlier this month. Jacko - you could
be a philosopher - in fact you <u>are</u> a philosopher. You are a bloody good actor as well. I know I may not put
my advice at a premium - you probably get too much of it from your less than perfect old man... all the same... Son - work out what is it is that you truly love doing and then do that one thing well – maybe, against the tide of collective wisdom, for a lifetime.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-82229971582228860942014-05-11T13:48:00.000+10:002014-05-11T13:50:25.767+10:00Gabi - a Mothers Day Champion<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-AU">It has been
a big week for Gabi.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">On Tuesday
night Gabi was a participant at the Mother and Son session at her son’s school,
Saint Ignatius College in Drysdale, a 20 minute drive through Geelong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Two nights
later she fronted up and was a team member at the subsequent Mother and
Daughter night. At her Mother-Daughter session in 2012, Gabi had ticked a box
on the evaluation form to say she would be interested being a team member at a
future event.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Participants
can also tick a box to say that they would like to become a member of the <i>Time & Space Community</i>. They receive
stories about mums, dads, young people who often are going about, what the
subjects consistently consider to be, their ordinary life. And then you and I,
encountering their story, might contend that they are quietly being <i>extra</i>ordinary. Another way I describe
the people of these everyday stories are as ‘champions who have been spotted’. Gabi
is one such champion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">If you have
been to a <i>Time & Space </i>session
you will have seen and heard from that brave group up the front... the people
on the community panel. We usually have two parents and two young people sharing
their insights about the questions the participants will answer in their small
group session that follows. Gabi was a panellist on Thursday night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">In answer
to the question... <i>what is a special
quality you see in your child?</i> She said this about her daughter...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU">My daughter’s special
quality would without doubt be her inner strength. Her courage and ability to
overcome adversity, adapt and navigate her way through an experience of great
loss in Year 8 was just remarkable and inspiring.</span></i><span lang="EN-AU"> <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">At the end
of the evening, Gabi came up to me with a specific question. I got a chance
too, to say thanks for the insights she shared and for how she impacted on the
audience of mums, mentors and teenage girls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Her
daughter has completed the two <i>Time and
Space </i>programs in sequence – The Father-Daughter in Year 7 and then the
Mother-Daughter in Year 8. As a family – they have now done three of the four
sessions available in the transition years of high school. As you know, Gabi
and her boy did the Mother-Son this week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">In our
conversation, I shared a clear memory from the Father-Daughter night three
years ago. Gabi seemed surprised but her husband stood out to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">He
explained how determined he had been not to miss the father-daughter night. He
was seated, had a quiet satisfaction that he had made it. He had kind eyes. Gabi
remembered and reflected...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">“Oh yeah,
we made a big effort to make it to that night. He made the journey down here
from Melbourne.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Often dads
make big efforts to get to <i>Time &
Space</i> events from work far away. It is humbling to witness the priority
they put on being with their son or daughter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">This was
different again. Gabi’s husband mustered the energy to be transported from the
Royal Melbourne Hospital to be at the night with his daughter. He had a terminal illness and passed away
just a few months later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">You see
Gabi’s question was opening up how we might tackle the Father-Son night for her
boy next year. There is always provision for a mentor to be there if mum or dad
is not around (and, as in this case, sometimes it is a sad reason). It is that
care and foresight that makes Gabi a pretty obvious and ‘spot-able’ champion
mum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">In saying
on the panel that her daughter has <i>inner
strength</i> – we kind of know how her girl has inherited that. Having affirmed
her daughter’s quality Gabi went on to offer a message to the girls there on
the night...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-AU">It also highlighted to
me that our girls are strong. Without knowing the young ladies here this
evening, I do know that you all have inner strength, because of the wonderful
role models you have sitting beside you. I hope you always remember that.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">It was
evident to those of us there that we were in the presence of, to use Gabi’s
words, a <i>wonderful role-model</i>. The
principal of the school remarked to me afterwards that whilst Gabi didn’t
specify the detail of her loss, a good number of the mums there would have been
in the know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">That’s why
I reckon Gabi’s story is a great example to share on Mother’s Day (here in
Australia today). Gabi has courage. There’s selflessness in the way she first sees
and acknowledges her daughter’s quality that emerged from that loss – a loss that
was obviously Gabi’s as well. And then let’s regard the kindness in her forward
planning to start thinking about a session for her son that will be happening
in September 2015. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Let Gabi
and her story represent the way mums give, the way so many mums sacrifice as a
default action and the way mums are ‘extraordinary in the ordinary’.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">This story is
a gift for Gabi and her kids written on Mother’s Day 2014. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">If you are
reading this now it will be because Gabi (and the kids) said it was okay. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-38088003682309098592014-03-21T00:31:00.002+11:002014-03-21T00:44:36.460+11:00Lean on Your Tribe<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span lang="EN-AU">Consider
this... a member of your family is having a stressful time with one of their
kids. They approach you and ask for some help.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">What would
you do? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">You’ve got
your answer? Good. Hold that thought. See if you can find some of your own
stories in what’s to follow.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">With my
seventeen year-old son’s permission I can share that my wife Lisa and I have
not had the easiest time guiding our youngest through his adolescent years. His
challenges would all be considered what you would say are some of the things a
mum, dad and teenager can encounter in this time of life. Tough but - when all is said and done – pretty
normal challenges. He’s pushed boundaries, I’ve picked the wrong fights. In a few
years time we’ll probably look back and laugh at how stubborn we both have
been. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">There are
signs that we are emerging through the other side of an, at times, ugly
journey. How ugly? Do you remember how Tim Robbins’ character Andy Dufresne
finally escaped from Shawshank prison?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">His friend
Red (the Morgan Freeman character), in that timeless narration voiceover
said...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;">“Andy crawled to freedom through five hundred yards of shit
smelling foulness I can't even imagine, or maybe I just don't want to. Five
hundred yards... that's the length of five football fields, just shy of half a
mile.”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 140%; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 140%;"><br /></span></i></div>
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What do you think? Is that sewer pipe not a brilliant
metaphor for parents guiding a teenager through a difficult adolescence?</div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">We might be
getting to the end of the pipe, touch wood. A few weekends ago, at 1am on a
Sunday morning, I found myself sitting in my car in a suburban street
performing the designated driver duties. Lisa was still awake, so she came
along for the ride and made the ubiquitous phone call (we don’t knock on the
door any more do we?). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">A handful
of young folk were starting to appear in the street. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">We have a
phrase for how we like to find the young bloke when he emerges from a party – <i>in good order</i>. This morning he <u>was</u>
in good order. He appeared with a mate and his girlfriend. Jack asks if we can
give his friends a lift back home. As we drive off, the banter starts. The
young lady is very chatty and I can’t remember what I said but she remarked to
Jack that he had the coolest parents ever. We had to laugh. This would not be
Jack’s usual opinion (well certainly not the way he sees his dad). We’ve
laughed again today – enjoying some opportunities to say to Jack that we are
really happy with how he’s going at the moment... in Year 12, chipping away at
the homework and balancing the social life with his biggest year at school yet.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Half way
through last year we certainly felt stuck somewhere in the middle of that
metaphoric pipe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">It seemed
like every week we were hitting problems. Boundary crossed. Consequence.
Another boundary crossed – another tougher consequence. From both sides, it felt
like all we were doing was upping the ante. I started to feel bereft and said
to Lisa... “Do you feel like we are running out of ideas?” Lisa agreed. There
will be parents now reading this who know that feeling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">As that
feeling of helplessness began to overwhelm, one idea made a welcome visit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">I
remembered that Jack was pushing boundaries in a way that my youngest brother
Greg had done when he was growing up. I left home just before his teenage
years... travelled around the country and the world. So we came in and out of
each others lives. I do remember though that he gave mum and dad a bit of
heartache. Being eleven years older than Greg, I have always looked at him as
my little brother. He had got married the year before and was about three weeks
away from becoming a dad. I shared with Lisa the idea... to ask Greg to
possibly help us with Jack – could he come and simply have a chat with him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">I called
Greg, it was the weekend, could he spare some time – because of what I remember
he was like as a teenager – to come and have a chat with Jack some time soon.
Greg lives on the other side of town. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Do you know
what happened? Greg was at our door within half an hour. He took Jack out for
lunch. Yum Cha in fact (which I remarked to Lisa was a pretty mixed up
consequence – but he was Greg’s project now). Greg visited the next weekend and
this time was equipped with some goal setting materials he had been given in a
course he had done at work. He invited Jack to work through the process with
him... each of them working on their own goals but at the same time, together,
so that they could encourage each other. I can’t recall how many times Jack has
been lectured by yours truly about the need to have goals. Of course that
message is going to be better received by Jack’s much cooler, younger uncle
than the broken record messages of his old man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">We had a
family birthday gathering a few weeks ago, just before Jack started his last
year of high school. Greg presented him with a letter. I don’t know what was in
it but Jack, as you’ve been informed has made a brilliant start to the year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">It had
never occurred to me until then to ask someone for help. In fact, the realisation
came that this was the first time I had asked Greg for something that in anyway
credited him as being an adult. My ‘little’ brother has been an adult for at
least 18 years now. In the middle of a very busy, exciting time in his life (he
now has a baby son, Isaac) Greg responded to a request from his brother to help
his nephew.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">What did
you say in answer to that question at the start of this story... if a member of
your family or a close friend asked you for help, what would you say? My guess
is that most of us would respond like my brother did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Why is it
that I only thought to ask Greg for help when he was what felt like the last
idea left? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">We live in
a world where we often feel we’ve got to solve stuff ourselves. If Greg needs a
chop out with Isaac in 15 years or so, I’m there. Or, maybe better still, his
big cousin Jack will step in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">What’s the
big take away from this story? When you are doing it tough with your
teenager... indeed when you encounter any challenge raising your kids... <i>Lean on Your Tribe. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">They are
waiting to be asked. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">You’d help
them in similar circumstances wouldn’t you? Yes? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Then ask. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span>
If you would like to be notified when a new story goes on this blog, you can join the <i>Time & Space Community</i> right <b><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/community.php" target="_blank">here</a></b>.<br />
<br />
<span lang="EN-AU"></span><br />
<a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/community.php"></a>Thanks for reading. As always feel free to write a comment in the space below. There are a few ways you can comment - if you choose anonymous, it is always appreciated when you put your name next to what you say.</div>
Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-81588793204420563892013-12-31T11:50:00.001+11:002014-03-21T00:43:41.376+11:00Treasured Moments<br />
This year it finally happened. The threat had loomed for a while but when the time came, it kept coming. He proved the next two times we played, that his victory wasn’t a fluke.
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For about four years now, my 17-year-old son and I have had a regular hit of squash up at our local RSL gymnasium. Up until this year, my title was unchallenged. I’m a bit old school when it comes to the debate about whether you play full tilt or let your kids have a chance against you in competitive games. Especially with our squash games, I have always shown no mercy. And when his turn came, neither did he.<br />
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You wouldn’t have seen it on the back page of your newspaper and it wasn’t the lead story in Sport on the evening news but, in June this year, whilst still 16 years old, Jack beat me 3-2 in a fiercely contested game of squash. He lead 2-0 and I clawed back thinking, “I’ve got him” and then, the rest is history - he allowed me only two points as he finished his dad off in the fifth game. I thought, “Right... next time, I’ll get him back”.<br />
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Well, next time, he beat me 4-1 and then for good measure, he got the same score the time after that. There was a definite pattern emerging in the way our games were going.<br />
<br />
You hear about how the lion packs in the African Savannah working out who is the boss lion... the old lion often sees off some early challenges but eventually the young lion wins a fight and becomes king of the pride. During that first loss, whilst scrambling to try and maintain my title, I could see that he was bringing a new strength and pace to the game that I couldn’t match. Promise you, the fight went to the last point but when he won, a wave of pride washed over. He had done it... gone past his old man.<br />
<br />
This was a treasured moment.<br />
<br />
Everyday life goes on. Then something happens that marks a moment in time. Our kids have got to a new stage.<br />
<br />
These moments don’t have to be contests. It can be a moment you become aware of sometime after a new change has occurred. My oldest Amber provided one of these moments this year, along with my mum.
<br />
<br />
Amber actually stopped being a teenager this year (by virtue of turning 20). Life is flowing for her: just finished second year university; she’s recently done some house-sitting for friends; she has got herself a great steady part-time job and now, is driving her own car. She has been forging her own independence.<br />
<br />
Somewhere along the way, I heard my mum start a sentence that will probably read as fairly ordinary to you. Mum and dad are still in the same house I grew up in. We are now on the other side of town.<br />
<br />
Mum started “When Amber popped in <i>again</i> the other day...” Like I said, this would seem somewhat innocuous to you but as Amber’s dad, me and her mum have always driven her over to see my mum and dad. Now she was popping in, of her own accord, after uni. When she house-sat, she was closer to her grandparent’s house than to ours. Mum explained that Amber had been coming to visit just to say hello. Over the visits, an idea Amber has for a family film project grew. Amber is lucky enough to have a memory of mum’s parents - her great grandparents. My grandpa died in 2002 when Amber was nine. She remembers this kind old man who had lived a tough life. Grandpa grew up in the Depression. He was orphaned and built a life with his own family from this starting point of adversity. Amber is fascinated by her great grandfather’s story. She has developed a passion for documentary making at university. At a recent family gathering she asked everyone to be ready to share their memories of grandpa sometime soon on camera.<br />
<br />
Mum told me that she had shared things with Amber that she can’t recall telling me or my brothers or sister. Mum said it was easier to talk about when she was growing up to her grand-daughter.<br />
<br />
My daughter who it seems, just a second ago was a little baby I could hold in one arm... now has her own adult connection with my mum. It is their relationship. Amber’s got her own independent, creative ideas. Of course she has. It might read as obvious but when mum said, “When Amber popped over again the other day...” the sense of another wave of pride washed over. A treasured moment had visited again.<br />
<br />
Almost invisibly, another stage in your child’s life is progressing to a point where some time soon, you’ll be right in the middle of a treasured moment. You’ll feel it right there and then – perhaps being delightfully confronted by the realisation that they have gone past you, like the young bloke did destroying me on the local squash courts. Maybe you’ll become aware sometime after the event - like I did with Amber – realising, “wow she seriously is a young adult now... she has an impressive generous imagination... she has her own family connections that she can pursue.<br />
<br />
Sure, we drive each other crazy. We get things wrong a lot of the time with our kids. But hey, our kids surprise us. They can delight us with a treasured moment that says, they are on the way to being their own person, a young adult.<br />
<br />
<b>Tip</b><br />
<br />
This story is posted on the last day of 2013. This is a good time to look back and wonder... where were those treasured moments for you as a parent, as a mentor to a young person? Give yourself a bit of Time & Space to wonder at the magic of your kids growing up.<br />
<br />
Bill Jennings<br />
<a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">www.time-space.com.au</a><br />
<br />
If you would like to be notified when a new story goes on this blog, you can join the <i>Time & Space Community</i> right <b><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/community.php" target="_blank">here</a></b>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/community.php"></a>Thanks for reading this year. As always feel free to write a comment in the space below. There are a few ways you can comment - if you choose anonymous, it is always appreciated when you put your name next to what you say. Have a grouse 2014. Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-43695014208200389622013-12-25T07:43:00.000+11:002013-12-25T08:09:10.408+11:00Mungo - Busking for The Philippines<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHD1Ss3iVUsJa-uIy7TuQfXH8zHIJlR25xvmLGXgAMgysUkrCC2abGVHqxz2nYbH-MBge6nMaSBZyV_o0fbelaj_caMiV7bpJjeNUdHV1GIhx8xkp0UM-2ZZL3kiHQjW6gp-R-88_x3yY/s1600/wilfred.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHD1Ss3iVUsJa-uIy7TuQfXH8zHIJlR25xvmLGXgAMgysUkrCC2abGVHqxz2nYbH-MBge6nMaSBZyV_o0fbelaj_caMiV7bpJjeNUdHV1GIhx8xkp0UM-2ZZL3kiHQjW6gp-R-88_x3yY/s320/wilfred.jpg" width="294" /></a><span lang="EN-AU"></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><span lang="EN-AU"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-AU">Some <i>Time & Space Community</i> people<i> </i>might know that Mem Fox’s picture book
(illustrated by Julie Vivas), <i>Wilfred
Gordon McDonald Partridge </i>gets a run in some of my presentations. It‘s a
personal favourite. It is a story of a small boy who helps his ninety-six year
old friend, Miss Nancy Alison Delacourt Cooper, in the nursing home next door
to his house. I love the way he takes action to help her because she has lost
her memory.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">In the last
few weeks I have found out about another extraordinary boy who lives locally.
This seven year old boy, named Mungo, saw a problem and simply
responded... <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Through
November I was in the UK delivering some <i>Time
& Space</i> programs there. I flew out on Melbourne Cup Tuesday. Our family
had been away for the weekend and I knew something bad had happened in the
Philippines... a massive storm but I had my head down whilst delivering the
programs in England and never really took in what had happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The morning
after returning home Lisa sent me up the road to buy some milk where I bump
into Gurdeep, a friendly bloke who works at our local IGA store. Gurdeep I
think is a Sikh. He wears a turban, a beard that would make any inner city
hipster proud and always, a big smile.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">“When is
your band playing next?” asked Gurdeep.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He was
referring to a band I’m in called <i>SHeD</i>,
a bunch of four dads who met up years ago when our kids were at the local
primary school. Our by-line is <i>Four
Blokes and a </i>Guitar and we practice in my shed. We play occasional Saturday
mornings outside the ‘Miller-on-Gilbert’ shops to create a vibe that emphasises
the difference between a local precinct and a monolithic retail centre like
Northland. The local traders chip in a few bucks and when people go to offer us
some busking money, we say “This is a gift from the traders, spend your money
in their shops”. It works well but be assured, none of us have given up our day
jobs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">I tell
Gurdeep, “We’re playing this weekend.” Gurdeep is a big fan of any rock’n’roll
- he appears at the front of the shop, clapping along if we are playing <i>Holy Grail</i> or a big Elvis Presley tune. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">“We’ve had
the little kid play out the front here... have you heard about the kid?”
Gurdeep asks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">“No I
haven’t mate, I’ve been away,” I respond.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">“ He plays
his little guitar and he’s been in the paper.” It is clear Gurdeep has been
captivated and is excited.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">So Saturday
comes and Mungo is walking on the other side of Gilbert Road. He lives with his
mum Kathleen and Dave, his dad in one of the shops converted into their home.
Mungo sees that SheD are playing out the front of <i>Menuki Hairdressing</i> across the road from him. He pops back inside
and appears with his ukulele in one hand and a newspaper article in the other.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">“Oh”, I
think to myself, “that little kid Gurdeep was talking about is Mungo!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DgiM2r12yD6T_3N2nbsX_ClPDeFemtqjhRtqY7yHdNSTrFPcYex6tAjHDOt4Ar8XtHF3pZax-1QKMP3LWH979Z7ZomtMPtf6wk5cqa2lgagDsrC7EyiEZw3TXheHaDSJmhnA2nTZljc/s1600/20131207_124819_4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3DgiM2r12yD6T_3N2nbsX_ClPDeFemtqjhRtqY7yHdNSTrFPcYex6tAjHDOt4Ar8XtHF3pZax-1QKMP3LWH979Z7ZomtMPtf6wk5cqa2lgagDsrC7EyiEZw3TXheHaDSJmhnA2nTZljc/s320/20131207_124819_4.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN-AU">Our band
have watched him grow up through the years... he has always stopped and
listened to the tunes. He is a serious, reflective little guy. This time he
played along with us. He knows two numbers, <i>House
of the Rising Sun </i> and <i>Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da</i>. Our guitarist
Stephen, follows Mungo and we sing along with him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Here’s the
back story. Mungo and his parents, were sitting at the dinner table and
chatting about a story that dominated our news services in early November. Just
like <i>Wilfred Gordon</i>, Kathleen says,
“he is always asking questions” and his dad had been listening to the ABC news on
the radio for the developing consequences of Typhoon Haiyan. It captured
Mungo’s attention. As he asked more questions and talked with his dad, he started
to imagine and understand simple comparisons about things we might overlook.
Mungo wondered what it might be like to lose all his toys.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">He also wondered
if there was something he could do about it. At the dinner table that night,
the idea that Mungo came up with was that he might be able to busk, playing his
ukulele for the people of the Philippines as he once had made about $8 playing
out the front of his shop front home. Dave, his dad explained about Oxfam, so
he made a sign to that effect and people chipped in. Next Mungo was allowed to
play outside the IGA. Oxfam heard through Mungo’s dad what he was doing and
they gave him a temporary blog to track his goal towards raising $500. From
there the photographer headed down <a href="http://www.newspix.com.au/C.aspx?VP3=SearchResult_VPage&ALID=2KERYD1HRHRH" target="_blank">and took some shots for the Herald-Sun story. </a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_q9NWrqARA8wuY4iKmbAfYHJE5uXA0ZKTv5QPo0f3UEJNg7BqEVRuuSAHE0Xe9he1B7MZFpdu77USVzP_FV9dSGBwAFG-AaKtKrr8E1nPU4qsWti4mHvH7jtYv_j8mWCduyVOaDexqTY/s1600/20131207_124846_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_q9NWrqARA8wuY4iKmbAfYHJE5uXA0ZKTv5QPo0f3UEJNg7BqEVRuuSAHE0Xe9he1B7MZFpdu77USVzP_FV9dSGBwAFG-AaKtKrr8E1nPU4qsWti4mHvH7jtYv_j8mWCduyVOaDexqTY/s320/20131207_124846_2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-AU">Mungo has
just finished in Year 1 and as the <a href="https://www.oxfam.org.au/2013/11/seven-year-old-mungo-is-busking-for-the-philippines/" target="_blank">Oxfam website states</a> he has, in recent
weeks, “shown you are never too young to be a role-model”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kathleen
says that his Principal called him up recently at the Prep, Year 1 and 2
assembly and he started telling the Preppies that “a typhoon is like a really
big whirlwind”. The school are having to review their policies as well as
Mungo, as a Year 1 isn’t old enough yet to go on the student social justice
committee! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">As the
penny dropped and it became evident that Mungo had started a typhoon of
goodness, I quickly checked with the boys in the band and all agreed that there
was no way we could put the money the traders gave us that day into our own
pockets. I went in to collect from Fiona the hairdresser who owns <i>Menuki</i>. She had seen Mungo playing with
us and I let her know that the money today is going to his campaign. Instead of
handing over the usual $20, Fiona doubles it and says “give him this as well.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">The next
shop is <i>Glo Beauty</i> and as I tell Monique
behind the counter, Mungo’s story, a lady who has just had a treatment is
standing next to me, ready to pay. The lady’s name is Margaret, she hears about
Mungo’s efforts and pulls twenty bucks out of her purse, hands me the money and
says “give it to that wonderful boy”. Mum, Kathleen who is Mungo’s blog manager
credits Margaret’s contribution. Mungo has well and truly surpassed his $500
goal and as I write the growing total is $3042 AUD for Oxfam. You can <a href="https://www.oxfam.org.au/my/events/view/688?utm_source=mungo-blog" target="_blank">check out the current total here</a>, even add to it if you wish. Mungo, this is mighty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">At the end
of <i>Wilfred Gordon McDonald Partridge, </i>there’s
a beautiful line...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-AU"> And
the two of them smiled and smiled<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-AU"> because
Miss Nancy’s memory had been found again<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-AU"> by
a small boy, who wasn’t very old either.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">This post
is sent out at Christmas. It doesn’t matter if you are religious or not –
Christmas has a huge theme of giving. The story that underpins Christmas has
central figures who were homeless on that night – as the nativity narrative
goes, the baby was born in a stable at the back of the inn with the ‘no
vacancy’ sign... there are people right now, still homeless in the Philippines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU">Just like <i>Wilfred Gordon</i> I reckon Mungo has helped
us to remember what’s important. His
story has sparked the kindness in other people’s hearts... his action has been
so profoundly simple that it has been easy for people to support and join Mungo
in his cause.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-AU"> It is a powerful little example of how one
person’s action can make the world a better place and on this occasion that
kindness has come from Mungo... <i>who isn’t
very old either.<o:p></o:p></i></span><br />
<span lang="EN-AU"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"><i>As always, thanks for reading</i> - feel free to add your comments in the box below. You can click the <i>Anonymous</i> link to write a comment. It is always appreciated if you include your name next at the end of the comment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Bill Jennings - Creator and Founder of <a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/" target="_blank">Time & Space</a><br />
<br />
If you would like to join the <i>Time & Space Community</i> - it is a gift to you and when a new story like this one is posted, you will receive an email about it. <a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/community.php" target="_blank">Here's where you can become part of the community. </a></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-55674719068659932252013-07-05T17:21:00.000+10:002013-07-05T18:20:37.512+10:00The Tram Ride Home<br />
From the day this story is posted consider how time has moved since these two events. <br />
<br />
It is 42 days since Adam Goodes was called an ‘ape’ at the MCG by a 13-year-old girl.<br />
<br />
It is 44 days since Private Lee Rigby was hacked to death in Woolwich in the UK. <br />
<br />
If you read this blog in Australia, the Adam Goodes story preoccupied the nation for about a week. With regard to the Woolwich story, it doesn’t matter where in the world you read this blog... you would have heard news about the murder of Lee Rigby. <br />
<br />
Do you ever feel naive when the media circus, pulls out the tent pegs, packs up and heads away in search of the next story? I do. The fervent discussion on talkback radio, the collective introspection that goes with big news, evaporates as quickly as the storm brews up. <br />
<br />
What do we learn? <br />
<br />
What enables us to be different the next time? <br />
<br />
I reckon it is the moments of chance learning we get that don’t make world news. <br />
<br />
So, 41 days ago the Adam Goodes and Lee Rigby events had happened. They were unrelated, yet both <em>race </em>related. They were curdling in my mind as this 'chance learning' happened on the 112 tram...<br />
<br />
My daughter Amber and I have been going to the footy for years. Her younger brother has come along with us most of that time but on this Saturday night, it was just me and her. Just like when she was little. Our team Essendon had won. We had beaten the Tigers in the big Dreamtime match at the MCG. <br />
<br />
We walked through Fitzroy Gardens to get to our tram stop. We talked along the path. Both of us agreed that there was something unusual in the atmosphere that night. The crowd of over 80000 people had been noticeably quiet. The Dreamtime game is meant to be a celebration of the contribution of indigenous players to Aussie Rules. But something sad had happened at that ground on the previous night. Something that didn’t fit the script. That was the night Adam Goodes, an aboriginal champion of the game, had been racially vilified during the final stages of the Collingwood-Sydney game. Amber and I both wondered if that rupture, on the same ground, had placed our crowd into that subdued, reflective state.<br />
<br />
That week, I had been working flat stick and only caught snippets of the brutal murder of a British soldier, in the broad daylight in a London high street. Having only snippets suited me, in a way, because this attack felt new. It was disturbing and hard to let in. The Lee Rigby story also brought up a familiar sense of anxiety, uncertainty. It is irrational and a bit embarrassing to say but I felt afraid. I remember feeling the same way after September 11. <br />
<br />
We got to tram stop near St Vincent’s Hospital. Well, when Amber was six it was a tram stop. These days it’s called a Super Stop. That distinction is made because we had to top up our Myki cards. That meant I had to open my wallet. It was getting late so I scanned the characters waiting at the super stop.<br />
<br />
There were two aboriginal women who walked up to the stop and past us. One of the ladies had no shoes. They were pretty tipsy and happy. A sad scene but their jovial, boisterous ways made me smile. There was a familiarity that didn’t feel threatening... I had seen this before. <br />
<br />
A man was sitting right near the Myki machine... he had darkish skin too but I was pretty sure he wasn’t aboriginal. He had a vacant expression on his face. He was looking forward and not giving even any fleeting eye contact. I felt uncomfortable as I started to put my credit cards on the Myki machine to top up my card. <br />
<br />
I’m placing myself here at your judgement but a friend of mine says that if we write, we have to be prepared to share something that we don’t like in ourselves... something from the shadows, something that might even disgust us about ourselves. This reads pretty heavy I know but put simply, I was frightened of this man. I wondered if he might be muslim. Specifically, an extreme Islamist.<br />
<br />
Here are my irrational thought processes, my inner dialogue... <br />
<br />
<em>... that soldier died this week because he was a soldier. I’m not a soldier, I’ll be OK. This guy looks like he might be a Muslim. Maybe the next random attack is going to be on a random westerner. Hey that could be me. Bill don’t be an idiot. You know most muslims are not extremists. He’s not going to attack you. But then again, you never know...</em><br />
<br />
So, Amber and I (and my irrational thoughts) got on the tram... with this man. We found two seats in a booth with a couple who had come from the city. The man I was frightened of took his seat a couple of booths away taking one of four seats on his own. The aboriginal ladies lit up the tram with laughter and got off two stops later. <br />
<br />
Next our attention turned to some young blokes who also had had a few drinks. They weren’t full hipsters but tertiary students with a lot of young fella confidence and bits of facial hair... they enjoyed the mix between their intellectuality and their ripe language. They were making outlandish, bravado fuelled remarks about the young women they knew... very loudly. Their demeanour was so overconfident and so loud and so oblivious to the rest of the passengers that they were actually quite amusing. The other two people in our booth, a man and a woman were smirking. These lads were very happy for themselves. If on the other hand, my paranoid profiling of the man sitting on his own was indeed correct and he was an extreme Islamist, then these young blokes had done nothing to argue a case in support of the modesty and decorum of the infidels! They were pretty crass. In a couple more stops they were off, congratulating each other as to how funny each of them really were. This was such a typical Friday night tram ride home along Brunswick Street... a classic mix of footy crowd along with others coming back from the restaurants and pubs.<br />
<br />
Two stops later, a lady was giving a warm hug at the stop to two friends she had dined with. Well dressed, middle aged, Caucasian and attractive looking... she got on the tram, waved and blew a few extra kisses to her friends. Another tipsy person was with us. The tram took off with one of those jolts that could throw you off balance if you were fully sober. The lady was flung in a pirouette... she did a full 180 degree turn, flung out her hand, grabbed a rail, swung again and fell, into the lap of the man I was afraid of.<br />
<br />
“Oh, how are you?” said the well dressed, tipsy lady.<br />
<br />
She remained on the man’s lap longer than she should have.<br />
<br />
The man spoke in a gentle voice, “I am fine thanks, a little tired actually.”<br />
<br />
Somehow he managed to assist the lady off his lap. She slid and slotted into the space next to him. There was room for her to create some space, move and take the seat opposite but she sat snuggled right in, in a flirty fashion. The lady looked around the tram and saw a few footy scarves adorning some of the passengers.<br />
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She asked the man, “Have you been to the footy?”<br />
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“No I have been working tonight in the city,” he replied, “I did see the score at about half time.” The man’s accent was hard to place... middle eastern maybe? Maybe not. His voice sounded kind. My fears was dissipating and being replaced by a feeling best described as foolishness.<br />
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“Oh, who was playing?” the lady asked.<br />
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“I know Richmond was one team, I go for Richmond but I think we might have been losing.” Wow. I thought. This extremist guy goes for the Tigers. <br />
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“I go for the magpies... that was bad what happened to Adam Goodes last night – are you aboriginal?” the lady asked very forwardly.<br />
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“No, I am from Afghanistan,” said the man.<br />
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“Oh, are you a muslim?” asked the lady. <br />
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The ladies questions raised a few eyebrows again. The people in our four seat booth – the young couple, Amber and I, didn’t say anything with our words but our glances at each other said, “this has been an interesting tram ride!”<br />
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The man was very patient. He answered every question the lady asked him. <br />
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We were witness to a fascinating conversation. The gentle way the man’s intuition summed up that the lady was tipsy, and meant no harm, gave her permission in turn to take the conversation deeper and deeper.<br />
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We heard her talk about a documentary she had seen that week on TV. She connected it with the murder of the soldier in London – the program was about Islamic fundamentalism. <br />
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As she spoke, you detected that the lady was qualifying as she heard more of the man’s story, “Of course fundamentalism is the same in all religions... it has tragic effects whether it is Christian fundamentalism or any other religion, not just Islamic extremism.”<br />
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“That’s right" said the man. "I am a muslim but those men in London don’t represent me. Their behaviour is against Islam... all of the big religions ask us not to hurt another human. In fact, even as a muslim man, I have been affected first hand by Islamic fundamentalism...”<br />
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And so his story was told and the lady listened. Amber and I and the couple and everyone around couldn’t help but eavesdrop. For the second time that night, the place we were in went unusually quiet...<br />
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We heard how his particular tribe in Afghanistan had been a happy group of people. He remembered untroubled times when with his tribe, there was singing, dancing and regular celebrating. Then the Taliban came. They took some of his friends, and then his brother-in-law. They learnt that all of them were killed.<br />
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When he was a teenager he came to Australia. Because of the danger... because he is now ‘Australia’s responsibility’, as he put it, he can’t go back to Afghanistan. The only way he can see his family is if they come to the border and cross into Pakistan. He had managed to do that a couple of times, we think we heard him share with the lady.<br />
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The couple got off the tram and it wound around into Miller Street.<br />
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The man kept talking and shared that eventually he wants to bring his mother and family to Australia. <br />
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Amber distinctly heard him say, “but that is a dream for the future.” <br />
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The tram got to the Gilbert Road turn and the lady said, “This is my stop, I need to get off.” She sounded more quiet now. <br />
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“Thank you” she said.<br />
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“It was wonderful to talk with you. Nice to meet you.” A simple statement of gratitude by the man.<br />
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Two stops later it was Amber and my turn to get off. We walked down the side street to our home in West Preston where we have lived in peace for all of her life.<br />
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“You just never know what you’re going to get on that 112 tram, do you dad?” Amber remarked.<br />
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“Very true Amber,” I replied.<br />
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And quietly I thought back with some embarrassment to the way I had painted the man as a potential threat. I didn’t feel frightened any more. I had heard his story.<br />
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I felt grateful to have heard the man’s gentleness. I think it affected everyone within earshot of him on that tram ride home. <br />
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All I can say is that I hope his dream comes true. <br />
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<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-21447608226528476032013-06-04T15:09:00.002+10:002013-06-04T18:36:47.507+10:00Post-Modern Perspectives<br />
Two thought provoking articles, published within the last week are worth bringing together for a comment from this blog.<br />
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In today's<em> Age</em> Sarah MacDonald mentions the popular show <em>The Voice</em> in passing reference to the reality that a lot more families now, are probably eating on the couch in front of the TV. The reason that is significant is that <em>The Voice</em> is the focus of the other article by Wendy Squires that appeared in the same paper this weekend past.<br />
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So, let's start with eating together at the table. Last night I presented, at what would be dinner time, nine things I know to be true at a presentation called <em>How to Stay in Touch on the Adolescent Roller Coaster.</em> I have always wanted to say "eat at the table together" in my presentations... but really, in practice, if your house is like mine, it is pretty difficult to achieve that on even <em>one</em> night of the week. MacDonald's article is liberating because I acutely feel that guilty <em>should</em> of eating at the table as a family more often than we do. The article is also confronting because she pulls no punches in asserting that "the family dinner is an archaic ritual that's almost dead and buried". I'm not sure I want that to be true (and, in fact she says that too later in her discussion). The reality is that most weeks we just don't make it to the dinner table... Lisa and Amber have their fitness classes, I could be off doing a <em>Time & Space </em>program and the young bloke has soccer training on Tuesdays and Thursdays. This Friday night, Lisa gets her weekly night of curling up on the couch with a book, as the remainder of our mob, traipse to the MCG to (hopefully) see the Bombers fix up Carlton.<br />
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When I got home from the presentation last night, there was no tea left (in an earlier version of this post I overlooked mentioning that Lisa sorted out a quick home made pizza! Oversight now corrected!) The young fella, who had gone to bed, had scoffed the last of the cannelloni. Lisa had been hoping there would be some left for her lunch at work today, let alone my dinner. My daughter's boyfriend was over. They were watching <em>Game of Thrones</em> (no spoilers - promise). I asked how everyone's night had been and what they had been up to. <br />
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Lisa explained that everyone was in the lounge room at the same time when <em>The Voice</em> was on. Whilst I wasn't there for last night's episode, I could immediately picture the other four and what they probably were doing. We all talk over each other. We all shhhhooosh each other. We take on our roles, our commentating perspective. The young bloke likes to sit on the couch and kind of bag it... the over-the-topness of Seal. We laugh at how how Ricky keeps saying, consolingly, to every departing contestant that "you already have a career" -<em> surely Ricky, the music industry is going to be pretty crowded if <u>all</u> of them make it! The Voice </em>equals fun times for us as a family.<br />
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At a deeper level, Wendy Squires makes an excellent observation about <em>The Voice</em> as representative of another modern evolution... we are seeing more and more fellas, expressing their feelings. Gender studies have a name for this - <em>expanded masculinity. </em>What defined a boy or a man is definitely far less narrow than back in the day.<br />
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A final take is that my colleague Michael Grose talks about 'down-time' or 'mooch-time'. This is that slouching on the couch time. I reckon it pretty vital for families who are on the go at 21st Century pace.<br />
Whilst we mightn't get to a shared meal at an actual table as often as we feel we should, there is value in making sure that we get enough along-side, hanging out time with each other where nothing much is happening.<br />
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So have a read. These are thought provoking commentaries. Are you shocked that I have outed my mob as having dinner table deficit disorder? Do you have TV time where the heckling drowns out what is beaming in to your living room? What are the things that truly help your tribe to stay connected? What do you think about what Sarah MacDonald and Wendy Squires have to say? <br />
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As always, feel free to join in the discussion in the comment box below (you can actually just select 'anonymous' if you don't have a Google Account and if you are comfortable, it is always nice to see your name next to your comment).<em> </em><br />
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Here is the <a href="http://www.dailylife.com.au/news-and-views/dl-opinion/the-death-of-the-family-dinner-20130603-2nlrx.html" target="_blank">Sarah MacDonald family dinner article</a>.<br />
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Here is <a href="http://www.theage.com.au/comment/giving-voice-to-the-real-men-among-us-20130531-2nh9c.html" target="_blank">Wendy Squires' article about </a><em><a href="http://www.theage.com.au/comment/giving-voice-to-the-real-men-among-us-20130531-2nh9c.html" target="_blank">The Voice</a> </em><br />
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<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-13888525926281784212013-04-25T02:04:00.004+10:002013-04-26T09:30:44.621+10:0098 Anzac Days<br />
Arch walks us out to the car. We stand on the footpath outside his Lindisfarne home and look out over the Derwent River and the Tasman Bridge. For a few minutes we chat about the view. Arch is very understated. He says something about how you can get a good look at the water from a lot of angles in Hobart. <br />
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The other person in the picture is my son, Jack. Whenever he features in one of these stories, I make sure to ask what he remembers. He remembered this simple scene. <br />
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I asked him, “Why did you remember that part?”<br />
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“Dad, because he walked us out to the car,” Jack recalled, “and Dad, do you remember? That driveway was steep and how old was Archie then? It was the time of the World Cup in 2006, I was nearly ten, Archie was like, 91?”<br />
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Parts of my memory that are smudged, Jack remembers and restores them like an old painting. He brought back into the clear, Archie’s old world courtesy. He saw out his guests – simple kindness. Paul Kelly once wrote in his song about Don Bradman, <em>let the part tell the whole</em>. <br />
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How did we get to visit Arch and his wife, Helen? They are the parents of someone who I’m fortunate to call a friend. I learnt that day that the family call him ‘Mart’. Readers of <em>The Age</em> would know him as, senior writer and author, Martin Flanagan. I had always felt buoyed by his stories. He makes images and sounds with his written words. I feel like his words, speak for me, only far more eloquently. We met in 1998 at a conference where Martin was the last speaker. I had plucked up the courage to go up and say ‘thanks for your writing’. He responded with a warm ‘thanks for that’ back and, with a smile in his eye. I recognised that same characteristic in his dad’s eyes when he opened the door to welcome me and my son, on that day in June, 2006. In the hallway I recall there were stacks of <em>Age</em> newspapers piled high, mementoes of Martin’s work. <br />
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Yesterday I went out to my shed where I have a filing cabinet full of stuff like the notes I have kept from that education conference. I found a page of quotes and reflections I’d scribbled from the talk Martin gave. On that day I learnt that his dad was a veteran of what is known by the soldiers as ‘The Line’, the infamous Thai-Burma Railway that was built by allied Prisoners of War in the Second World War. Martin wrote that ‘it is said that one man died for every sleeper that was laid’. In barbaric conditions, hungry, and bare footed, the POW’s worked eighteen hour days to break open enough of a cutting to put the railway line through. Their leader was Colonel Edward ‘Weary’ Dunlop. With Weary, that often overused description, 'legend' remains undiluted by his acts of leadership, courage and service to his men who worked on 'The Line'. <br />
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In my notes, a direct quotation from Martin is there...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
“I didn’t know my father’s totems.”</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
And below it are the words, “you’ve got to tell me dad”.</blockquote>
In 2005 some of that ‘telling’ happened as father and son, Arch and Martin, published <em><a href="http://www.readings.com.au/products/586690/arch-and-martin-flanagan-line-a-story-of-the-burma-railway" target="_blank">The Line – a man’s experience; a son’s quest to understand.</a></em> I commend it to you. Arch does not waste a word. <br />
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So back to how we came to be visiting Arch and Helen? The young bloke and I were in Hobart. I rang Martin in Melbourne to let him know I was in Tassie, his country. I had recently read <em>The Line</em>. Martin suggested that if I wanted, he could set up a chance for me to go and visit his mum and dad. <br />
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“Are you sure Marty?” I asked.<br />
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“No worries Billy, they are always having visitors over and they love it.”<br />
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So in Jack and me went. Arch ushered Jack straight to the lounge room and turned on the telly for him and I was taken to the kitchen table where scones and cups of tea were being produced in quantity by Helen. We talked footy and ordinary things. Martin’s sister Jo, popped over with her daughter. I remember the care that Arch and Helen’s grand-daughter had for them. I remember too that I wanted to bring the young bloke into the kitchen. Arch had thought he mightn’t have wanted to sit and chat but of course, he was welcome. Jack loves to this day, being around older generations.<br />
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More scones and cups of tea were consumed and then it was time to go.<br />
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There was one tangible memory Martin mentioned in the book. His dad had crafted a personal tribute and I asked Arch if I could see it.<br />
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Arch took me to the hallway and there was the simple tribute mounted on the wall. Martin described how it came to be there in <em>The Line</em>.<br />
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Weary had a small grey splinter of Hintock rock on his desk in his rooms... When he died it was given to me. I gave it to dad who made a small monument with it. On one side of the rock is a photograph of Weary... Then written in a felt pen like slashes in the bare unvarnished wood are the names of the men he knew who died up there... On the bottom of the plain bit of board are the simple words are ‘Lest I Forget.’</blockquote>
I remember I wanted my boy to see the little monument that Arch had made for his mates who never came back from the Hellfire Pass. <br />
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Jack remembers that Arch walked us out to the car.<br />
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In my notes, I have written...<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
His (Martin’s) Father – All that mattered was humanity.</blockquote>
This story is posted on ANZAC Day. Arch was born in 1914... so he was a six month old baby when Australian and New Zealand soldiers landed at Gallipoli. On Tuesday, Arch died two days before the 98th anniversary of ANZAC.<br />
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It was privilege to meet him. <br />
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And here is <a href="http://bit.ly/147U2lc" target="_blank">Martin's article about <em>The Line</em></a> that was published in <em>The Age</em> (September 4, 2005).<br />
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<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-19896257260610293372013-02-12T12:29:00.000+11:002013-02-13T17:26:11.129+11:00When a Dream is Unhindered<br />
Late last century, a network of Melbourne boys’ schools were each asked to send a senior student, one of their finest, to an education conference. The organisers had dreamed up a heady topic, ‘Boys’ Education for the New Millenium’. Mark, a friend and mentor of many years, had phoned me and asked for some help in developing a youth panel session. He wanted authenticity. He wanted the true insights of these young blokes. <br />
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I’ve been to plenty of education conferences where the ‘voices of the students’ section is wooden and cringey. It wasn’t like that with this group. In fact they were of such calibre that the facilitation was easy. The memories of that project have come flooding back in the last 24 hours for a specific reason... but more on that in a moment. <br />
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Mark and I felt we needed to get the fellas talking to each other and we wanted to give them time to consider what they might say on the panel. So a couple of weeks before the event, we took them off to Matteo’s in Brunswick Street (and yes, being seventeen, eighteen year old boys, they smashed down three large courses each). I knew the pressure was on for this group of kids to come up with something outstanding when I saw the bulging eyes of the conference organiser fixing on the bill! <br />
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He need not have worried, the chats over that dinner were a privilege to be a part of.... We asked them: what fires your spirit; who inspires you; what is your passion and what have been the instructive moments in your life, both the euphoric and tough times. We wanted to hear their stories and the group of young men did not disappoint. Mark and I knew by the time our meal had concluded that it was money well spent. <br />
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I have always remembered this group of young men and yesterday I was reminded of one of them again. The impression he gave is still clear. He knew what his passion was and he was full of gratitude for the people who had supported him in pursuit of it...<br />
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“All my life, I have loved music,” observed the young man. <br />
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He was captain of his school. I remembered thinking at the time how great it was that his peers and teachers had picked him. Boys’ schools have worked really hard in the last couple of decades at expanding the previously narrow concept of what made you a good bloke, an acceptable male. How good is it that a musician, not the hero of the first XVIII, was school captain.<br />
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The young man continued to tell his story. I remember his eloquence on the panel and how he impacted on the audience of adults. Looking out, you could see how struck they were with the clarity of his dream and how it had been unhindered by his important people.<br />
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It is nearly fifteen years ago, so the memory of his exact words is not here. The sentiment is. <br />
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Here are those sentiments I remember...<br />
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My mum and dad have always taken my dream seriously. <br />
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I love what I feel when I make music. <br />
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It is what I want to do with my life and my parents have always just supported me in that dream. Never have they suggested another, safer path.</blockquote>
The young man made an impact on me and his story helped to confirm a hunch I have always had... that if people, particularly young people, know what they want then the momentum of their motivation becomes an unstoppable force. When the dream is pure and fuelled by loved ones who cheer for the young person, when there is no clash of ambition between the elders and the young dreamer, then anything can happen.<br />
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Why do I know this? Because that young man just won three Grammy awards. Back in 1998 he introduced himself to the group as Wally. His full name is Wouter (Walter) de Backer, known to the music world and his fans as Gotye.<br />
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Thanks for giving yourself some 'Time & Space' to read this. As always, feel free to write your responses in the space below.<br />
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<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-54204950794156391232013-01-01T09:39:00.002+11:002013-01-22T08:08:17.108+11:00The Extra Half a Second<br />
It was one of those times where the internal prompt to just step up and say ‘thanks’ was strong. David had offered something very simple and, at the same time, brilliant the day before. A conference for people connected with boys’ schools from all around the world had just closed and as delegates were leaving to return home, there was only this moment to be able to express that gratitude.<br />
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“David, I just wanted to say ‘thanks’ for your workshop, there were little corners of gold around this conference... I’m so fortunate to have chosen yours,” I say to the smiling, Deputy Headmaster from St James Independent School for Boys in the UK.<br />
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My badge is still on, so David replies, “My pleasure Bill, glad you enjoyed the presentation.”<br />
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I am wanting to connect because David had made a deep impression the day before. <br />
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Have you ever been met by an atmosphere of calm when you go into someone’s space? I felt this calm surround me on arriving at his classroom workshop. Half a world away from where David and his two fellow presenters teach... these gentlemen, our workshop presenters gifted us a one hour window into the quiet stillness that is the foundation of their school’s ethos. <br />
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The wish to connect comes from the excitement that for about a year now, your blogger has been trying to start each day with some quiet stillness, some meditation. Can’t say I’ve done it every day but I could let David know that I have had a go at this for more days than not. It was exciting to share how when a number of ‘days in a row’ were strung together, I have felt real benefits. David’s headmaster (another David) had explained the day before that his deputy had been practising stillness twice a day for over twenty years.<br />
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David is kind and affirming throughout our brief chat. <br />
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“Well done Bill, with a year under your belt you are an expert in the practice!” There’s a depth of attention and sincerity, real interest.<br />
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“Hardly an expert David”, I respond, “my sporadic efforts are not even in the shadows of your years of practice.” <br />
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“It’s not so much the comparative periods Bill but that you have stuck at it, for long enough that it must be becoming a habit,” David replies, again kindly. “Tell me, you spoke about how you have benefited from practicing stillness. What have you noticed is different?”<br />
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“Ah, that’s easy,” I say. “The benefit shows up by what I notice on the days when I haven’t started with stillness.” I explain that, “on the days when I haven’t started with those twenty minutes of quiet, I am far more likely to walk into a fairly ‘focussed’ discussion with my boy, be reactive or even lose my rag if we clash over something.”<br />
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“On the days when I have practiced the stillness, and a moment arises where my son is just ‘doing his job’ as a teenager and me, as his dad – he’s pushing and I’m holding, a boundary, I get that vital, extra ‘half-a-second’. Time seems to slow down and it feels like I get the chance to choose my reaction, in that brief moment, and, much more often than on the days I do the stillness practise, that choice turns out to be a good one. <br />
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David laughs and says, “I have two sons and three daughters, I know exactly what you mean.”<br />
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As I look back at that brief interaction, I marvel at the story that David shared about an exercise called ‘The Pause’. Twice a day, the whole school stops... teachers and students alike and they become still. Below, if you are seeing the actual blog, my recollection, is on YouTube, of what David shared with the people in that workshop.<br />
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Just so you can get it in writing (in case you can’t open the link now). Here’s what you do if you want to pause each day, indeed right now. Read the instructions that follow in full (because after step 1 you are asked to close your eyes.<br />
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Firstly, make yourself still where you sit or stand. Bring your breathing to a steady flow and now draw your concentration to three of your senses...<br />
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1. Bring your attention to your sense of sight – look around where are, notice the colours in the scene around you. Hold your head still and stretch your eyes as far as you can to the left and the right and notice what you see.<br />
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2. Close your eyes and bring your attention to your sense of touch. Notice if you can feel even the slightest breeze moving by your face, your hands. Feel the touch of your clothes on your skin. Notice your feet in your shoes or on the ground.<br />
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3. Now change and bring your attention to what you can hear. Notice the sounds closest to you, hear some sounds further away and try and detect the sound that is furthest from you.<br />
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Finally, spend a few seconds bringing your attention back to your breathing. Notice its natural flow. Feel the rise and fall of your chest. Then open your eyes and feel the refreshment... and continue with a deeper awareness into your day.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/6kGXKNRh4BI?feature=player_detailpage" width="640"></iframe><br />
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Have a try of this. If you are an adult... see how it works with you in the next stressful moment. As a young person reading this, maybe if the ‘rents’ are getting on your back, I wonder if things might go differently for you next time you have a conversation that usually would end up being tense.<br />
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David offered such a simple, yet profound, activity. Supported by many thousands of hours of his own stillness efforts, this enabled him to present a memorable moment for a workshop full of people. Each of us were given a practical action that we could take back to our corner of the planet. And where ever you are right now, this wonderful practice has reached you. May there be more David’s in our world who kindly encourage and offer something good. <br />
<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-4051046382455777852012-12-25T10:02:00.002+11:002012-12-25T10:04:46.699+11:00Jimmy Stynes – keeps on giving<em></em><br />
<em>My Journey</em>, Jimmy Stynes’ autobiography is, as you would expect, an extraordinary read. <br />
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A few years ago, it was a privilege to watch Jim Stynes work with groups of kids in two of the schools where I used to teach. His charisma was something to behold. He was gifted. He could establish trust with a group of students so quickly. One time at an all boys’ school, I saw him set the mood in the college theatre... he got the lighting right... fired up some loud music and the students created their own mosh pit for a few minutes. They bashed and crashed into each other with testosterone fuelled abandon. This was chaotic ‘boy’ energy, given permission to be released.<br />
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In the ‘calming down’ that followed, Jim shifted the focus to the issues in the group. What was not being said. With a kind of magic, he invited individuals to step forward to say anything they wanted to. He asked the boys to agree that whatever was said would be received with no judgement. These 14-15 year olds poured out their hearts. Some spoke, and got out of their system, the burden of hurt that had built up because of the names others called them in the school yard. Permission was there in that moment to really say, and not hide, the impact that bullying had had on them. Some of these things had gone on for years. <br />
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The boys who had been the bullies also stood up and said that they were sorry directly to the person they had offended. Again, Jim reinforced the pact of ‘no judgement’. <br />
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Jim would ask, each time, the young bloke how he felt. The common response was ‘relieved’. Some of these boys, tough-looking exteriors, sobbed their hearts out.<br />
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This post started with the declaration that Jim’s autobiography is extraordinary. Why? <br />
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Yes, he covers off on all of the infamous and glorious moments of his sporting life... running across the mark in the 1987 prelim’, his freakish 244 consecutive AFL games and his fairy-tale Brownlow medal of 1991. The latter he shared with his dad as his guest. But, this is not why <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Journey-ebook/dp/B008XSTYSA" target="_blank">My Journey</a></em> is extraordinary... <br />
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In his book he applies the same process to himself that he offered to those kids at school. He shares the everyday stuff that he struggled with, as a dad and a husband. It is all laid bare in his book (written with the support of his good friend, Warwick Green). In the chapter called ‘Fatherhood’, he explains, <br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>Whether it was because of stress, exhaustion, medication or my brain tumours I could not be sure, but there were times when I was terribly short-tempered with the kids. It felt like there were days when I was seeking confrontation with them. I would find myself shouting, sometimes in such a ferocious way that it scared them. Afterwards, I would feel ashamed. It was something I’d always said I would never do as a parent, and here I was making my own kids cry.</em></blockquote>
From both a dad’s and a bloke’s perspective, I find myself grateful to Jim Stynes as I read these words. Here he is still giving beyond the grave. <br />
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Jim Stynes died earlier this year on March 20th. Seven days later, Melbournians turned out to his funeral in their tens of thousands to honour a man who, in 1984 had arrived in that city as an eighteen year old. A young Irish Gaelic footballer, picked out by Ron Barassi to play Aussie Rules for the Melbourne footy club. The twenty seven and a half years that ensued were filled with a generous life. His funeral is one of the biggest ever seen and it fittingly sealed his legend… he will be eternally part of the pantheon of his adopted city. <br />
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But what gets me is the ordinariness of his struggle as a dad. Have you ever lost your rag with your kids? I have for sure (and I am fit and well – he had a good excuse). For fellas, often emotions find their way out through the funnel of anger and that’s what is liberating about Jim Stynes sharing his tough moments as a dad. Here is a bloke who will be remembered by two countries for near on forever, for his greatness, persistence, positive attitude and leadership. Yet, in his own life experience, he puts it out there that he had shortcomings. Just like those kids who shared their tough stuff, reading that Jim was human, makes me feel what the kids said they felt back in those school sessions – relief. Someone who has become a giant figure in the mythology of two nations sometimes got grumpy with his kids. It’s good news for those of us mere mortals who are around this Christmas.<br />
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Christmas’ original story is set over two thousand years ago, in a stable at the back of an inn in a small town that now is part of modern Palestine. There is humanity, ordinary humanity weaved right through that story. I reckon the story tellers who wrote it down, were very mindful of making sure that that scene was set. Out of that humble beginning, emerged a great story.<br />
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Jim Stynes’ story is like that. He embraced his humanity and lived a life that was extraordinary.<br />
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He gives us all hope.<br />
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If you’ve got some time over Christmas, I commend his story <em><a href="http://www.penguin.com.au/products/9781921901140/my-journey" target="_blank">My Journey</a></em> to you.<br />
<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-14512998656673439932012-12-21T07:06:00.000+11:002012-12-21T11:07:34.337+11:00First World Problems<br />
Have you heard this phrase popping up in your conversations this year? My teenage kids are quick to spot a first world problem when someone is complaining about an issue that pales in comparison to what people face in the majority world every day – like having access to a regular fresh water supply. Recently our dishwasher broke and our household has returned to having to hand-wash and dry all the dishes in the sink, with its hot and cold running water. What did Monty Python’s Four Yorkshire men say? “Luxury. You were lucky!” There are so many instances where we can catch ourselves feeling hassled by the loss of something that really is a luxury. What has this slight inconvenience created? We’ve had more side by side time, as somebody washes and someone dries. Usually someone would stack the dishwasher in isolation. <br />
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It is Christmas time and a first world problem our extended family faces each year, is the allocation of a Kris Kringle person for the ten adults in the tribe. The process of finding a person to secretly buy a gift for, has conditions to it, you can’t draw your partner’s or your own name out of the hat. My daughter is the oldest grandchild and manages the ballot sometime in October each year. There is feigned annoyance and groans as we try to draw names out one by one and get to the last person who says – “nup, I’ve just drawn out my husband’s name.” At this year’s family Kris Kringle draw someone remarked that it must be easier to elect a new pope! The drawn out process has become a quirky annual tradition for our family. When the KK’s are finally decided and people have written the names into their smart phones (because another first world problem is that we can easily forget who we finally got), the big post-mortem ensues on how excruciating the process was, and theories are proffered about how this ‘problem’ could be solved next year. <br />
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Recently, I found a website, believe it not, called <em>Manage my KK</em>. It enables workplaces and families to input all the KK recipients, the conditions of allocation etcetera. It can include elaborate features like a gift price limit. Participants can log on and drop hints, suggesting the particular gift they want. What do you think? Is this an over solution of a first world problem? Isn’t the fun found in the way a family enjoys the familiarity and playfulness of complaining about how arduous it is to draw a KK? <br />
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Whilst you are seeing flippancy in this ‘first world problem’ discussion, I think affluenza, as it has been termed, does create a deeper challenge for parents who raise kids in the first world. Our kids have access to a lot of ‘stuff’. My nineteen year-old daughter has never known a world without the internet. For young people, I reckon having so much stuff threatens their opportunities to be kind, to reach beyond a concept of self-centredness. Without providing opportunities to contribute and us parents noticing these moments, the default becomes the world and all its gadgets doing things for them. It could shovel out their capacity to know the joy of deep humanity.<br />
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This Christmas time, let me share two moments I have spotted in each of my teenagers. Recently I had a minor medical procedure booked. As usual, I was busy... the appointment rushed up in the schedule and Amber (the 19 year old) showed concern when she learned I would have a local anaesthetic injected into my eye.<br />
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“Dad – how are you going to get home after having a needle in your eyelid?”<br />
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“You know I actually hadn’t thought about that Amber,” I replied.<br />
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“OK”, said Amber, “then I will drive you there.” Wow – a small act of kindness from a grown up daughter to her dad. I was touched and proud of her.<br />
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The young bloke was not to be outdone by his sister. He’s sixteen and doing his job as an adolescent... pushing boundaries and causing his dad to keep the line clear. It is parenting trench warfare sometimes and his mum and me see ‘two steps forward, one step back’ as a clear ‘win’. In the midst of all the grumpy growing up and the tense conversations that we have as father and son, there are still the moments that pop up and offer the reminder of the kind heart that is in the good young man he is becoming. <br />
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We had been working on the young bloke getting consistent with a weekly chore – taking the bins out. It is a big help as I travel to do the Time & Space programs. My schedule is varied and I am not always home on ‘bin night’. We had sat down and I’d explained how this, being a small job, could make a big difference in our household. Can you imagine the delight when I returned from a Mother & Son night in South Australia, arrived home just after Jack had left for school in the morning to find a note he had written on the floor as I opened the door. Again, how proud was I when I read the following words...<br />
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‘Dad,<br />
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I hope you really enjoyed Adelaide, I took the bins out last night and there’s a coffee for you in the pot.<br />
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Love Jack.’<br />
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<em>We are lucky where we live. The challenge for first-world parents, around Christmas time is to find the true gifts that we can give to each other. A good starting point is noticing where our kids have been truly kind. </em><br />
<em><br /></em><em>If you are a mum, dad or guardian – how about this Christmas letting your kids know that you spotted a kind act of theirs that made you proud.</em><br />
<em><br /></em><em>For the young people who might have found this on mum or dad’s ipad, maybe there’s something you appreciate about what they do for you that you could tell them about this Christmas.</em><br />
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Feel free to share the kind moments you have spotted in your tribe this year in the space below.<br />
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Thanks for reading this year and have a great Chrissie.<br />
<br />
Bill Jennings<br />
<a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">www.time-space.com.au</a> <br />
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<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-66846619229965758472012-08-31T13:00:00.003+10:002012-09-03T07:57:15.071+10:00A Father’s Gift<br />
Arthur is putting in the last couple of rows of chairs for a parent information night. <br />
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I like to get to my presentations early and often, I bump into someone like Arthur, the maintenance man at a boys’ school where I run the Time & Space programs. I wander in with 216 sheets of paper under my arm.<br />
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“What can I do for you mate?” asks Arthur.<br />
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Arthur has got that friendly mix – he greets this new person whilst he is also busy, doing his job (and proudly, I might add).<br />
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“I’m here to talk with the parents tonight.” I explain. “My name’s Bill, by the way.”<br />
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“No worries, I’m Arthur, good to meet you Bill. So what’s written on those papers?” he asks.<br />
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I reply, “I’ve just run a session with the whole Year 9 level and each boy was challenged to write to their dad (or mentor) a ‘thankyou’ note and then to give it to him when they next see him.” <br />
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Arthur has finished now and the room looks great. He’s curious and asks another question.<br />
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“Do you reckon that what the kids write, sticks? Or do they just think it in the session and then forget what they’ve written later?”<br />
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“I reckon that the kids who actually hand the note over are saying something. You know, we encourage them to hand the note to their dad... but we don’t actually make them do it.”<br />
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“Yeah – I just wonder,” muses Arthur, “I reckon some kids have got too much these days. My kids sometimes were disappointed when they saw their friends being given things... because I told them I’d never buy them a car. That’s something they’d have to earn.”<br />
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Arthur is starting to tell his remarkable story and in that sharing what he values.<br />
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He continues, “there are some things, I’m only too happy to give them. I’m past 65 now and should be retired. My youngest is 16, still in school and looks like she’ll being going through Uni. I might be working for a while yet.”<br />
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“How many kids Arthur?” I ask.<br />
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“Three... the oldest boy went here. He’s 27. The middle one’s – she’s 23, and the little one.”<br />
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“How have they gone?”<br />
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“They’ve done good,” a proud half-smile curls from the corner of Arthur’s mouth, “the oldest one has a double degree in Management and Engineering. The middle one has a Masters in Dietetics.” He goes on to say, “I’ve told them - I’ll look after their education. I want them to have what I never got.”<br />
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Arthur left school at 13. He explains to me that education is not the only thing he’s missed out on. <br />
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“As soon as I was born, my dad took off. I never met him. So I’ve had no role-model to work off,” Arthur explains. “Until I was 7 or 8 I lived in an orphanage in Bendigo because my mum couldn’t cope with me and my older brother on her own. Then later we moved back to live with her in St. Kilda where, it was pretty rough and ready and I kind of...”, Arthur pauses for a moment and looks at me, “well you kinda learnt to protect yerself, you know what I mean?”<br />
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In the midst of this extraordinary conversation, a couple of times I hear Arthur say things about himself as a person and specifically, himself as a dad like, “look I’m not perfect” and “I’m no angel.” <br />
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It is pleasing to let him know that a big theme in this Time & Space work is to reassure mums and dads that no parent is perfect, <br />
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“I reckon it’s all about ‘turning up’ Arthur and supporting our kids... you have done that in spades and, you’ve come from a lot further back than most. You know Arthur, I reckon if your kids had the chance to do the ‘thankyou’ activity the boys did today, you would have heard how grateful they are for your gift of education.”<br />
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“They’ve done that, in not so many words,” Arthur replies, “them doing well is thanks enough for me.”<br />
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As he speaks I am reminded of the pivotal message that Steve Biddulph penned in his best-seller, Manhood – an action plan for changing men’s lives.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<em>Every father, however much he puts on a critical or indifferent exterior, will spend his life waiting at some deep level to know that his (children) love him and respect him. Make sure you absorb this point. He will spend his life waiting.</em></blockquote>
As I’m remembering that, Arthur is still thinking about my question about his kids ‘saying thanks’ and a special recent memory has sparked.<br />
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“There was this one time last year with the youngest one, she’s a bewdy... I reckon she’s got the best of me as a dad. You know, you sometimes work it out a bit better when they come around for the third time...”<br />
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I nod. I reckon he’s right.<br />
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“My brother-in-law turned 70. He’s up in Queensland. I couldn’t go up for the party but the young one travelled up with my wife” there’s a full smile on Arthur’s face now... “I went to ring my brother-in-law up to say ‘happy birthday’, his daughter was going to get him and I hear my young one in the background, say ‘I want to talk to dad’, and she jumped on the phone...”<br />
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Arthur’s voice quavers a bit now... and as he continues, his eyes well up. <br />
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“She just got on the phone, and straight away said, ‘I miss you dad!’”<br />
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He looks me straight in the eye saying, “That really got me.”<br />
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<em>Arthur never knew his dad. If your dad is around this Father’s day, let him know, with your words, what you are thankful to him about. It will mean a bit more than the traditional pairs of socks and jocks!</em><br />
<em><br /></em><em>Arthur’s young daughter’s spontaneous message on the phone showed that you don’t have to do much, to make even a lifetime’s effort, like her dad Arthur trying to be the best dad he can be, seem all worthwhile. </em><br />
<em><br /></em><em>To all the dads reading this, Happy Fathers Day.</em><br />
Bill Jennings<br />
<a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">www.time-space.com.au</a> <br />
<em><br /></em><em><br /></em>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-3229198119696344442012-07-10T15:00:00.000+10:002012-07-13T00:40:25.494+10:00Running Alongside his Students<br />
The great thing about blogposts is that they can sometimes be a slow burn (Paul Kelly reputedly took years to write <em>To her Door</em>) or in this case, immediate inspiration impels that the story just has to be recorded now. <br />
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Eric Hill has left the building... Well, he just left the (geography) room at the International Boys School Coalition Conference that's happening in Melbourne at Scotch College all this week. I have just been witness to a man outlining a running program that Eric likes to call 'therapy in disguise'. I have to say it was an honour to be present as a good man outlined a passion that he used to benefit others. <br />
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Now Eric is a serious runner. His students at school each year, after he runs in the New York marathon, ask if he won. He tells them that he probably couldn't beat the winners on a bicycle. What is extraordinary is that this guy said that he has run the New York marathon for as many years as he can remember. We didn't get a number - simply, it was that he has run the marathon for a lot of years. Witnessing him explain these interactions, it is so obvious that this man is role-modelling the value of persistence, the pleasure of finishing and working at, and reaching a goal. <br />
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I just heard him saying to a colleague as he left the presentation room, "Man, I am wiped out." Remember this bloke is a runner. Eric was spent emotionally. Why? I suspect because he had just prepared and, put on the line, a significant account of the body of teaching work he has created over his time as a PE teacher at St Bernard's Boys School in New York. He explained to our workshop cluster of about 20 people that, "at 11.25am, it was looking ugly." What he is describing here is that feeling that workshop presenters get in the pit of their stomachs when the time to start approaches. This session was starting at 11.30am and he told us that virtually nobody had turned up with five minutes to go. I was one of the last ones in but by that time there where good numbers in to hear and see Eric's presentation of his extraordinary work with his students. <br />
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So, the thumbnail sketch is that Eric, with a team of dedicated colleagues has built a running program that boys at the school can sign up for, regardless of their fitness levels or athletic ability. It happens during timetabled classes. They run in Central Park, around the reservoir, through the tunnels. They don't just run, they do boy things like picking up sticks and having sword fights along the way. In the tunnels, of course a group of 30 boys make a holy racket and ensure that their shouting creates the full echoing boom effect as they yell their way through that part of the run. They run in the heat of summer and yes, they run too in the depths of winter, even when New York is under snow, he takes the kids outside for snowball fights. Eric Hill, who this blogger has never met before, outlined a career that I sense has a crucial underpinning... he has never forgotten what it is like to be a boy. <br />
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There are a page of scribbled notes here next to me full of Eric Hill 'gold'. They come from this amazing video that a colleague put together about the program. There were beautiful quotations from students and what follows too, are the choice phrases I wrote down as Eric shared his vignettes. <br />
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From the boys one young man said that he enjoys the competitive elements that are available in the program but his deepest enjoyment came from "running, just for running itself." I ask you, how often do our kids these days consciously articulate that they do something just because of the intrinsic value and enjoyment they derive from that pursuit? Standing out too, through the brilliant video story is student after student putting emphasis on the word 'love'. Describing the experience of a race, one of the boys paused and said "I... <u>loved</u>... running in that race".... as he said the word 'loved', you could see the boy's smile matching the glistening in his eye. <br />
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The video concluded. The group broke into spontaneous applause. Eric then took questions about the program. <br />
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Here's a few things he said. <br />
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"I don't cut anybody (from the running program), I don't care how slow you are." <br />
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"We run <u>with</u> the kids." <em>Isn't this a powerful metaphor for assisting young people through adolescence on their way to healthy adulthood? </em><br />
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Eric observed how the boys really 'talk' with each other when they are out running. They share things as they run alongside each other. Topics that would never be covered inside the four walls of the classroom. He observed that there was something in that 'alongside' talking... boys running and talking side to side seemed to help discussion that might be different eye to eye.<br />
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We heard about a boy in the team whose family, a few years earlier, had gone through a divorce. That boy's mum told Eric it is the only time, when he is running or, gets back home from running, that she ever sees him smile. <br />
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Eric then put up another picture on the screen of a group of four boys in his charge. They were all smiling, beaming in fact after an inter-school event. One of the boys in the picture is the self-appointed chief distance measurer of the whole running group. You could see a little computer chip in his shoe. Eric would get reports from this boy's iPhone after every session. These four young men were a relay team who had come fifth in a race with five teams.<br />
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These kids might have come last in their race but Eric proudly declared that that little team had "won just by being there". <br />
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And for all the people in the workshop today, we won 'just by being there' because we experienced the delight and privilege of hearing a good man humbly sharing his story. A story that has ignited a passion for running and more deeply, a passion for living in a countless group of New York boys down the years. More power to you Eric.<br />
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<em>As always, feel free to write your own thoughts in the space below.</em><br />
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<em>Maybe you can give a 'shout out' for the person who has 'run alongside' you in your life.</em><br />
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<br />
Bill Jennings <br />
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<a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">http://www.time-space.com.au/</a>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-69020410643758085572012-06-15T12:33:00.000+10:002012-06-15T12:43:35.060+10:00Josh's Story<br />
Josh is a Year 12 student at The Hutchins School in Hobart. He spoke as a panellist at a Time & Space night I facilitated for a group of Year 8 boys (average age 13) and their dads or mentors. He offered an insight that smashed a stereotype. You know the one: that wisdom only comes from people with grey hair and wrinkles.<br />
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Josh was asked to mention a quality that he saw in his dad and to offer an example of that quality. He shared something unusual from a person his age.<br />
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“My dad’s best quality is his ability to give advice,” Josh offered the audience.<br />
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There’s nothing unusual about giving out advice. For those of us who are parents reading this, we are experts at giving out advice. If you’re one of the young people who read these articles, you probably feel that sometimes our advice giving just turns into white noise. I’m sure my two teenagers agree with me (for a change) on this point.<br />
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So there is plenty that is simply unusual about a son saying that ‘giving advice’ is his dad’s best quality. Josh was asked to offer an example. He told a story. As you read it, Josh’s wisdom is obvious – he can look back and see himself growing, see himself realising and see himself taking responsibility. The other wise character in this story is Josh’s dad. He didn’t come along to the night. I have never met him and that adds something to the marvel and mystery that his son nominated his ‘advice giving’ as his best quality.<br />
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Josh started the story saying that “my father gave me an anchor point.” <br />
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Josh remembers that it was November 2003 when he first received the slip of paper. His dad had copied out and written an anonymous quotation that had captured his eye in the local newspaper, The Mercury. As a then Grade 3 boy, Josh read the words, thought they were good and put them somewhere. That somewhere was not anywhere special because after a time, he lost that slip of paper. His dad noticed this. He knows that his dad noticed because at a certain time in 2004, he received the same quotation again, written in his dad’s hand, on a fresh slip of paper. And, yes... he held on to that slip for a while before he lost it again. This happened again in 2005, 2006 and 2007. <br />
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“It just ended up getting lost and discarded,” was the way Josh described what had become an annual practice.<br />
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Don’t you love the way stories, really good ones, have delightful coincidence infused through them. Josh was talking to some fathers, mentors and their Year 8 boys and it was in 2008, when Josh was in Year 8, that he received the slip of paper from his dad again. He received it for the last time. Why? <br />
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Because this time Josh said “I kept it, I know where that piece of paper is right now – it’s in my wallet.” Josh went on to explain, “It’s old and tatty but I know it is there and I get it out regularly when I need some inspiration.” You get the sense that Josh likes the learning he gets from the words but don’t you think that as he gets out that now four year-old slip of paper, he also knows he is holding a tangible example of his dad’s advice. <br />
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What’s the gold in his dad’s particular style of advice giving? It was delivered with planning, with patience and meted out on one rare occasion each year. With the utmost respect to Josh (because it sometimes takes me more than six years to get a message) I heard someone say this year, that we can send an email 12 000 miles across the globe in a second. Yet it can sometimes be years for it to travel that last eighth of an inch through the bone in our skull.<br />
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Josh told Year 8 boys that in Year 8, he finally got the message his dad was giving him just once a year, patiently until he finally took it in. <br />
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In preparing for my role as facilitator of these panels, I usually read out the questions over the phone and offer the young people who will be on the panel like Josh - an opportunity to talk through what they would say. Josh chatted for a while but then said, “I’m good now. I just want to take the next couple of hours to make sure I do this panel role right tonight.” <br />
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And in going off to do that extra preparation I think Josh did something else. He showed that he has embodied the words on that slip of paper:<br />
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Aim a little higher.<br />
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Go a little further.<br />
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Do a little better.<br />
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In taking the time to prepare, Josh showed that he does this as a matter of course now. And in doing that he honours his father.<br />
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<strong>What Can Parents Draw from Josh’s dad?</strong><br />
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<em>Put a premium on your advice. Josh’s dad was patient. He gave his son the piece of paper once a year. He was happy to wait until his son learnt the lesson and took ownership of the words. What might happen to the advice we give to our kids if we even halved the frequency with which you dish it out? When commodities become rare, they increase in value. Maybe the same rule applies to advice given in the right time and space.</em><br />
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<strong>What can Young People learn from Josh?</strong><br />
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<em>Josh thought carefully about the best quality he sees in his dad. Take the time to consider the special gifts that your mum, dad or guardian has. Find the right time and space to let them know specifically what you see as their best qualities. Maybe even write them a letter and surprise them. Watch their reaction if you follow through on this!</em><br />
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As always you are welcome to share your responses in the space below. <br />
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What's a great piece of advice you have received? Who offered it? Why is it so valuable to you?<br />
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Bill Jennings<br />
<a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">http://www.time-space.com.au/</a> <br />
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<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-37790103651328179692012-06-04T09:46:00.000+10:002012-06-06T12:34:29.218+10:00A Mighty Mentor<br />
The star of this story signs off her messages to the world with the words... Be inspired. Be Inspiring. The words stand in comfortable alignment with the way she lives her life. <br />
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Just before you go on reading, please, stop... <br />
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... for a moment...<br />
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... and think of a person who is a mentor to you, a role-model of kindness and generosity. Formulate the picture of their face or say their name quietly to yourself. <br />
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I met Marie Farrugia in 2010. We were both at one of my first monthly meetings of the National Speakers Association of Australia. Having made the jump from full-time teaching into the Time & Space program work, someone had suggested joining NSAA. Hard to believe if you’ve met this shy little blogger, but there I was shaking amongst these people who had being doing professional speaking for years. I felt almost frozen to the spot. Have you ever stood in one of those new spaces and thought who do I talk to next? I was pushing myself every month to turn up and be amongst these people who, as an occupational trait, present as larger than life and very confident on the outside. A lady with a beaming smile made a beeline through the crowd and was heading towards me. <br />
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“Hi Bill, I’m Marie”. The greeting couldn’t have felt more sincere but “hang on”, I thought to myself, “how does she know my name?” The answer came in a second... <br />
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“I was at the Marcellin College Mother & Son night, thank you so much” And then Marie said, “come and meet some people”. Suddenly I’m shaking hands with people and being introduced by Marie to her colleagues of many years. Some of these people had built highly successful businesses. <br />
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“Please meet Bill, he just presented an experience last month for me and my boy that we will never forget.” Marie’s welcome was effusive. It was at that moment that a shift occurred deep inside your (yes I know you don’t believe but I’ll keep saying) shy blogger. A colleague had affirmed that the Time & Space experience had made a difference to her. She helped me believe in myself, that I was doing professional presentation work. It was real. <br />
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Marie, The Mighty Farrug'(*), as I call her, made an offer to help, be a mentor in my speaking development. We caught up not long after that meeting and a friendship has grown from there. I became aware hearing Marie share her story, that she has had her challenges – one being in the form of breast cancer. When I met Marie, she was emerging from a successful regime of treatment. We had attended events each had presented at, to be present as a supportive colleague. I was the only bloke at a session in Hawthorn where she was trying a new presentation. I thought it was brilliant. Little did I know that as she told the story of her discovery of the lump during that presentation, that only that week, had she secretly learnt that the cancer was back. In 2011, we didn’t see Marie much at all at NSAA meetings as the disease had spread. The battle was on. <br />
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Marie's hospital was just near the venue of our NSAA meetings. So I visited on my way in. The memory is still strong and clear - I can see her sparkling smile that welcomed me in. It transferred a lightness of spirit that I'm sure humbled every visitor. There's no question she was physically weakened by the gruelling medical interventions. Yet typically, this mighty person was ‘other focussed’, so keen to hear the news of our colleagues, excited to learn the latest developments for the Time & Space programs and offering, as always, generous practical tips. Here was my friend and mentor, seriously ill, demonstrating that every moment presents us with a choice about how we deal with it. <br />
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I appreciate that not everyone gets the result they want when cancer strikes. I am mindful of our friend Jacinta who is in the battle right now. Her husband Jim, tells similar stories of Jac's extraordinary determination. From July 2009 up to his passing on March 20 this year, Jim Stynes' intentionally invited us all to share in and learn from his story. We are unlikely to ever forget the dignity of his struggle. Anne Lamott in her beautiful book <i>Bird by Bird,</i> refers a few times to a dear inspiring friend who had cancer. Anne recalled her friend’s doctor, when the terminal stages had arrived, remarking that, “in these final weeks, she is showing you how to live.” <br />
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Just recently I got an email from Marie. I am pleased to report she is going well again. Why am I telling you her story now? Because in that email she sent this beautiful clip she had made called ‘Do it For Me.’<br />
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So this is a shout out to the Mighty Farrug'(*). Thanks for your example Marie. And what's one thing we could all do that could honour that example? I reckon maybe if that person you thought of at the start of this post is a phone call or an email away, how about about simply letting them know that it was their name that you whispered to yourself. Feel free to forward this story to them as well in a 'pay it forward' kind of way.<br />
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Thanks for giving yourself <em>the Time & Space</em> to read this. Who are your mighty mentors? As always, feel free to share your thoughts and stories in the space below.<br />
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Bill Jennings<br />
<a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">http://www.time-space.com.au/</a> <br />
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<em>* Pronounciation goes something like this the Mighty Farr<u>oo</u>dge (Hard 'dg' sound).</em><br />
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<em>Marie's website - <a href="http://www.timeforyou.com.au/">http://www.timeforyou.com.au/</a> </em><br />
<br />Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-6617815910279214482012-03-08T12:44:00.028+11:002012-03-11T09:38:16.446+11:00IWD 2012- a gift to shareA 'choose you own adventure' post today. Very interactive - click on the click-able bits of the post as you wish.<br /><br />Here is a gift for you for International Women's Day (the poem at the start is only 3 or 4 minutes). If you are a bloke reading this - pass this on to a great woman in your life.<br /><object style="WIDTH: 640px; HEIGHT: 390px"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/0snNB1yS3IE?version=3&feature=player_detailpage"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/0snNB1yS3IE?version=3&feature=player_detailpage" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="640" height="360"></embed></object><br />On first seeing this... it took my breath away. In fact the second woman on the incomplete list below received the <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/13123245-b">hard cover copy</a> of this poem as a gift when she graduated from high school last year. It was given to her by me and the first named woman on the list...<br /><br />This is an an incomplete list <span style="font-size:78%;"><em>(sorry if I have missed you</em>)</span> that honours: the brilliant women in this <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">blogger's</span> immediate world; women I am lucky to call friend; women who inspire; women who have participated in a <em>Time & Space Mother-Son or Mother-Daughter program</em> (and wrote their name on the evaluation sheet) and, some women I haven't actually met but whose work and ideas I respect.<br /><br />And this is an incomplete list of course because, as always, you are welcome to join in the discussion in the REPLY box below... feel free to add your honourable mentions and tell us a bit about the great women in your life.<br /><br />So here goes (in no particular order, except for the first one) ...<br /><br />Lisa J (aka <em>The Mighty Lisa)</em>... best friend and soul-mate,<br /><br />Amber J - A young woman with great taste in Indie music (Dan <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mangan</span> is a recent addition to this <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">blogger's</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">iTunes</span> account thanks to Amber J). There is a wonderful combination of toughness and gentleness in Amber. The other day I saw her consuming her course reading notes before she actually had her first class on her first day at university. I admire Amber's courage, kindness and zest for life. Me and the Mighty Lisa's first-born.<br /><br />Joan J - the lady who listened to how my day was at school for thousands of afternoons in the seventies and eighties. She does brilliant work these days as a spiritual director, and granny, amongst many other roles that include being my mum.<br /><br />Clare <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">McG</span> - super nursing director and mum who is hosting an exchange student, Lara, from Germany this year because well, she thought it would be a great experience for her <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">pre</span>-school and primary school kids. That is generous. Clare is my favourite sister.<br /><br />Sisters-in-law, Leah, Rita and Nicole (well <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Nic</span> will officially be my S-I-L by about 4.30pm this coming Saturday), Ann (my sage mum-in-law from Chester, UK) and all of the aunties and cousins (& cousin Col and Aunty Ros from Gruyere) over there. Special mention also to my wonderful nieces... Lucia, Sasha, Ruth and Tierney - young women now or some time soon.<br /><br />Hilda Jennings, my Nana (RIP) and Grandma (RIP) - my brother Greg (the one who is getting married this weekend) wrote a <a href="http://coucheyeview.blogspot.com.au/2012/03/5-days-thanks-grandma.html">beautiful <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">blogpost</span></a> that captures what Grandma meant to us all.<br /><br />My <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">NSAA</span> friends and colleagues inspiring women doing good work - De, <a href="http://survivingyear12.wordpress.com/">Tania</a> (is writing a blog from a Mum's perspective called 'Surviving Year 12') <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Taruni</span>, Phillipa, Gillian, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ailsa</span>, Yvonne, Helen Mac, Melina and The Mighty <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Farrug</span>' (inspiration). Former school teaching car pooling buddies Lizzie and the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">Harvenator</span> and also Cate, the hardest working person I know, and wise mentor to boot.<br /><br />Then of course there are all the locals - Robyn, Rosie, Caroline, Clare, Sandra, Pauline, Heidi, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">Miki</span>, Leeanne, '<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">LGSpencer</span>', <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">Marnstorming</span> and <a href="http://www.moiratyers.com/cd.html">Moi</a> (have a browse around Moira's CD, <em>One Step Forward</em> - there are songs here so pertinent to this day... she won an award at Port Fairy for <em>Why Not Let a Mother</em> and my favourite Moi song is <em>Until You're Old, </em>a poignant tribute to her mum).<br /><br />Valerie, Kalindi <em>(hey kids look for the carefully placed affirmation cards from your teacher on your 'vision posters', displayed in your extraordinarily 'finessed' classroom), </em>Christine, Bonnie, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error">Haidee</span> and Sue who helped at the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error">Silkwood</span> School Mother-Son night and Bella, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error">Oceana</span> and Jess who were outstanding panelists at the Father-Daughter night.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.celialashlie.co.nz/">Celia <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" class="blsp-spelling-error">Lashlie</span></a> - Champion <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error">delighter</span> in the good news there is to tell about boys. Celia's other strong passion is in support of incarcerated women. One of the best speakers I have ever heard.<br /><br />Another Celia, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" class="blsp-spelling-error">Nardis</span> and Julie (love your <em><a href="http://compassionate-flow.com/">Compassionate Flow</a></em> blog Jules) - all have reconnected in recent times. It has been great to be back in touch.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2003/01/24/1042911546343.html"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_23" class="blsp-spelling-error">Aunty</span> Joy Murphy-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_24" class="blsp-spelling-error">Wandin</span></a> - a lady who has worked tirelessly, as a bridge between indigenous and non-indigenous Australia. Probably has done more 'welcome to country' ceremonies than anyone. Massive Saints fan.<br /><br />Sarah Kay - you saw her above in the clip. I love the story about the girl in the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_25" class="blsp-spelling-error">hoodie</span>.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.memfox.net/welcome.html"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_26" class="blsp-spelling-error">Mem</span> Fox</a> - thanks to you and Julie Vivas for Wilfred Gordon McDonald <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_27" class="blsp-spelling-error">Partidge</span>, my favourite all time picture book.<br /><br /><a href="http://textpublishing.com.au/books-and-authors/book/the-book-of-rachael/">Leslie <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_28" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cannold</span></a> and <a href="http://happychatter.blogspot.com.au/">Cecily</a> (<a href="https://twitter.com/#!/happychatter">@<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_29" class="blsp-spelling-error">happychatter</span></a>) - last year I watched Leslie and Cecily engage in a Twitter debate on the Chaplaincy Funding issue. Different points of view - treated each other with respect. With no wish to be patronising, not a bad lesson in how to have an argument for us fellas.<br /><br />A thought too for all women in the midst of a health battle on this IWD. Jacinta, we hold you in our heart every day.<br /><br />And penultimately... here's a few faves from the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_30" class="blsp-spelling-error">Twitterverse</span> <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/rosaliquidink">@<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_31" class="blsp-spelling-error">rosaliquidink</span></a> , <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/peace_">@peace_</a> , <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/SamJaneLane">@<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_32" class="blsp-spelling-error">SamJaneLane</span></a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/#!/alihilltweet">@<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_33" class="blsp-spelling-error">alihilltweet</span></a><br /><br />Finally, I salute all the mums and mentors who have turned up at a <em>Time & Space Mother-Son or Mother-Daughter session</em> and if you put your name on an evaluation sheet in the last few years, you should find it here...<br /><br />Adrianne, Alanah, Alex, Alexandra, Alicia, Alison, Alison, Alison, Alison, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Andrea, Andrea, Andrea, Ange, Angela, Angela, Angela, Angelina, Anita, Anita, Anita, Anita, Anita, Anita, Ann, Ann, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Annette, Annette, Annette, Anni, Annie, Annie, Antoinette, Barbara, Beatrice, Belinda, Belinda, Belinda, Bernadette, Bernadette, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_34" class="blsp-spelling-error">Breeda</span>, Bridget, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_35" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bronwyn</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_36" class="blsp-spelling-error">Bronwyn</span>, Byron, Carina, Carmel, Carmel, Carmel, Carmel, Carol, Carol, Caroline, Caroline, Caroline , <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_37" class="blsp-spelling-error">Carolynne</span>, Cate, Catherine, Catherine, Catherine, Catherine, Catherine, Cathy, Cathy, Cathy, Caz, Cecelia, Celeste, Celia, Cherie, Cheryl, Chris, Christine, Christine, Christine, Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, Claire, Claire, Claire, Clare, Clare, Claudia, Collette, Connie, Cristina, Dani, Daniel, Daniel, Daniella, Deb, Debbi, Debbie, Debbie, Deborah, Delia, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_38" class="blsp-spelling-error">Delwyn</span>, Denise, Denise, Diane, Diane, Dianne, Dianne, Dianne, Dina, Dolores, Donna, Donna, Donna, Edwina, Eileen, Elaine, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elle, Elsie, Emily, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_39" class="blsp-spelling-error">Fali</span>, Fanny, Felicia, Felicity, Fiona, Fiona, Fionna, Frances, Francesca, Frankie, Fulvia, G, Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gen, George, Georgie, Geraldine, Geraldine, Gill, Gill, Gillian, Gina, Giulietta, Grace, Grace, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_40" class="blsp-spelling-error">Harshini</span>, Hazel, Heidi, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helena, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_41" class="blsp-spelling-error">Huyen</span>, Ida, Ingrid, Ivy, J, J, Jacinta, Jackie, Jacqui, Jacqui, Jacqui, Jacqui, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_42" class="blsp-spelling-error">Jai</span>, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Janet, Janine, Janine, Janna, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_43" class="blsp-spelling-error">Jaqueline</span>, Jayne, Jeannine, Jen, Jen, Jennie, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Jill, Jo, <a href="http://scrapnstitch.blogspot.com.au/"><strong>Jo</strong></a> <em>(regular correspondent on this blog and thanks for the prompt last year Jo - hey Bill, blog more!)</em>, Jo, Joanna, Joanne, Joanne, Joanne, Jodie, Jodie, Jody, Jose, Josh, Josie, Joy, Joyce, Judy, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julienne, June, Justine, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karine, Karmen, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kath, Kath, Kath, Kath, Kathryn, Kathryn, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy , Katie, Katrina, Katrina, Kelli, Kelly, Kelly, Kerri, Kerri, Kerrie, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_44" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kerrilyn</span>, Kerry, Kerry, Kerry, Kim, Kim, Kim, Kim Ian, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_45" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kirsty</span>, Kris, Kylie, Kylie, Kylie, Lauren, Leah, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_46" class="blsp-spelling-error">Leane</span>, Leanne, Leanne, Leanne, Leanne , Leigh, Leonie, Leonie, Leonie, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_47" class="blsp-spelling-error">Liljana</span>, Lillian, Lina, Linda, Linda, Linda, Linda, Linda, Linda, Lindy, Lindy, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Livia, Liz, Liz, Liz, Liz, Loretta, Loretta, Lori, Lou, Louisa, Louise, Lyn, Lynda, Lynette, Lynne, M, M.A., Madeline, Mandi, Mandy, Mandy, Mara, Mara, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_48" class="blsp-spelling-error">Maree</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_49" class="blsp-spelling-error">Maree</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_50" class="blsp-spelling-error">Maree</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_51" class="blsp-spelling-error">Maree</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_52" class="blsp-spelling-error">Maree</span>, Margaret, Margaret , Margie, Margot, Maria, Maria, Maria, Marianne, Marianne, Marie, Marie, Marina, Marion, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_53" class="blsp-spelling-error">Marlies</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_54" class="blsp-spelling-error">Marly</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_55" class="blsp-spelling-error">Martine</span>, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary Rose, Maura, Meg, Meg, Megan, Megan, Megan, Melanie, Melissa, Melissa, Melissa, Mich, Michele, Michele, Michell, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Miriam, Molly, Monica, Monica, Monique, Nadia, Naomi, Naomi, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_56" class="blsp-spelling-error">Narelle</span>, Nat, Natalie, Natalie, Natasha, Natasha, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_57" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ornella</span>, Pam, Pam, Pam, Pamela, Pamela, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_58" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pati</span>, Patricia, Paula, Pauline, Pauline, Pauline , <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_59" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pearlyn</span>, Penny, Peta, Peta, Peta, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_60" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pina</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_61" class="blsp-spelling-error">Pina</span>, Polly, Prue, Prue, Prue , Rachel, Rachelle, Rae, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_62" class="blsp-spelling-error">Rebecca</span>, Rhonda, Rina, Rita, Robbie, Robyn, Robyn, Romaine, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_63" class="blsp-spelling-error">Roni</span>, Rose, Rose, Rose, Rosemary, Ruth, Ruth, S., Sabine, Sally, Sally, Sally-Ann, Sam, Sam, Sandra, Sandra, Sandra, Sandra, Sandra, Sandra, Sandy, Sara, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_64" class="blsp-spelling-error">Seb</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_65" class="blsp-spelling-error">Seema</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_66" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sephanie</span>, Shane, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_67" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sharen</span>, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharron, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_68" class="blsp-spelling-error">Shenna</span>, Sherri, Sheryl, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_69" class="blsp-spelling-error">Shikha</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_70" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sibi</span>, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_71" class="blsp-spelling-error">Siew</span> Lin, Silvia, Sim, Simone, Simone, Simone, Siobhan, Siobhan, Sonia, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sophia, Sue, Sue, Sue, Sue, Sue, Sue-Ellen, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_72" class="blsp-spelling-error">Surekha</span>, Susan, Susan, Susie, Susie, Suzanne, Suzette, Sylvia, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_73" class="blsp-spelling-error">Talei</span>, Tammy, Tammy, Tammy, Tania, Tania, Tania, Tania, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_74" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tanid</span>, Tanya, Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, Terri, Theresa, Theresa, Therese, Therese, Therese, Tiffany, Tina, Tina, Tina, Toni, Toni, Tonia, Tracey, Tracey, Tracey, Tracey, Tracey, Tricia, Trish, Trish, Trish, Trudy, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_75" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tuyet</span>, Vanda, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_76" class="blsp-spelling-error">Veronic</span>, Veronica, Vicki, Vilma, Vita, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_77" class="blsp-spelling-error">Younga</span>.<br /><br />The usual custom for this blog is that I have got permission in advance from you if your name appears in it. As you can see, this is a different post today. I hope this is OK.<br /><br />Thanks for reading and Happy International Women's Day (well it's evening now).<br /><br />Bill Jennings<br /><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">http://www.time-space.com.au/</a><br /><br /><br /><em>PS - the first two women mentioned on the honours list are enjoying a celebratory glass of reasonably priced <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_78" class="blsp-spelling-error">merlot</span> on the couch as this post is published.</em>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-82374902217790326782012-03-02T09:06:00.006+11:002012-03-02T16:03:20.045+11:00An Unexpected Conversation"Mind if I play with you guys?"<br /><br />"No worries," I say, shaking hands with the man in the sunglasses, "My name's Bill and this is my son Jack."<br /><br />"I'm Andrew.”<br /><br />We are on the first tee of a brilliant little nine-hole course nestled into the foreshore of Apollo Bay, our annual summer holiday spot. One of the beaut’ things about golf... total strangers can walk up and ask 'can I join up with you?' I like it that my 15-year-old has played the game enough to know that this is part of the etiquette.<br /><br />So we all hit off and so does our conversation – no small talk on the first hole!<br /><br />"What do you do for a crust Bill?"<br /><br />I explain the Time & Space programs.<br /><br />"Right - have you come across any situations where kids have suicided?"<br /><br />I reply, "Oh, the parent-child programs aren't necessarily for kids who are in trouble. It is for any young person really and their parents."<br /><br />Andrew explains, "It's just that the boy who was captain of our primary school, a few years ago... just took his life. Real shock to our staff."<br /><br />"That's awful," I say, fairly amazed at how deep the topic of conversation is for a couple of blokes who have just met... "So you're a teacher Andrew?"<br /><br />"Yep. Love it - the classroom for the first 18 years. PE specialist for the last twelve."<br /><br />Andrew is a really good fella... I can tell.<br /><br />"Gee Andrew - any reason, the boy... why he took his life?" I ask.<br /><br />"No clue whatsoever," Andrew answers, "it is a complete mystery. We were reeling as a staff at the end of the year when it happened. Such a great kid."<br /><br />I'm conscious as we talk, my son is quietly taking all of this in.<br /><br />We tee off on the second.<br /><br />"Have you got kids Andrew?" I ask.<br /><br />"Daughter’s the oldest and two sons... 23, 22 and 19 years old," Andrew then pauses... "Yep, they're all doing their thing." There’s a satisfied tone indicating they’re all going well.<br /><br />Third hole and Andrew asks Jack if he plays sport.<br /><br />"Yeah soccer," offers the young bloke, "I'm a goalkeeper."<br /><br />There was genuine interest on Andrew’s part.<br /><br />We are covering a breadth of topics on every hole. Andrew explains about his oldest two who were heading overseas together. He was really proud of their get up and go.<br /><br />"They’re not really sure what they want to do career-wise but they've worked hard, saved to make this trip happen."<br /><br />We talked and enjoyed our golf. We all had a few good hits. Andrew actually chipped in for birdie on the Eighth.<br /><br />As Jack chipped to the green, I thought back to what Andrew said before… "I liked how you said that all your kids are each doing their thing."<br /><br />"Yeah, great kids. The youngest one has had his challenges. My nineteen-year-old Brett," Andrew pauses, takes off his sunglasses, "is gay."<br /><br />Even though we'd only known each other for eight holes of golf, the chats we’d had till then seemed to allow the space for such a personal detail to be shared. What a privilege to be trusted.<br /><br />"Wow... when did you find out?" I ask.<br /><br />"He came out when he was sixteen," answered Andrew, "I'll admit it, I cried for about 24 hours but came good after that. The way I see it, my son showed great courage."<br /><br />Jack has putted, joins us and he picks up the thread of Andrew's story.<br /><br />Andrew continued, "I asked my son, I said, 'I've only got one question... did you become gay or were you born gay?"<br /><br />"He told me 'I always thought I was gay dad.'"<br /><br />It's clear that Andrew admired and supported his son. He learnt that a lot of dads 'go crook' and even worse, sometimes physically abuse their sons if they come out... kick them out of home and never want to see them again.<br /><br />We are on the last tee now and Andrew remarks, "How do those dads come back from that?" he is perplexed as he says, "I mean someone you love has just come out... that is showing the utmost courage. I said to Brett, who’s highly respected by his peers, 'mate you've just shown the way and made stuff so much easier for other kids.’"<br /><br />Jack then pipes up... "Yeah, one of the kids at my school came out... on You Tube* actually... you know what was really good about it? No-one gave him any crap."<br /><br />"I'm pleased to hear it," said Andrew.<br /><br />We finished our round, shook hands and said goodbye. The three of us had had a pretty extraordinary conversation.<br /><br />Later in the day, Jack remarked, "Dad, that Andrew, he’s a good bloke."<br /><br />I agreed.<br /><br /><em>Thanks for reading and as always, you are welcome to share your responses, your stories in the space below (even if you don't have a Google account, you can log on as anonymous but it would be great if you wrote your name).</em><br /><em></em><br /><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">http://www.time-space.com.au/</a><br /><br />* I looked up the clip when writing this article and discovered it was part of a global campaign by many people called ‘It Gets Better’. It includes this video contribution from US President Barack Obama.<br /><br /><br /><br /><object style="WIDTH: 640px; HEIGHT: 390px"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/geyAFbSDPVk?version=3&feature=player_detailpage"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/geyAFbSDPVk?version=3&feature=player_detailpage" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="640" height="360"></embed></object><br /><br />And importantly if for any reason you need to talk to someone – you can call…<br />Lifeline: 13 11 14 Kids Helpline (for young people aged 5 to 25 years): 1800 551 800 Mensline Australia: 1300 789 978 SANE Helpline - mental illness, support and referral: 1800 18 SANE (7263) Reach Out: <a href="http://www.reachout.com/">http://www.reachout.com/</a>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-4421278723646406312012-02-17T11:06:00.005+11:002012-02-17T11:21:32.470+11:00Breaking News - Volunteers Stuff Envelopes!A 'mail-out' was conducted in a beautiful house in a leafy green Melbourne suburb on Tuesday night last week. There you go. This is an international scoop for the Time & Space Blog. Now admittedly, it has been a big news week. If you are reading this sometime after publication – here’s what else has happened: Whitney Houston died last Saturday; Greece is on the brink of economic default and the world is watching as hundreds are murdered in Syria every day. Still, having sat on this mail-out story for ten days now, the big media outlets have had their chance.<br /><br />The St Kevin's College Fathers Association support a lot of bonding experiences for the boys of the school and their mums, dads and mentors. With the help of some key people on the school staff (who get the printing, the labels and envelopes ready), this committee promote the programs organising practical things like this mail-out to let families know about them.<br /><br />So who are the heroes of this world exclusive? Jerome, Kaz and his wife Nancy, Onofrio (that’s Italian for ‘Humphrey’ which means 'peaceful warrior' – I found that out on that thing they call the World Wide Web), Stan and Sergio, joined Adrian, Judith and their kids in their home. The envelopes were stuffed in 90 minutes. They first program batch of letters were posted the next day. Job done.<br /><br />So there is the news. You’re dumbfounded… earth shattering revelation – yes? You’ll never forget where you were when read this first – right?<br /><br />OK – let’s remove the tongue from the cheek for a moment and have a look at three subtle things that were happening at this event.<br /><br />1. Walking up the driveway, a young primary school girl was stretching forward on the trampoline, reading a book.<br /><br />“Is this where the meeting is for the St Kevin’s dads?”<br /><br />“Yes” says the girl, glancing at a timer in her hand, intently focusing on the book. Her eyes hardly looked up.<br /><br />Adrian, her dad, opens the door and welcomes me in. A few minutes later, the young lady wanders in.<br /><br />“Bill, have you met Grace?”<br /><br />“Very briefly” I answer, “Grace told me, just before, that I was at the right address… which was really nice of her cos’ I could see she was very busy.”<br /><br />I discover she was timing her nightly twenty minute reading session. She smiles and explains, “That was why I couldn't show you in. I had to finish my reading”.<br /><br />“That’s a great habit to form Grace – really impressive how serious you are about it,” I say.<br /><br />Adrian and Grace then just banter about the day and a delightful exchange between father and daughter transpires quite naturally. The everyday family routine was happening before me.<br /><br />2. As the mail out crew arrived, the jobs were sorted and the team got underway. This is when we met Alex, Adrian and Judith's oldest. He came downstairs and was invited to help out for a while... folding, stuffing envelopes, joining in. He was happily engaging in the chat. Letting the other dads and mums know how his start to the year had gone. A few opinions about Year 7 & 8 rivalry were shared. For a few minutes, he was our fellow helper.<br /><br />Earlier I'd said to Adrian... "You're good to be hosting this and you've been on the committee for a while now. Very generous of you to give up your time. I think your kids will remember that you chipped in and got involved."<br /><br />I explained how my dad used to run mail-outs in our dining room for the Old Collegians Association at my school. Adrian’s dad got involved in school things too. We swapped a few stories, remembering our parents’ efforts. They weren't perfect - sometimes embarrassing but they were in there with their sleeves rolled up - having a go.<br /><br />3. The banter was lively and fun throughout the job. Lots of friendly jibes. Some of the team were playfully competing to be as quick as they could. There was laughter happening as the work was done. Observations about modern life were shared.<br /><br />When he arrived, Onofrio was asked where his cup cakes were. In his time on the committee, he has built a reputation as a cup cake master chef. At a later moment I ask him a bit about it.<br /><br />"I like doing it. It is 'time-out' for me," Onofrio explains.<br /><br />Adrian offers cups of tea and coffee. He opens a bottle of wine. Judith brings over a plate of really yummy cheese and nibbles.<br /><br />Job finished and the group relaxes. Serg had got there a bit later. He explained that he had a bit on but still wanted to come. As a few planning matters are discussed, I let Serg know he will be getting a call to help out at the upcoming Father-Son night.<br /><br />"No need to call, when is it?" asks Serg. He checks his phone diary as I give him the date.<br /><br />"I'm free” he says, “it's locked in."<br /><br />So what do you think the headlines are for this good news story?<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><em><br /><blockquote><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>Primary school girl, reads book uninterrupted for 20<br />minutes?<br /><br />Teenage boy helps group of adults with task – joins in the<br />conversation.<br /><br />Family welcome people into the home. Generous volunteers<br />complete mail-out and enjoy each others’ company!<br /></em></span></blockquote></em></span>Of course, we know this volunteer work party is not the sort of story that CNN, News Limited or the ABC are going for as their number 1 item of the week. But… parents do help their kids develop good habits… teenagers chip in and help others, showing signs that they are on their way to being young adults… people get together and volunteer. These things happen every day… all over the world. And it is good news.<br /><br />In getting Adrian’s permission to post this story he emailed back his ‘OK’ with this message…<br /><br /><blockquote><em>It is funny that the things you mentioned I had never given any thought to. This<br />is my fourth year in the association and the other night felt like having good<br />friends around rather than conducting a meeting.<br /></em></blockquote>I'm convinced that it is the little efforts like this... these people 'turning up' that: embed the memory for future generations to follow their example. It is this sort of generosity that makes the difference between us living in a society rather than just an economy. To all the volunteers reading this. I salute you!<br /><br />As always feel free to offer your reflections, your memories and insights in the space below.<br /><br />Bill Jennings<br /><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">http://www.time-space.com.au/</a>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-27700429293288860822012-02-02T10:04:00.014+11:002012-02-02T16:05:24.666+11:00Father Bob & the 'YB' have Entered the Building"So... do you want me to come in with you?" I ask.<br /><br />The young bloke (aka YB), our #2 child, and #1 son, and I sit this morning in the car park of his new senior high school. He is starting in Year 10 today.<br /><br />There is a typical pause. It could be his own considered thinking which has always been fairly deliberate or the combination of 15 year-old vagueness mixed with the general vague state he has inherited from his dad.<br /><br />There is still more think time. Then...<br /><br />"Nah, I'll be right."<br /><br />More silence and we sit there looking at the school building.<br /><br />"So what happens now... I just go to Reception?", YB asks.<br /><br />"Yeah, I think there will be people there waiting for you like they did on your orientation day, giving out timetables and showing you where to put your stuff."<br /><br />"OK, see ya dad." A considered handshake is exchanged. I let him know that I am proud to be his dad and he waves without looking back as he takes a heavy, first-day-bag into his new school. The earliest year level at this senior high is his year, so he is starting on an even footing with all the other kids. I sit here wondering how he is going. A lot of people are having first days this week...<br /><br />Father Bob Maguire had his first full day at his new address yesterday after 38 years at his old one. For the benefit of those in Australia who live in a media black-out, and readers overseas, here is what happened at his last Sunday morning mass as Parish Priest at St Peter and St Paul's in South Melbourne this past weekend.<br /><br /><object style="height: 390px; width: 640px"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Thepux9malM?version=3&feature=player_detailpage"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Thepux9malM?version=3&feature=player_detailpage" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="360"></object><br /><br />Father Bob at 77, 'orthodox but unconventional' as he likes to describe himself, has moved on from his parish... the base from which he carried out many services, not just as a traditional parish priest but as the leader of an army of volunteers who serve people who have fallen on hard times. The disenfranchised, the homeless, the prostitutes, the mentally ill, the elderly and disadvantaged young people of South Melbourne, Port Melbourne and St Kilda, rely on the practical outreach of <a href="http://fatherbob.org.au/">The Father Bob Maguire Foundation</a>. Many of you will know that the controversy of his move, stems from the wish that he did not want to leave his home, his base from which he was able to exercise his ministry. Bob's parish gave him identity. Being a parish priest enabled him to have some handle, a good kind of authority that auspiced his public role and outreach.<br /><br />Where the hypocrisy of attention by the hierarchy, on Bob's forced retirement, has been widely reported, I have watched from a perspective of concerned comrade, with an awareness that for Bob, he was being symbolically and perhaps psychologically orphaned by his current day 'family', the institutional church - something that had happened to him as a kid. F-Bob's (as this comrade calls him) dad and mum passed away when he was 12 and 13. He fended forward with the help of his older brother and friends and that tough, unconventional perspective must have been formed in that adversity. An endearing resilience that has shown in the last couple of years may well have been borne in those days when a young teenager had to use his wits to make his way in the world, without the security of even one parent being around.<br /><br />Change is tough and in the lead up to the young bloke's first day at a new school, there's been a bit of moodiness. Unlike Father Bob, he chose to move to a new place. We asked him to have a think about what was the right place for him. He liked his old school (and so did his mum and me) but he felt, on balance the new place offers a number of good opportunities. That doesn't mean the decision wasn’t tough. It doesn't mean his imperfect dad hasn't had a few flare ups as the young bloke has dealt with the decision to change in the last couple of months. We could be in the middle of a heated argument and then I'm struck by the notion - 'he's worried about the move'. Similarly, I heard Father Bob interviewed on the ABC Conversation Hour before Christmas. The anger, near bitterness, that was in his voice was palpable. It was raw and tough to listen to. Other friends' heard it and we shared similar reflections. That's the key though, people have responded and shown their care. Bob has rawly expressed his feelings, his 'truth' throughout, and on Sunday over 1000 people turned up and showed support. They are part of the big family that F-Bob’s unique perspective on life, has brought together. I reckon his own kindness, heart for the underdog, has come back at him in spades. Good people have fuelled his resilience to move on to the next chapter.<br /><br />I'm mindful, as dad to my daughter and son... that they gain fuel for accepting change through life as people who love them, and care about what happens to them, wish them well as they take on the next challenge - some harder than others. We can't take away the challenges they face but we can turn up in their lives - especially at the important moments.<br /><br />At his final mass on Sunday, the shift was palpable in Father Bob - he had accepted the change, and was moving on. The service had a bit of everything... Bob's irreverent humour, a beautiful song by war victim and refugee, Emmanuel Kelly - an inspiring young man, a Scottish bagpipe band that led Bob out after the final song 'Glory, Glory Hallelujah' that contains the words... 'the truth goes marching on'.<br /><br />And what is that 'truth' for this story? Change, difficult shifts, will always happen to us. They will always happen to the people we care about. When they enter their new buildings like Father Bob and the young bloke have this week... that's when they need us to be there for them.<br /><br />Who has been there for you in a moment of change? Who are you looking after right now? As always, feel free to write your own thoughts below. Thanks for reading.<br /><br /><br />Bill Jennings<br /><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au">www.time-space.com.au</a>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-10781410192622263832011-12-31T19:33:00.015+11:002012-01-01T11:26:39.585+11:00Two Highlights from 2011Two personal highlights from 2011. They even contradict each other depending on the world perspective we take but there you go... this is the world we live in, going into 2012. I hope it is a good one for you and thanks for reading the blog this year. As always, feel free to comment, email or tweet a response.<br /><br /><strong>Number 1 - Minority World Highlight</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />Flying back to Melbourne from Sydney having attended a two day seminar learning some great content but also witnessing the presentation magic of the brilliant <a href="http://bit.ly/vkGwWq">Allan Parker</a> .<br /><br />Have you ever had one of those moments where all was calm? You felt real peace? You're inspired and quiet inside? I love getting a window seat in a plane. My head is leaning up against the perspex and this magnificent sunset starting to break out over the sky. I took this photo.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692210751692148642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj97L5HxO-s2EzrSzTwhoTeRiSzeGH2QwTSyJr01oNMXW-gbSipYzyF9ly_x3hQCsd52ndWa-WZfSvz4iffq-2q3L29ugUBcL8I9sAI1a_NJ1UFWnQCnTZ3A1SkaCSI83H5AoW3WzaeNns/s400/Plane_Shot.jpg" />I had the earphones on, looked up and saw something on the in-flight TV Channel. Something of beauty (and relevant as this post goes up on New Year's Eve). The subject of this video always gets a pretty good view of the fireworks on Sydney Harbour. I reckon you'll enjoy this (especially if you're a Nick Cave fan).<br /><object style="WIDTH: 640px; HEIGHT: 390px" width="640" height="360"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bG7wbAfcKUI?version=3&feature=player_detailpage"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bG7wbAfcKUI?version=3&feature=player_detailpage" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="640" height="360"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><strong><br /></strong><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>(n.b.... What I saw on the plane was <a href="https://bitly.com/vxqiAW">this</a> ... the half hour documentary on the making of the clip).</i></div><div><strong><br /></strong></div><div><strong><br /></strong></div><div><strong>Number 2 - Majority World Highlight</strong><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0b6029;"><span style="color:#000000;">A response to </span><a href="http://bit.ly/umic7O"><span style="color:#3333ff;">last week's post</span></a><span style="color:#000000;"> came in from the 'majority' world. It is an extraordinary world we live in when you consider a friend (and mentor) of mine opened up the blog in Vietnam. She emailed back...</span></span><br /><em></em><br /><br /><em>Hi Bill,<br /><br />Merry Xmas. Sitting in Saigon having early Brekky. It's 6.30am here. Just<br />read your beautiful story. What a lovely way to start my Xmas day...<br /><br />Saigon at Xmas is amazing. I have never seen so many crowds in the streets<br />last night... motorbike mayhem! Seems the Buddhists and Taoists are embracing part of the Christmas traditions.<br /><br />... yesterday rode around on Cyclo - well I sat there while a man who was at least 101 years old peddled! This country is truly unbelievable. Asia and Australia are poles apart and I wonder who is the happier... we have way too much... convinced of that... that is way too much of what has no real value.</em><br /><br /><em>Love to you and your family on this Christmas day 2011.</em><br /><br />My friend's story evoked straight away, a memory of incredible generosity... received like her, as a visitor from the minority world to the majority world.<br /><br /><a href="http://bit.ly/tnhDv1">Go Back to Where You Came From</a> aired on SBS in June. The ratings back up that it was a television highlight of 2011. The first episode trended as the number 1 discussion in the world that night on Twitter. We are a country divided on the issue of asylum seekers. The documentary was brilliant, it put six Aussies, all with views across the spectrum of the issue, into the shoes of the asylum seeker. They lived their story, only in reverse. Starting from the place of final settlement these people traveled back through detentio<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUb3izW12FgxQWiez-zz6f9Gzy0CadJciOdetKaXqNb1eDekxerVLp26oFJMFeq3sUd_7XxqvYsqGuBvLAMUB9XlysDFk1LWpoQxNM2eXdMRc1T_4Zo7es8VRXprtBJAA2R-QLrMBJS_0/s1600/equator.jpg"></a>n centres, made a dangerous journey on a leaky boat, lived in transit countries and refugee camps before having the choice to go right back to the war zones from which people have actually fled. One resettled African family (on the link above, you'll see a photo of the Masudi family in Wodonga) welcomed the participants in their home with a customary ritual. This sparked a personal memory.<br /><br />When I saw this ritual, seven years fell away and in an instant I was transported back to the most humbling experience of my life. Below you see my two kids in 2004 in a village outside of Kampala. Now let's list the ambiguities... I was on Long Service Leave and heading to visit the 'in-laws' in the UK (where they don't have LSL). Dad was working in Uganda as a consultant, so I took the kids to visit him on the way. Dad's work colleagues had the services of a driver, John.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxtFcoO9OKWEnoVl93mLOMtkLicrxIiTgkgpqt4GR0Yi6A_y6E9JVB2PlusWjVl3O1jX1WXCc3dc0idBznF3dyPhIZDrwLtCqxkrN1F7AO08v5V-xFAAooGdb-FwMgIIxe4MBOLr5PGY/s1600/john_home_uganda.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692170143668556658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxtFcoO9OKWEnoVl93mLOMtkLicrxIiTgkgpqt4GR0Yi6A_y6E9JVB2PlusWjVl3O1jX1WXCc3dc0idBznF3dyPhIZDrwLtCqxkrN1F7AO08v5V-xFAAooGdb-FwMgIIxe4MBOLr5PGY/s400/john_home_uganda.jpg" /></a>There is John standing next to me. His two girls are in the school uniforms. They showed their perfect copperplate handwriting in their school books to my kids' astonishment. Down below in the bottom corner you can see a plastic basin and a water container.<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame- color:rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame- color:rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);">Just like the Masudi's did for their guests in Wodonga, John's daughter, Joan, later places my hands over the bowl, pours water from that container over my hands and then dries them with a towel. A practical way to prepare for a shared meal.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.23137);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-;color:rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469);"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame- color:rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);">A most profound ritual of welcome that remains the most gracious hospitality I have ever received. We shared an incredible meal of beautiful spicy pork pieces. John even bought in some soft drink for the kids, conscious how their stomachs might go with the drinking water. Dad explained that John would have spent a week's wages on the feast. It was embarrassing but dad said to just 'go with it' as refusing would greatly offend. John and his family welcomed their guests by washing our hands, they gave all they had to a group of people from the other side of the world who by comparison, had everything.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame- color:rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame- color:rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469);">Happy New Year. Thanks for reading in 2011.</span><br /><p>Bill Jennings</p><br /><p><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">http://www.time-space.com.au/</a><br /><br /></p><br /><br /><p></p></div></div>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-24442176623394469162011-12-24T18:25:00.014+11:002011-12-26T08:24:25.771+11:00The Man Who Never ForgotThe major block of colour is maroon. Boys in school blazers, in their hundreds, are crossing the street, streaming from trams and buses towards the requiem mass for Father John Carnie. Appreciate that the boys have been given the day off and the choice, by their school, to attend this funeral. Father John had been their chaplain at Marcellin College - a post he held for 25 years. I first met John just prior to him starting in this defining ‘work of his life’, when I was a young bloke in 1984, in Year 12 myself at another school. We became fellow team members of a youth community that ran Stranger Camps for young people. The essence of the experience was that the Year 12 students came from many different schools (hence the name ‘Stranger’) and had the opportunity to share their own story and hear the precious stories of others. A friendship started from there, despite our age difference. It lasted down the years even though we hadn’t managed to catch up much in recent times.<br /><br />Whenever we caught up though, the little quips would start flowing like we’d seen each other yesterday… I could remember his old jokes and would get them in there, before he could say them, to his delight. John always laughed and said “you are like the Borbons” (his paraphrased reference to an old European royal house), “they didn’t know much but they never forgot”. As this <em>Time & Space</em> work grew, Marcellin embraced these experiences for their boys and parent community. That meant that I could catch up a bit more with John on his home turf. The last time I saw him was at a <em>Time & Space for Stepping Up</em> night at Marcellin in 2011. We stood together looking out across the 160+ Year 8 boys and their dads and mentors. John marvelled at how they were deeply engaged in one to one conversations, encountering things they might not have known in each others’ story. The shining faces reminded us of what we used to see over a quarter of a century ago on those Stranger camps. Here’s the last photo I took of John at a <em>Stepping Up</em> night.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt-MyUJBohvm1tOPMbHMJEH9Dk5mMUBbtBVtM8iCe1QNx3VtmwJAsrF56BNO8OJjGaePJL-jXeXPcZCJUXjnB6e3PW0d0rmSnvyNOJ4Vf-ViA5LTBMBP-qZYNGqzGe-zeiDKRQuRLX_o/s1600/Marcellin+Stepping+Up+Night+25+May+2010+066.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689596889723843442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHt-MyUJBohvm1tOPMbHMJEH9Dk5mMUBbtBVtM8iCe1QNx3VtmwJAsrF56BNO8OJjGaePJL-jXeXPcZCJUXjnB6e3PW0d0rmSnvyNOJ4Vf-ViA5LTBMBP-qZYNGqzGe-zeiDKRQuRLX_o/s400/Marcellin+Stepping+Up+Night+25+May+2010+066.jpg" /></a>This is a classic John Carnie shot because it shows him (in his beloved Marcellin jacket) doing something he did brilliantly – ‘turning up’. He was famous for turning up or ‘gate-crashing’ as he liked to call it. The trust and rapport he had built was so high, that Year 12 students would enquire expectantly with him saying he was welcome to gatecrash their eighteenth birthday party on an upcoming Saturday night. Back in the 80’s when John was in his mid-fifties, I can assure you, he was gate-crashing back then. We loved him turning up to our parties. The mums and dads loved it. With his repartee the man was an ageless rock star!<br /><br />The stories I have heard told by Marcellin boys, families and staff affirm the fact that he never lost his capacity to connect with people of all ages. A brilliant, quick wit... he had the ability to have the surliest teenager in fits of laughter. John's swag of qualities was extensive and whilst he had that timeless capacity to connect with the current crop of students, it was his 'old school' traits, the way he went about what he did, that tell just as much about his commitment and care. Without fail - every year, I would get a phone call or a card on my birthday. A mutual friend got a phone call early in the morning every year for the last seven years on the anniversary of his mum’s passing. John used to joke I was the ‘Borbon’. I am telling you… he was the one who never forgot!<br /><br />At Marcellin, John got into the rhythm of doing the same, ‘never forgetting’ for every boy at the school. There would be a knock at the classroom door. A student is called out and there's Father John wishing many happy returns to that young man. He did this faithfully for 25 years. He interviewed every boy when he arrived in Year 7 and on the birthday classroom visit in Year 12, the young man would receive a card from John as well. He never forgot that the simple things are precious to people. As new technologies evolved, John embraced some that he could help him in his mission. He spoke with wonderment about the electronic timetable program that he could look up, to find where a student was at any given period, so he could go and make those birthday visits. The ‘remembering’ and John’s trademark effect of making each person feel special, had some replete ‘old technology’ methods underpinning it.<br /><br />After he died in August this year, the College Principal, Mark Murphy and a colleague went to respectfully clear out his office. They found a filing card system so organised that the honour and care sang off every record. Little notes about the first interview with a Year 7 would describe a joke that was shared or particular dimension of the conversation that helped John to remember that special detail the next time they met. If a young fella was going through a tough time, a card might have an annotation like, "make contact in two months” and sure enough that card was filed with that date. The cards had lines through them when a new birthday greeting had been honoured. New notes were made for each meeting. In chatting to Mark Murphy, I got the sense of his appreciation of the incredible commitment and sheer hard work that was evident in John’s system.<br /><br />So this master of remembering, of ‘turning up’ and old technology caused the most amazing crowd to gather at and pack out St Pat’s cathedral. The maroon blazers filled the vast sides in their hundreds. There were other young men, a bit older in their suits, all around where I was sitting and I noticed something in common that, like John’s birthday system, could not have just happened by chance. Each of them were wearing an Old Collegian’s tie. To a man, each had his ‘old boys’ tie on. How did they do it? I learned that one of them had utilised the technology of their generation, Facebook. On the Father John tribute page, one young old boy had put it out there to wear their Old Collegian’s tie. It had got hundreds of ‘likes’. They all turned up in their old school ties to honour the man who had turned up for them every day they were at school.<br /><br />Priests, young people and Facebook all get their share of bad press. Obviously some of it is deserved (I would never minimize that) but surely sometimes the criticisms block out the good.<br /><br />This post is being sent out at Christmas time. I can’t think of a better story to tell this year about a man who lived a sense of what Christmas is all about... every day.<br /><br />As the story goes, a baby was born in a manger and in that moment humanity and divinity were combined. This was Father John’s life work, his delight, his vocation – he sought out the divine spark in every person he encountered.<br /><br />Happy Christmas everyone… feel free to share your thoughts below.<br /><br />Bill Jennings<br /><br /><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">http://www.time-space.com.au/</a>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-45785862647358956752011-12-06T07:41:00.005+11:002011-12-06T08:09:38.094+11:00Road TripThe two of us loaded our overnight gear into the boot at the front of the old 'Volksy'.<br /><br />Just the two of us.<br /><br />That meant that the little red headed kid got the prime front seat propped up right next to dad. In 1973, dad took me on a journey up the old Hume Highway to Glenrowan in North East Victoria. We were going to visit his old mate Tony, who had been best man at mum and dad’s wedding in 1966. I must have been all of five or six years old. It is funny hearing dad tell the story – it is a vivid memory for him too.<br /><br />It was deep into summer and the day we left, was a scorcher. Dad’s account is that five minutes after leaving the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne, we had to stop for a cold can of cola at our local servo. I was asking for lunch by the time we got to Broadmeadows.<br /><br />It is my earliest memory of having time one-on-one time with dad.<br /><br />Tony ran a farm. Big tractors and machines, fields of wheat and old corrugated iron buildings. Dad and I stayed in the old ‘sleep-out’. There were louvre windows with rectangles of thick glass. I remember the sound of the cicadas well beyond dark. The mosquitoes were more the size of dragon flies and buzzed around us all night. I rang dad to get his memory of this. He reckons a cool breeze floated through for few minutes around 4am and then it was hot again. But you know what? I was loving it. This was my time with dad.<br /><br />I reckon Dad did something else by taking me on that trip, he embedded the value of one-on-one, parent-child time. That six year old boy from 1973 is now a dad himself. And just because he runs programs for young people and their parents/mentors doesn’t give him any special claims on perfection (just ask my two teenage kids). No parent is perfect. In making the time, however, Dad made me feel special, a feeling that lasts through time. No-one can take that away from him, from us. It is something that he taught me to do with my own daughter and son. The warmth of the memory is offered as evidence to support the idea that one-on-one time strengthens a child’s resilience.<br /><br />The lesson from dad has come in handy this year. My son, now fifteen years old is well in the depths of rampant adolescence. He asked if we could repeat an overnight bike ride we had done a few years before. To be invited by him, at this stage of his life, was an opportunity not to be missed. So in the second term holidays we rode the Warburton trail… stayed in a room at the pub, had a counter meal and rode back the next day.<br /><br />It’s the little things, I’m sure, that will stick through the years. We had taken a footy with us on the ride and a hell of a game of kick-to-kick evolved… nothing unusual there, only that we played it in our room in the pub. We were seeing how many marks we can take in a row without dropping one. It was so much fun. Sometimes in raising kids through the adolescent years, it is hard to believe there is anything remotely funny about that task. We laughed on this trip… saying stupid things and just laughing. It was an oasis.<br /><br />Then, in the third term holidays Jack and I headed off on a road trip. My brother lives in Queensland and my wife and I agreed that it might be a good thing to give his older sister some quality quiet time in preparation for her Year 12 exams. The Mighty Lisa would stay with Amber and the two fellas headed off on an old fashioned road trip… we packed the car… and headed north.<br /><br />We stopped in motels… bought Chinese take away in Narrabri… stayed with my brother and old friends over ten days and nights on this road trip up and down south eastern Australia. They were big drives.<br /><br />Much of the time we were quiet… then one of us would ask a question, we would talk for a few minutes then go quiet again. I wonder how Jack might remember our adventures down the track. A few clues have already been picked up. I know he really valued those quiet times and rhythms. I know because he told his grandfather about the trip on the phone and how much he had loved the time together – just the two of us. His grandfather then told me.<br /><br />Can you see the story turning full circle here? My dad taught me something by taking me on that road trip. Have I ever let him know how much I cherish the memory? I have now.<br /><br />Thanks for reading. Do you have a road trip memory? Feel free to share yours in the space below.<br /><br />Bill Jennings<br /><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">www.time-space.com.au</a> <br /><br /><br />P.S. You can find this article, called just the Two of Us, in the Parenting Ideas e-Magazine Christmas Edition amongst a whole bunch of other great articles by clicking <strong><a href="http://bit.ly/rFDDNk">here</a></strong>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1622966407873446803.post-33191794298189718672011-12-01T08:21:00.007+11:002011-12-01T18:44:35.721+11:00The First PillIf you don't come from Brisbane, how often do you look up the BOM website to get a weather forecast? For this blogger it is at least once a year and a comforting traditional prediction is there for today... showers and thundery rain. Huey has not disappointed. Mother Nature's roulette wheel is spun around this time of the year, every year on the first day of the Brisbane Test.<br /><br />If you are not a cricket fan, please endure this indulgence (the point is expanded soon). This day has memories flooding back through 40+ years of trying to find a way to see or at least hear live, the first ball of the First Test match of the Australian cricket season. Today's first ball of the first day of the First Test (affectionately dubbed the <em>first pill</em> by cricket tragics) happens to coincide this year with the first official day of summer.<br /><br />I've got memories down through the years of the long summer days watching a Test up at my grandparents' house where they had an orchard in the Yarra Valley. All of the cousins had their special time to stay at Grandma and Grandpa's place. Mine was the long school holidays for two weeks some time in December or January. Back then, cricket was on ABC TV and there was only a budget for one straight-on camera down the pitch. So you saw the batman face-on one over and then the next over was from behind the wicket, so you would see the bowler coming in and the batsman's back. The first day of a season was often when we were still in school. One year the first pill happened at recess and the radio broadcast was piped out onto our playground on the loud speaker. I think by lunchtime Australia was nearly all out and Rodney Hogg (a fast bowler, not a recognised batsman) was our top scorer with 36 runs. As a teacher for 20 or so years, if the timetable had me scheduled for class when the first ball was bowled, my kids would see me frantically enter the room with a coat hanger. Shoved into the back of the telly that coat hanger became a makeshift aerial and together we'd watch a grainy picture of another opening to the international cricket season.<br /><br />So, thanks for hanging in there - my expanded point is? Well, here's some questions for you. Think of the patterns in your year. What are the things that punctuate your year, that when they happen, great memories burst open? Is it the Myer Christmas windows? Is it an annual holiday place that even when you say its name quietly to yourself, you are taken back there?<br /><br />At the heart of this, is that intangible feeling of warmth and security. I don't take it for granted. I can see a little kid sitting on a wooden bench seat in the old Southern Stand at the MCG for the Ashes Boxing Day Test of 1974. I was really grown up - seven years old (and like, nearly eight) there next to my dad. I don't even have to close my eyes to transport back to that time. What memories do you have from your childhood days that make you feel warm? Dad took me to my first day at the cricket and a life time obsession with today was born, of wanting to see the first pill flung in anger for the long summer ahead.<br /><br />You're a young person reading this? Can you guess what special things you do right now, every year, that will be the memories that make you smile when you are forty, fifty or ninety-seven years old?<br /><br />People who layer our memory, with good experiences, are giving us a gift that may help us to feel secure for perhaps even, a lifetime. We can give back by doing that for our kids now and in the future. At 11am today, Melbourne time, guess what I'll be doing?<br /><br />What are the memories that make you feel warm when those times and places come back around? Who made them happen for you? What are the funny little details you remember?<br /><br />Feel free to share your own thoughts and memories in the space below.<br /><br />Bill Jennings<br /><a href="http://www.time-space.com.au/">http://www.time-space.com.au/</a>Bill Jenningshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03332251689785937113noreply@blogger.com4