Post-Modern Perspectives

Two thought provoking articles, published within the last week are worth bringing together for a comment from this blog.

In today's Age Sarah MacDonald mentions the popular show The Voice 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 The Voice is the focus of the other article by Wendy Squires that appeared in the same paper this weekend past.

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 How to Stay in Touch on the Adolescent Roller Coaster. 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 one night of the week. MacDonald's article is liberating because I acutely feel that guilty should 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 Time & Space 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.

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 Game of Thrones (no spoilers - promise). I asked how everyone's night had been and what they had been up to.

Lisa explained that everyone was in the lounge room at the same time when The Voice 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" - surely Ricky, the music industry is going to be pretty crowded if all of them make it! The Voice equals fun times for us as a family.

At a deeper level, Wendy Squires makes an excellent observation about The Voice as representative of another modern evolution... we are seeing more and more fellas, expressing their feelings. Gender studies have a name for this - expanded masculinity. What defined a boy or a man is definitely far less narrow than back in the day.

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.
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.

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?

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). 

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Here is the Sarah MacDonald family dinner article.

Here is Wendy Squires' article about The Voice

Running Alongside his Students

The great thing about blogposts is that they can sometimes be a slow burn (Paul Kelly reputedly took years to write To her Door) or in this case, immediate inspiration impels that the story just has to be recorded now.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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... loved... running in that race".... as he said the word 'loved', you could see the boy's smile matching the glistening in his eye.

The video concluded. The group broke into spontaneous applause. Eric then took questions about the program.

Here's a few things he said.

"I don't cut anybody (from the running program), I don't care how slow you are."

"We run with the kids." Isn't this a powerful metaphor for assisting young people through adolescence on their way to healthy adulthood?

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.

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.

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.
 
These kids might have come last in their race but Eric proudly declared that that little team had "won just by being there".

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.

As always, feel free to write your own thoughts in the space below.

Maybe you can give a 'shout out' for the person who has 'run alongside' you in your life.


Bill Jennings

http://www.time-space.com.au/

Josh's Story

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.

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.

“My dad’s best quality is his ability to give advice,” Josh offered the audience.

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.

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.

Josh started the story saying that “my father gave me an anchor point.”

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.

“It just ended up getting lost and discarded,” was the way Josh described what had become an annual practice.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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:

Aim a little higher.

Go a little further.

Do a little better.

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.

What Can Parents Draw from Josh’s dad?

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.

What can Young People learn from Josh?

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!

As always you are welcome to share your responses in the space below.

What's a great piece of advice you have received? Who offered it? Why is it so valuable to you?

Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au/

An Unexpected Conversation

"Mind if I play with you guys?"

"No worries," I say, shaking hands with the man in the sunglasses, "My name's Bill and this is my son Jack."

"I'm Andrew.”

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.

So we all hit off and so does our conversation – no small talk on the first hole!

"What do you do for a crust Bill?"

I explain the Time & Space programs.

"Right - have you come across any situations where kids have suicided?"

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."

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."

"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?"

"Yep. Love it - the classroom for the first 18 years. PE specialist for the last twelve."

Andrew is a really good fella... I can tell.

"Gee Andrew - any reason, the boy... why he took his life?" I ask.

"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."

I'm conscious as we talk, my son is quietly taking all of this in.

We tee off on the second.

"Have you got kids Andrew?" I ask.

"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.

Third hole and Andrew asks Jack if he plays sport.

"Yeah soccer," offers the young bloke, "I'm a goalkeeper."

There was genuine interest on Andrew’s part.

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.

"They’re not really sure what they want to do career-wise but they've worked hard, saved to make this trip happen."

We talked and enjoyed our golf. We all had a few good hits. Andrew actually chipped in for birdie on the Eighth.

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."

"Yeah, great kids. The youngest one has had his challenges. My nineteen-year-old Brett," Andrew pauses, takes off his sunglasses, "is gay."

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.

"Wow... when did you find out?" I ask.

"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."

Jack has putted, joins us and he picks up the thread of Andrew's story.

Andrew continued, "I asked my son, I said, 'I've only got one question... did you become gay or were you born gay?"

"He told me 'I always thought I was gay dad.'"

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.

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.’"

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."

"I'm pleased to hear it," said Andrew.

We finished our round, shook hands and said goodbye. The three of us had had a pretty extraordinary conversation.

Later in the day, Jack remarked, "Dad, that Andrew, he’s a good bloke."

I agreed.

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).

http://www.time-space.com.au/

* 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.





And importantly if for any reason you need to talk to someone – you can call…
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: http://www.reachout.com/

Road Trip

The two of us loaded our overnight gear into the boot at the front of the old 'Volksy'.

Just the two of us.

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.

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.

It is my earliest memory of having time one-on-one time with dad.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Thanks for reading. Do you have a road trip memory? Feel free to share yours in the space below.

Bill Jennings
www.time-space.com.au


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 here

Managing Alien Abductions

My grandparents’ house is still on the farm. Grandpa worked his orchard for decades. After he retired, my uncle took over, building his own place there. We’re lucky, our tribe has got an actual place – ‘Gruyere’, in Victoria’s Yarra Valley. As kids, each of my brothers, sister and cousins used to get their turn in the school holidays up at Grandma and Grandpa’s.

Both lived into their nineties. So my kids (daughter, 17 and son, 14) have their own special memories of their great grandparents. When my kids were little, we used to drive up from the city, buy a big family pie on the way and take it up for lunch with Grandma - a little tradition we’d forged.

As a dad, a treasured Gruyere memory happened not long after Grandma died. My then, 11 year-old son and I embarked on an overnight bike journey from the farm to a town called Warburton. We stayed first night at my uncle’s place. We didn’t visit the old house. We were still both a bit sad.

On the bike trail, my son talked happily as we rode 40km to our destination. We stayed in the caravan park, had a counter meal in the pub. He felt so grown up, soaking up some dad time.

That’s only three years ago but it does feel like a much longer time. Why? Because I reckon that little bike rider was recently abducted by aliens. They left a replacement… similar but slightly hairier, sleepier and mono-syllabic in his utterances. This new version of my son (scientific name - ‘adolescent’) believes that those same aliens, stole his dad’s sense of humour.

We have stepped quickly into role. His peer group’s influence has increased exponentially. Concerts, parties, girls… everything’s happened quickly. I’m the boundary setter: phone calls to other kids’ parents, the checking of plans, the curfews have turned me into possibly the most embarrassing dad ever known. We can get very grumpy with each other.

So where’s the hope? Is it just a slog until a healthy adult emerges from his teenage cocoon?

The hope lies in a recent visit back to the farm. Life’s busy… hadn’t been up for a while. Neither of us had actually been back in the old house. We went inside – together - sat at the kitchen table where we’d shared those pies with Grandma. We found some old newspapers and just sat and quietly read through them - together. We were visited by a feeling of calm and appreciation of a time past, when things were a little simpler.

Then from that ‘calm’, my son expressed a wish…

“Hey Dad, I reckon it’d be good if we went on another bike ride.”

Here’s three tips to help you help your adolescent.

1. Keep them connected in your family tribe - it has a story that’s older than their peer group.

2. Return to their happy childhood memory places. Revisiting helps them revisit what really matters.

3. If they invite you to spend time with them. Accept. Make the time.

Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au

You can also see this article feature as the closing story of the newly launched Parentingideas Magazine

Japan... as seen by a 14 year old boy

Talked with a friend on the phone yesterday. A mentor really. He asked what I was thinking and feeling about the multiple disasters in Japan. My answer was immediate.

"I'm watching it through the eyes of my son."

Teenage boys are prone to absent mindedness. Sometimes they will even leave their Facebook page open on your laptop. We've got a 'we can ask to look at your Facebook page anytime' policy in our place anyway (it kind of works). I saw something he had written on his 'chat'... 'the world is ending'. The mighty Lisa (aka 'better half') is an astute observer and mentioned that we should keep an eye on the young bloke.

"He's frightened". Lisa spots things as they are.

When I was my son's age, I recall that period of time between, first becoming aware of the exponential number of times Earth could destroy itself with its own nuclear weapons and later, managing to rationalise that such an event is unlikely and that if it did happen, we wouldn't know about it for too long. In that gap of time (which was a few of my early teenage years) I thought every time a plane went overhead that that was the bomb on its way to hit the GPO. Did you ever wonder why those graphs showed nuclear fallout extending from the General Post Office? That only fuelled my fear further... 'how can they be so accurate?'

During that gap in time, quite simply, I was frightened. I felt silly about that because after all, I was growing up. I had too much and not enough information all at the same time.

A few years later, as an older teenager, I told someone I had held these fears. She explained that when she was a girl, every time a plane went over her house, she thought it was the communists. So, back in the 1950’s, in orchard country outside Melbourne, the 'reds under the bed' were scaring a teenage girl who later on, became my mum.

I told that story to my good friend and mentor yesterday. He had the same fears growing up that the commies were going to get him.

Maybe every generation of teenagers experience large world moments in ways that render feelings of powerlessness. If you are twenty-something, how does September 11 house itself in your memory?

What do we do?

If you are a parent of a teenager - tell your kids if and when you were frightened of stuff when you were growing up. What made you get over that? Tell them.

If you are a teenager reading this, ask your mum or dad if they were frightened by stuff when they were younger. And don't in any way feel silly about feeling scared - even show them this post if it can help get the conversation going. You know how I just said I had too much information when I was a kid... well, now you're a kid and you've got access to that thing they call the internet.

We are all watching it together. Sometimes we don't check with each other how it’s being taken in. Those little acts of concern, of love really, are the ways that we can deal with the terrible tragedy that is beaming into our homes. There are people doing amazing things to help each other in Japan... we can help further away by just checking in with each other - face to face.

Step away from the screens for a few moments everyone.

Talk. Listen.

In checking this out with the young bloke, it was evident he had consumed a fair number of media stories and angles on the topic. I explained that his mum thought he might be frightened, he said he was mostly just ‘sad’. He then went into a whole bunch of things he had been learning from reading about the Japan crisis. He had taken a lot in.

“I’m okay dad, I just hope that they get serious about different ways to make energy after this. But I don't think they will... that's why I said 'the world is ending'.”

The young bloke's assessment is direct - there is no way to pretty that up. However, I do appreciate he told me a bit of what was going on in his head and heart.

Feel free to write add your thoughts below.


Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au