Standing on their shoulders

It happens in schools sometimes. Decisions get made from high up.

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.  

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.

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, Welcome Back Cotter. 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.

 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 - Blue & Gold).

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.

‘Effort and Commitment’ was the theme of a presentation I was asked to give at a school I run the Time & Space 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.

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.

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 The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. 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.

Then there’s Nicole Gillingham. We run the Time & Space 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.

Sandy Reddan the ‘food-tech’ teacher always arrives before the Time & Space 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.

“Where did you get those”, she asked?

“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.

Yea High School deceptively contains a humble set of buildings. There are champions of ‘effort and commitment’ inside those walls, inspiring the kids.

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.

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.  

Could you picture them? Great, I’ve got a suggested action for you in just a moment.

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.

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.

If the teacher is not around anymore, in the next 24 hours – tell someone important to you why your teacher inspired you.

      

Mungo - Busking for The Philippines

Some Time & Space Community people might know that Mem Fox’s picture book (illustrated by Julie Vivas), Wilfred Gordon McDonald Partridge 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.

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...  

Through November I was in the UK delivering some Time & Space 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.  

  

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.    

“When is your band playing next?” asked Gurdeep.

He was referring to a band I’m in called SHeD, a bunch of four dads who met up years ago when our kids were at the local primary school. Our by-line is Four Blokes and a 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.

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 Holy Grail or a big Elvis Presley tune.

“We’ve had the little kid play out the front here... have you heard about the kid?” Gurdeep asks.

“No I haven’t mate, I’ve been away,” I respond.

“ He plays his little guitar and he’s been in the paper.” It is clear Gurdeep has been captivated and is excited.

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 Menuki Hairdressing across the road from him. He pops back inside and appears with his ukulele in one hand and a newspaper article in the other.

“Oh”, I think to myself, “that little kid Gurdeep was talking about is Mungo!”

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, House of the Rising Sun  and Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da. Our guitarist Stephen, follows Mungo and we sing along with him. 

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 Wilfred Gordon, 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.

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 and took some shots for the Herald-Sun story.

Mungo has just finished in Year 1 and as the Oxfam website states he has, in recent weeks, “shown you are never too young to be a role-model”.

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! 

 

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 Menuki. 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.”

The next shop is Glo Beauty 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 check out the current total here, even add to it if you wish. Mungo, this is mighty.

At the end of Wilfred Gordon McDonald Partridge, there’s a beautiful line...

                And the two of them smiled and smiled

                because Miss Nancy’s memory had been found again

                by a small boy, who wasn’t very old either.

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.

Just like Wilfred Gordon 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.

 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... who isn’t very old either.

As always, thanks for reading - feel free to add your comments in the box below. You can click the Anonymous link to write a comment. It is always appreciated if you include your name next at the end of the comment.

Bill Jennings - Creator and Founder of Time & Space

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The Tram Ride Home

From the day this story is posted consider how time has moved since these two events.

It is 42 days since Adam Goodes was called an ‘ape’ at the MCG by a 13-year-old girl.

It is 44 days since Private Lee Rigby was hacked to death in Woolwich in the UK.

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.

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.

What do we learn?

What enables us to be different the next time?

I reckon it is the moments of chance learning we get that don’t make world news.

So, 41 days ago the Adam Goodes and Lee Rigby events had happened. They were unrelated, yet both race related. They were curdling in my mind as this 'chance learning' happened on the 112 tram...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Here are my irrational thought processes, my inner dialogue...

... 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...

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.

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.

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.

“Oh, how are you?” said the well dressed, tipsy lady.

She remained on the man’s lap longer than she should have.

The man spoke in a gentle voice, “I am fine thanks, a little tired actually.”

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.

She asked the man, “Have you been to the footy?”

“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.

“Oh, who was playing?” the lady asked.

“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.

“I go for the magpies... that was bad what happened to Adam Goodes last night – are you aboriginal?” the lady asked very forwardly.

“No, I am from Afghanistan,” said the man.

“Oh, are you a muslim?” asked the lady.

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!”

The man was very patient. He answered every question the lady asked him.

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.

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.

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.”

“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...”

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...

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.

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.

The couple got off the tram and it wound around into Miller Street.

The man kept talking and shared that eventually he wants to bring his mother and family to Australia.

Amber distinctly heard him say, “but that is a dream for the future.”

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.

“Thank you” she said.

“It was wonderful to talk with you. Nice to meet you.” A simple statement of gratitude by the man.

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.

“You just never know what you’re going to get on that 112 tram, do you dad?” Amber remarked.

“Very true Amber,” I replied.

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.

I felt grateful to have heard the man’s gentleness. I think it affected everyone within earshot of him on that tram ride home.

All I can say is that I hope his dream comes true.





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IWD 2012- a gift to share

A 'choose you own adventure' post today. Very interactive - click on the click-able bits of the post as you wish.

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.

On first seeing this... it took my breath away. In fact the second woman on the incomplete list below received the hard cover copy 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...

This is an an incomplete list (sorry if I have missed you) that honours: the brilliant women in this blogger's immediate world; women I am lucky to call friend; women who inspire; women who have participated in a Time & Space Mother-Son or Mother-Daughter program (and wrote their name on the evaluation sheet) and, some women I haven't actually met but whose work and ideas I respect.

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.

So here goes (in no particular order, except for the first one) ...

Lisa J (aka The Mighty Lisa)... best friend and soul-mate,

Amber J - A young woman with great taste in Indie music (Dan Mangan is a recent addition to this blogger's iTunes 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.

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.

Clare McG - 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 pre-school and primary school kids. That is generous. Clare is my favourite sister.

Sisters-in-law, Leah, Rita and Nicole (well Nic 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.

Hilda Jennings, my Nana (RIP) and Grandma (RIP) - my brother Greg (the one who is getting married this weekend) wrote a beautiful blogpost that captures what Grandma meant to us all.

My NSAA friends and colleagues inspiring women doing good work - De, Tania (is writing a blog from a Mum's perspective called 'Surviving Year 12') Taruni, Phillipa, Gillian, Ailsa, Yvonne, Helen Mac, Melina and The Mighty Farrug' (inspiration). Former school teaching car pooling buddies Lizzie and the Harvenator and also Cate, the hardest working person I know, and wise mentor to boot.

Then of course there are all the locals - Robyn, Rosie, Caroline, Clare, Sandra, Pauline, Heidi, Miki, Leeanne, 'LGSpencer', Marnstorming and Moi (have a browse around Moira's CD, One Step Forward - there are songs here so pertinent to this day... she won an award at Port Fairy for Why Not Let a Mother and my favourite Moi song is Until You're Old, a poignant tribute to her mum).

Valerie, Kalindi (hey kids look for the carefully placed affirmation cards from your teacher on your 'vision posters', displayed in your extraordinarily 'finessed' classroom), Christine, Bonnie, Haidee and Sue who helped at the Silkwood School Mother-Son night and Bella, Oceana and Jess who were outstanding panelists at the Father-Daughter night.

Celia Lashlie - Champion delighter 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.

Another Celia, Nardis and Julie (love your Compassionate Flow blog Jules) - all have reconnected in recent times. It has been great to be back in touch.

Aunty Joy Murphy-Wandin - 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.

Sarah Kay - you saw her above in the clip. I love the story about the girl in the hoodie.

Mem Fox - thanks to you and Julie Vivas for Wilfred Gordon McDonald Partidge, my favourite all time picture book.

Leslie Cannold and Cecily (@happychatter) - 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.

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.

And penultimately... here's a few faves from the Twitterverse @rosaliquidink , @peace_ , @SamJaneLane and @alihilltweet

Finally, I salute all the mums and mentors who have turned up at a Time & Space Mother-Son or Mother-Daughter session and if you put your name on an evaluation sheet in the last few years, you should find it here...

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, Breeda, Bridget, Bronwyn, Bronwyn, Byron, Carina, Carmel, Carmel, Carmel, Carmel, Carol, Carol, Caroline, Caroline, Caroline , Carolynne, 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, Delwyn, Denise, Denise, Diane, Diane, Dianne, Dianne, Dianne, Dina, Dolores, Donna, Donna, Donna, Edwina, Eileen, Elaine, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elle, Elsie, Emily, Fali, 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, Harshini, Hazel, Heidi, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helena, Huyen, Ida, Ingrid, Ivy, J, J, Jacinta, Jackie, Jacqui, Jacqui, Jacqui, Jacqui, Jai, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Janet, Janine, Janine, Janna, Jaqueline, Jayne, Jeannine, Jen, Jen, Jennie, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Jill, Jo, Jo (regular correspondent on this blog and thanks for the prompt last year Jo - hey Bill, blog more!), 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, Kerrilyn, Kerry, Kerry, Kerry, Kim, Kim, Kim, Kim Ian, Kirsty, Kris, Kylie, Kylie, Kylie, Lauren, Leah, Leane, Leanne, Leanne, Leanne, Leanne , Leigh, Leonie, Leonie, Leonie, Liljana, 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, Maree, Maree, Maree, Maree, Maree, Margaret, Margaret , Margie, Margot, Maria, Maria, Maria, Marianne, Marianne, Marie, Marie, Marina, Marion, Marlies, Marly, Martine, 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, Narelle, Nat, Natalie, Natalie, Natasha, Natasha, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Ornella, Pam, Pam, Pam, Pamela, Pamela, Pati, Patricia, Paula, Pauline, Pauline, Pauline , Pearlyn, Penny, Peta, Peta, Peta, Pina, Pina, Polly, Prue, Prue, Prue , Rachel, Rachelle, Rae, Rebecca, Rhonda, Rina, Rita, Robbie, Robyn, Robyn, Romaine, Roni, 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, Seb, Seema, Sephanie, Shane, Sharen, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharron, Shenna, Sherri, Sheryl, Shikha, Sibi, Siew Lin, Silvia, Sim, Simone, Simone, Simone, Siobhan, Siobhan, Sonia, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sophia, Sue, Sue, Sue, Sue, Sue, Sue-Ellen, Surekha, Susan, Susan, Susie, Susie, Suzanne, Suzette, Sylvia, Talei, Tammy, Tammy, Tammy, Tania, Tania, Tania, Tania, Tanid, 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, Tuyet, Vanda, Veronic, Veronica, Vicki, Vilma, Vita, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Younga.

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.

Thanks for reading and Happy International Women's Day (well it's evening now).

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


PS - the first two women mentioned on the honours list are enjoying a celebratory glass of reasonably priced merlot on the couch as this post is published.

Father Bob & the 'YB' have Entered the Building

"So... do you want me to come in with you?" I ask.

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.

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.

There is still more think time. Then...

"Nah, I'll be right."

More silence and we sit there looking at the school building.

"So what happens now... I just go to Reception?", YB asks.

"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."

"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...

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.



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 The Father Bob Maguire Foundation. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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'.

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.

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.


Bill Jennings
www.time-space.com.au

Celebrating the Champions in Our Schools

Say the name of your favorite teacher.

There is simple beauty in this exercise because it does not matter how old you are. If you’re in Year Six, you probably know the name of the teacher who has been the greatest influence on you to this point. You could be 90 years old and still gifted with a memory like a steel trap (I’m 44 and my wife says if get Alzheimer’s she won’t notice). Does the good teacher of your day… their name, their face come flooding back to you? Mum, Dad or Carer? I hope somebody comes to mind, that someone who has seen a spark and made a difference in your child’s journey. Does your own memory produce the picture of that great person for whom teaching was so much more than a job?

Sal Valentino is one of these people. He has been at Simonds College, in inner city Melbourne for over twenty years. He champions the cause for each student at his school to find and know their great possibility. How does he do this? In so many ways… but as Paul Kelly (a contemporary Australian bard) once wrote – let the part tell the whole.

The Simonds boys have just this week, come off some ‘My PB days’ (personal best). The program culminates with a testosterone fuelled moment - the boys get to seal a ‘Good Man Goal’, identify an action, a change they want to make and they write it on to a piece of wood. Then they are trained to muster their energy and with a ‘Mr. Miagi style karate chop’, they set their goal by smashing the piece of wood in two. Ask most teenage boys in school… “And now we want you to break something”, and it is OK… they will think it is Christmas!

But what about the young bloke who is a little tentative?

Here’s the Sal Valentino gold… one such young fella had missed breaking the wood on his first couple of goes… other boys are starting to watch and this is not helping. Intuitively Sal whisks the student to a spot where he can try away from the gaze of his peers. With Sal’s encouragement and imagination, the boy manages to break that piece of wood… he returns to the group with it now in two pieces. Another boy, who also had missed the first couple of times, comes straight up and congratulates his classmate. Sal notices and celebrates publically the compassion and empathy shown in this other boy’s expression of support.

This was a replete piece of education… it took five minutes. There must literally be tens of thousands of these stories over Sal’s career. But this was all in a day’s work for Sal Valentino.

He is a true champion.

So here’s an idea. Write a note of thanks to your champion teacher. Tell them why you think they are a champion… give them back a moment where they taught you something. If they are long gone thank them in your heart.

A letter headed out from this desk on the weekend to the great Chuck Thompson – my Year 7 homeroom teacher. He’s still plying his craft – I reckon an ‘out of the blue’ thank-you will give these champions a spur.

Who was or is your favourite teacher? Feel free to write your story in the space below.

3.5 Billion Fellas - honourable mentions #1

The planet's human population is 50.3% male. Applying that ratio to this World Population Clock, there were 3 466 676 503 fellas on Earth at the time I started drafting this. Our recent posts have canvassed the insights of a small fraction of that cohort - some boys and their dads from Ballarat offered what qualities they see in the good men they know. I promised to share some thoughts at the end of that series.

So, over the next few days leading up to Christmas and New Year you're getting my honourable mentions for 2010 and here's my take... for every good man in the public eye, there is probably someone you know whose qualities and circumstances are similar and are equally as grand and inspiring... they're just not as widely known. As you read my list of good fellas, consider your own people. And of course all of these qualities apply to the other 49.7% of humanity, the inspiring females of the world!

Jimmy and Stephen

If you're reading this in Australia (or Ireland), you will probably know the name, Jimmy Stynes. He's the 1991 Brownlow Medalist (Australian Rules Football's highest individual honour), the co-founder of Reach - an organisation that helps young people foster self belief, has an Order of Australia and was the Victorian of the Year in 2003. A pretty impressive CV. Something I saw in his public profile though... rankled in recent years. He was doing good work - undeniable - but to me the best way of describing it was that it seemed like he had 'lost the ground'. I only offer that as an opinion because I see that having happened in myself from time to time - we can be doing stuff that looks publicly like good work, our purpose and intent can be all be tracking OK but it doesn't take much to get out of whack in a helping role. Things can quickly become a bit of a 'me-fest'! That's why, in the touching clip below, I find it seriously interesting how Jimmy reflects on the time he became president of his beloved Melbourne Demons, that he 'was probably addicted to anything exciting'... 'was getting a bit consumed' and this may have fuelled 'a bit too much of the ego'. It is a humble self-critique of his attitude about a year prior to discovering he was seriously ill...



Jimmy Stynes inspired before he got cancer. The way he is living now is off the charts inspiring. He has taken an extraordinary personal challenge and turned it into a positive... Jimmy's final words in that clip really get me...

"When faced with death, the ego just drops its barriers. I needed to live a better life, and getting cancer has led me to a much better life."

My friend Stephen is slightly different from Jimmy. He is not quite as into sport. That's why I listed Jimmy's CV above as there is every chance Stephen doesn't know who Jimmy Stynes is! Stephen is similar to Jimmy as he has been a quiet inspiration to our little corner of the planet here in West Preston.

Stephen's passion is music. Playing, writing, conducting and teaching, he has done it all over the years. He is a highly regarded musician, has an extraordinary ear and can pick up and play a tune so quickly. He is a fellow band member with me in SHeD - four blokes and a guitar. Here's one of our cover songs we did for a family member in the UK... with acknowledgement, thanks (and probably apologies) to Things of Stone & Wood.




Over ten years, we've built up a repertoire of sixty plus cover songs and have always joked that if Stephen gets hit by the proverbial bus, we are down from 60 to three songs... namely our three a Capella numbers! That joke has seemed less funny over the last couple of years as we have watched Stephen struggle with his bad kidneys. He's just had a transplant and all appears to be going well but we noticed how much he struggled when he forgot words to songs (his memory was always phenomenal) and how he needed more frequent breaks when we played. It became obvious that everything was a struggle. His kidneys not functioning properly, his system was becoming toxic. A mutual friend noted recently about Stephen... "I never once heard him complain". There lies the inspiration.

In the midst of this tough time for Stephen, different people have organised little events to acknowledge and support him. The gold here is that Stephen let all this happen. Sometimes being helped can be kind of awkward - but Stephen is pretty laid back and people have done what has needed to be done with good grace... Heidi has organised a roster for meals (did I mention he has six kids?) and the community is rallying; his old choir, put on a 'kidney benefit concert' a few weeks ago... the generosity of the organiser Janice, reflected the generous way Stephen had thrown himself into anything musical over the years... kids' concerts, writing and arranging serious choir pieces... playing in SHeD.

Tonight marks another great Stephen tradition... it's a great memory for our family because one evening in the first Christmas we'd moved to this area, we people heard singing outside. Neighbours wandered out of their front gates to listen to the carol singers in our street. There was a lady living across the road then who had a battle with the bottle... I clearly remember holding my son in my arms, then five months old (now 14!) looking across at her we exchanged big smiles. I saw her shed a tear.

I hadn't met him at the time but the person leading the carol singing was Stephen.

Tonight, our bunch of friends are getting together for our annual Christmas Carols sing-along around the local streets... Tim from our band has kindly offered to host from his place. Stephen will play it by ear but chances are that he won't be able to wander round the streets with his guitar tonight... him just being there is going to make the night extra special. Tim hosting, keeping the tradition going, as Stephen recovers is more evidence of the community kindly pitching in.

Both Stephen and Jimmy Stynes have somehow made their tough illnesses something that can create good spirit in the world around them.

Stephen and Jimmy are good fellas.

Feel free to write about your good people in the space below.

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

Copping a good question

I copped a real poser recently - a great question that has seeped into my mind and heart. It went something like this...

What are the characteristics of a good man?

I was asked this during a phone interview for The Mercury in Tasmania.

So many questions shoot off from this. Can't the same characteristics be those of a good woman? How is it possible to be definitive?

I remember running a panicky inner dialogue something along these lines, "Oh no, that's a tough one... c'mon Bill you're the parent-child program guy... you should know the answer... all your work started in the father-son area... she's trying to write some good news about the two boys' schools you work for in Tassie... c'mon Bill, say something profound and expert-y'.

My recollection is suggesting something about how a good man can regulate his anger. A lot of blokes push all of their emotions through the funnel of anger because paradoxically, anger feels 'safe' - it is standard 'bloke' mode.... and just because your blogger runs parent-child programs, doesn't mean he doesn't go 'off-tap' on occasions. C'mon - I've got two teenage kids!

I think I might have said something about the man, who is a dad, giving his kids time... not even quality time, just time.

That'll do I thought. In one sense, the answer given captured the two things I have to say (at this stage) to parents...

1. No one is perfect.
2. Half the battle is 'being there'.

But many men are not parents. So the question... 'what are the characteristics of a good man?', has stayed with me.

The thought has occurred that many would have their own answer to this question. So this week, I'll be blogging a fraction more than usual. The journalist asked a fine question. I suspect that my own answer will always be incomplete but I'll give you what I've got after the next few posts. The next posts will present the answers some others have offered - some men and some Year 7 boys who wrote their thoughts on this theme at a recent Time & Space program in Ballarat.

And feel free to offer your own answer here in the space below - 'What are the characteristics of a good man?'

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

The 'Tim-Tam' Journey

If you are reading this outside of Australia, how do I explain Tim-Tams to you? Have you ever met an Aussie travelling in your country? We are prone to more than a little home sickness. This usually applies most acutely to the foods we can't get easily overseas. Perhaps the traditional foodstuff that is missed the most, and gets the most attention, is the famous 'Vegemite'. Nothing like the taste of that distinctive bitter, black yeast extract on toast, melting in with the butter. However Vegemite does have a younger sibling that can spark tears of home-sickness in even the most unemotional travelling Aussie. The Tim Tam.

The Tim Tam is a beautiful combination of biscuit, chocolate cream centre with another outer layer of chocolate. It is delicious on its own but combined with a hot beverage or a glass of port, it takes on even greater powers. By biting opposite diagonal corners off the biscuit, it becomes a drinking straw... dip one corner into the cup of coffee, suck the coffee from the other corner through the biscuit and as soon as the liquid hits your tongue, pop the whole Tim Tam in... it melts in your mouth. This ritual, called 'shot gunning', has been taken to every corner of the planet. If an Aussie has shot-gunned fermented goat's milk with you in a yurt somewhere in outer Mongolia, with their rationed supply of Tim Tams, then you are considered to be an OK person!

Alright, have I sufficiently built the premise on just how sacred the Tim Tam is to the Australian people?... my point is?

If you recall, the last blog post promised a 'Part 2' to the wonderful experience of sharing a recent Time & Space canoeing weekend with Simonds College. Some Vietnamese families participated, one of the Vietnamese boys is called Tim and his dad's name is... you guessed it, Tam!

Around the campfire we had so much fun, laughing and enjoying some friendly cultural rivalry. Tim and Tam were the only father and son team not to capsize into the Yarra River that weekend. So to us, ‘Tim Tams’ were now, not only Australia’s greatest biscuit… our ‘Tim-Tam’ canoeing pair were the undisputed champions on the water. Michael, the other Vietnamese dad, raised his arms triumphantly, declaring, "We are the boat people!" Laughter... great Australian humour with its special brand of irony, is delivered perfectly. The irony of course is that ‘boat people’ is a term in Australia that evokes images of fear and mistrust. Yet Michael turned that mistrust into a moment where all around that campfire, shared delight in his quick wit.

Tam’s brother-in-law was a ‘boat person’, a refugee. He made a risky journey in a leaky boat from Vietnam to Australia. He sponsored his sister, Tam’s bride then of one year, to come to his new country. Tam had to wait five years until he could rejoin his young wife. Imagine that? What's important is that Tam and Tim got an opportunity to share significant parts of their own stories with each other. Some special things happened at this camp. Dominic, one of the other dads of Italian background is a mad follower of the AFL team Collingwood. He taught Tam how to kick an Aussie Rules footy. Tam skews a kick off the outside of his boot and laughs and claps. It is just a beautiful moment.

Tam explained to me that he took up the weekend as, "an opportunity to learn another way to be close to (his son)... another way of communication." In Vietnam, communication is often one way. The older generation give instructions and the children respectfully listen. Extended families live close together. Uncles, aunties, grandparents pitch in, collectively parenting, if mum or dad are busy. This is how it happened here in Australia with Tam and Tim. Tam has been busy working. Only, they didn't really have enough of that old country extended family to step in. So, Tim has felt that absence over the years but in the course of the father-son program, these two had a wonderful chance to explain each other's perspective. I watched Tim respectfully explain how he felt that absence through his childhood, not really knowing his dad as he was growing up. However, Tim also acknowledged that his dad had put his hand up to participate in the canoeing weekend with him, and he considered that a great achievement. Another beautiful moment.

So what do I learn from this story? Firstly, that when we come together with good intent, like trying to be a better parent as Tam and the other dads did on that weekend, we share more in common with each other than what makes us different. I’m in awe of the determination of Tam to learn ‘another way of communication’ with his son, having journeyed far away from his country of origin and a culture that was familiar to him. Isn’t that the challenge that leads to growth in any relationship? I am honoured too, to have witnessed Tim not shy away from the truth - he told his dad what had been tough but then affirmed him as well... masterfully, he combined kindness and courage. The boy presented himself as a young adult before his father.

Well done Tim and Tam – just like your biscuit namesake – you make our world a better place.

Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.

Bill Jennings

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

Feeling 'New Learning'

Do you ever feel new learning? Good new learning can take us to a place that is so transformative, that we feel that new insight impacting deep within.

Your blogger felt that ‘new-ness’ around a campfire at the recent Time & Space expedition for Simonds College. Over the years, I’ve been on many of these camps and they are all great experiences. Dads or mentors being there intentionally as their boys get to be their leaders on a journey.

There is a point in time on the first night of the camp when the traditional older generation authority is officially reversed. We say, “OK, the boys are now in charge.” In the earlier sessions at the school, the ground-rules are outlined… the boys are our leaders on the expedition and when we say, “Start”, the dads can’t give any advice from that moment unless they are asked! It is always a source of amusement, in theory, prior to the rule coming in to force. Let me tell you, I have had some very focused chats over the years with some frustrated dads who wanted to break the ground-rules and give their young leaders, not just one piece of advice but every single piece of advice that had been boiling up in them over the journey!

It is tough for most dads to step back. Dads are often the boundary setters. They can see the danger ahead for their kids but, just imagine how much more perplexing this program condition is when it is completely foreign to your cultural traditions. This is where I felt the new learning with the questions that Michael and Tam put to me. Michael (whose name has been anglicised) and Tam were both born in Vietnam. Both, as young men, made their journeys to Australia from a country ravaged by war and poverty. So, when the official handing over of decision making was given to the boys, Tam and Michael followed me around that fire and were intent on understanding more!

“Bill, this is very interesting to us” says Michael, “In our culture, the father is a person of high authority.” Tam nods in agreement. They explain that if a boy wants to get a message to his father, he usually does it via the intermediary of his mother.

Tam explains, “We worry that they will go down the wrong path… so we say things like, ‘no girlfriend’, ‘no boyfriend’ to our children until they finish university.” Michael agrees.

I am feeling the new learning. I am seeing the need to clarify, come from Michael and Tam. I am seeing also, these two men bringing some new insights to themselves.

“This could be important for us. These rules for the camp could teach us something.”

The next morning, Michael sidles up and tells me that, in their two-man tent as they went off to sleep, his son shared with him that he has a girlfriend.

There is a bit more of this tale to be told in next week’s post but for now, let me tell you that at this point in the story, Michael is beaming. He let the new learning in.

Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.

Bill Jennings

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

Andrea - a fantastic coach

This blogger is the linesman for the Moreland City Soccer Club Under 14B's. It is not a bad way to see the game and it lets my son get on with things at his end of the ground (as he is the Goalkeeper) whilst I keep an eye on the 'off-sides' for our forwards at the other end. I get a good insight into how the opposition teams operate for one half of the game when I run along their side of the ground.

We played Gisborne last Sunday. The temperature was forecast to be only 12 Celsius in Melbourne. Subtract another three degrees for Gisborne. It is about a 30-45 minute drive outside of northern Melbourne. We had a rain shower bordering on hail during the game. For the second week in a row, the official referee didn't turn up, so Andrea, the Gisborne coach asked one of our dads to take on the task. She and some of the parents on the sidelines had a good laugh during the first half as at the height of the rain squall, Nick, our dad who volunteered, officiated with his wife's dainty red umbrella in one hand and the whistle in the other.

And they weren't the only laughs that happened out there. There was banter between the Gisborne kids and the coach. I distinctly recall a wonderful warm exchange between one player on the wing and his coach, Andrea. He was joking and smiling and just purely enjoying himself out there in the freezing cold conditions. These kids were having fun.

So at this stage of the story you'd be perfectly entitled to comment, "Yep, that's all nice Bill but they're kids having fun playing sport on the weekend. What's so special about that?"

Ah well, there is the small matter that they lost the game 10-Nil.

Have a look at the ladder for this competition. You will see that after last weekend, Gisborne have a goal difference of 'negative 81'.

I chanced a conversation between Andrea and one of her defenders who was having his turn on the sidelines. He was watching the play with her and spoke about where a couple of the other kids needed to be in the back line and where he should stand when he goes back on. Andrea came back with a couple of ideas. What stood out was the extraordinary mutual respect. The way the young player spoke to his coach and felt comfortable airing his analysis, was outstanding. Andrea's obvious calm manner and the serious way she listened to her player got me thinking that these sorts of interactions don't just happen by accident.

Later on back at home, my interest is piqued, so I have a look at their website. Gisborne has a mission statement which says that the club is on about 'providing a quality learning environment for young people.' They want to 'promote community values and provide a healthy and nurturing environment.'

The number of times the ball hits the 'back of the net' is really only one of many types of goals that can be achieved when your ultimate aim is to help and teach kids to be the best person they can be.

On that score, I reckon Gisborne are kicking a lot of goals thanks to good people like Andrea, a fantastic coach.

Thanks for taking the Time and Space to read this.

Bill Jennings

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

Father Bob - Self Proclaimed 'Old Twitterer'

At this point in time, I reckon there is only one multinational organisation that is taking more heat than BP - the Catholic Church. The Pope does have at least one shining light though on his global team, who this past weekend celebrated fifty years in the corporation... Father Bob Maguire.

If you are reading this somewhere outside of Australia, you will find Father Bob Maguire on Wikipedia (I didn't know that before he became a priest in 1960 he was a beekeeper). He has been doing 'front line' work with the people he calls the 'undeserving poor' for exactly half a century - this past weekend, he has celebrated being fifty years a Catholic priest. In recent years, he has gained some media attention around the nation. The fame rests lightly on him I think, because it hasn't changed him doing what he believes to be important... he has simply embraced the media gaze and made it work for his cause. Father Bob is a definite character whose appeal reaches well beyond the 'company shareholders'. He is different and as result, he is loved by people, young and old, from all walks of life in Australia. He appears regularly on the fresh and popular national TV show, 'The 7PM Project'. Father Bob was the first person I started following on Twitter. At the time of publishing this post, Father Bob has 'tweeted' six times already on this Monday morning, having started at around 6.30am - that takes it to 3939 tweets and counting.

I've had a very blessed life and the work I did in schools enabled me to meet Father Bob. The Year 12 students at my last school got to travel out in what Father Bob calls the 'Hope-Mobile'. They would help serve food outside a rooming house in Fitzroy Street, St Kilda. The experience makes a huge impression on the students. They meet people who have done it tough in life. Often the kids reflect that before, they might have crossed the street in fear of the 'homeless guy' that they actually met, then talked to, on their night in the Hope-Mobile. It is pretty special when you witness young people discovering that they share so much more in common with someone they thought was totally 'other' to them.

So in recent times I've been very lucky to get to know 'F-Bob', as I like to call him. On a personal level, he has been very encouraging of the full-time adventure I've started this year, creating Time & Space for kids and their parents or mentors. That's how our little corner of the planet came to be visited by this 75 years young 'Rock Star' on Saturday night. Underneath the West Preston Skies, we celebrate with an annual party in my shed. Mums and dads who have become friends through our kids' local school, play a bit of music together. It has been happening for about eight years now and at one of the parties someone came up with the great idea that if we are having so much fun together, why not share the love and give guests the chance to contribute to a charity. This year, we thought - how about supporting the Father Bob Maguire Foundation?

Here is Father Bob's tweet in the lead up to this event...

Must do 7Mass then flip over Bolte & back support Bill J and mates making music in Bill's shed.Funds for FatherBobFoundation.

He's describing that he'll get to the party via the Bolte Bridge after saying mass in his parish at 7 O'Clock. It was so kind of him to come over. Everyone gathers in the shed and we do a quick spiel on the foundation's work.

I offer a context explaining, "In the past, we've raised money for example, to buy an overseas village a goat."

Without missing a beat, Father Bob retorts, "so this year, an 'old goat' has actually turned up to your party!"

Delighted laughter erupts in the shed and for a few minutes the quick wit of this man warms the atmosphere on a cold winter night. A cake arrives to acknowledge his golden jubilee of priesthood and the next day he 'tweets'...

BillJ's place last night.Greeted with an anthem written by local in praise of neighbourhood "Under the West Preston shies".

Maybe a Freudian slip, that 'typo' as we know that Father Bob presents as anything but shy. The 'local' who wrote West Preston Skies is Moi Tyers who leads off on her guitar... we all know the words and by the end of the song, Father Bob is singing along as well.

It was a magic moment. One thing I think we especially love about Father Bob is how he is beautifully self deprecating.

A friend shakes his hand "Father Bob it is so good to meet you!"

"What are you takin' about" says Father Bob, "it is good to meet you more to the point!" He makes people feel good about themselves.

Self deprecation shines through in this morning's tweet...

Must front annual meeting /lunch priests' association.After yesterday's "4 he's a jolly good fellow"50th, just another priest.

Just another priest! C'mon F-Bob! Most of my friends who gathered in the shed are not religious but as Moi's husband Ken said "I just love him... he's got the old values... he's out there looking after people who need help the most... he has an unbelievable rapport with young people... to them he is actually pretty cool!" Ken explains how a young work colleague's girlfriend is helping out with a housing project that the Father Bob Foundation is starting up. A couple of mums at the party have said they'd like to go over and volunteer in the soup kitchen that runs out of the back of Father Bob's parish house.

Kindness begets kindness I reckon.

And humble in the midst of all the delight Father Bob spreads in the world, he tweeted a note of gratitude to all of his anniversary well wishers yesterday.

Thanks 2 all comrades who sent greetings to this ol' twitterer on the "in house" occasion of 50 years strapped to the mast.

Father Bob - you are a legend!

Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.

Bill Jennings

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

Links...

Father Bob on Twitter - http://twitter.com/FatherBob
Father Bob's Blog - http://www.fatherbob.com.au/
Moira Tyers - http://www.moiratyers.com/

Old School Fun

Now I know you will probably get a bit suspicious if you read this blog regularly because the star of this post is someone called... yep, you guessed it, Joe. That makes it three 'Joes' now who have featured in recent weeks. I promise you it is not my default name for someone else!

This is Joe, my son's soccer coach.

Joe provided a moment that was just delightful for its simplicity. What he did, got me asking myself questions.

How do kids have fun today?

Is there too much screen time... too much virtual world?

Are we obsessed with safety and cleanliness to the point that childhood is threatened... risk is eliminated? What learning gets lost? What happens to spontaneity?

The key elements to the back story of this great moment are...

1. It is an extremely cold winter here in Melbourne. In recent times there has also been constant rain. The sports grounds have become waterlogged for the first time in years (it looks like Melbourne may be finally emerging from a drought).

2. Despite the very cold winter these kids, who could be at home on their Play Stations, consistently get to training with their coach, Joe.

3. Joe is a volunteer - he comes down and trains my son's team two nights a week, two hours each session after he has worked for the day. He coaches the team on match day Sunday.

4. Joe is great with the kids. He sets expectations - they respect him and respond. He recently, said humbly "I mightn't know much technically but I do know how to build a team spirit".

And that's exactly what he did at a recent training session. The rain had pelted down in the previous days and a sheet of water had spread across the usual spot where the kids train. At the end of training, Joe brought the team over from the other side of the ground and lined them up at the edge of the massive rain puddle that had formed on the ground. It was big enough for them to stand shoulder to shoulder.

"OK", yells Joe "Take three steps back... now on my count... ONE, TWO, THREE - go for it!"

As a unit the kids sprinted towards the pool, flung themselves into the air, stretched their arms forward... landed and slid on their bellies for a few seconds across the water and mud. They were saturated, filthy and incredibly happy!

This was old school fun.

Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.

Bill Jennings

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

P.S. Released my first e-book last week - enjoy! http://bit.ly/agsyUi

Community Rituals

There is the small matter of a football tournament presently taking place in South Africa - had you heard?

It is Sunday night in Melbourne and as I write Australia is undefeated in this year's World Cup (well, we haven't played yet!). If you are into soccer, by the time you read this, you will know the result of the long awaited opening game with Germany. Looking at my computer clock right now, the game starts in 4 hours and 25 minutes. It is a special time for some families in our local community - here underneath (what we call) the West Preston skies!

Four years ago during the last World Cup, a West Preston tradition was born. Our group of friends had intended to rotate the venue for a our shared viewing of the World Cup. But Australia won the first game against Japan (3-1) kicking three goals in the last ten minutes of the game - our superstitions kicked in and so it was sort of subconsciously decided that every other game would be watched at Nick and Clare's place. We brought the same food to share, we sat in the same seats so as not to upset Australia's progress through the tournament. Four years on and a collection of mums, dads and kids will gather again at Nick and Clare's and watch and hold our collective breath. Food will be shared, the match will be dissected and new memories will be built.

My son was not quite ten years old last time. He was then and is now, mad about the game. Last time the event was so large in his reality that he provided some wonderful memories for all who gathered at Nick and Clare's. Australia was down needing a draw in the final game of its three first round matches and Croatia had pushed ahead. It was too much for my son when Croatia took the lead that would give them, and not us, a place amongst the final 16 teams. He was distraught. Tears could not be hidden. Seeing my son Jack, a couple of the mums present including Clare, started crying - a young boy's World Cup dream was vanishing. The tension was too great. A game shouldn't matter this much but try telling that to my son.

Then, a miracle that created more tears... Harry Kewell magically weaved in and around a ball and slotted an equaliser into the goal deep into the second half.

Jubilation! A lounge room under the West Preston skies was full of people who were jumping and screaming in sheer delight. My son burst into tears again... tears of joy that flowed even more when the final whistle blew. Australia was through to the next round.

Now you can get far more expertly reported accounts of one game between Australia and Croatia in the 2006 World Cup but regard the angle of vision we had as our community enjoyed the afterglow of the win we had shared. The group were chatting and enjoying the win but also remarking how helpless they felt as a young boy willed his national team to keep their campaign alive.

I still clearly recall seeing, when it was time to go, Jack going up to Clare to do the right thing, manners-wise.

"Thanks for having us Clare" said Jack... and instead of just leaving it as a polite 'thank you' - his arms wrapped around Clare and she received an enormous hug.

Alot of us saw the moment. Clare reciprocated the hug and said "You are a wonderful boy you know Jack! You have made this night very special."

And here's my point. There is something lovely that in a few hours, we will be doing this all again. It has become a ritual for our community. I'll go over to Nick and Clare's tonight with Jack who is now my teenage son, nearly fourteen. He's a little more aware of how hard it might be to win... more wise in the ways and fortunes of the world. He is growing up and as we observe our community World Cup ritual, a point in time is marked again.

I think community rituals are so important for our kids. They give them a memory. The one Jack has will grow in its richness in time. In time Jack's appreciation will grow that he belongs to a family that loves him but he will also hold a memory of his village, the people who enjoyed his uniqueness... his special character that added to the life of his community.

Whenever I mention my kids in this blog, I always sit them down and show them the gist of the post - I seek their permission to publish. As I read this to Jack, a smile grew over his face... "Yep, that's fine... you can put that up" he says. I'm smiling too.

Off to bed now. Three hours and fifty-five minutes till kick off! I can't wait.

Thanks for taking the Time and Space to read this.

Bill Jennings

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