"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
Showing posts with label Decision Making. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Decision Making. Show all posts
Thursday, 2 February 2012
Friday, 11 November 2011
The Things We Can Control
It is now ten years and two months since September 11 2001. As a global community we felt helpless for a while. In the last post, I described a paralysis of fear that struck me. A distinct moment snapped me out of that feeling and I promised more details...
I wasn't directly affected by the terrorist attacks on the USA but I do recall feeling real fear. Irrational evaluations of risk became part of my decision making. My team, Essendon were playing off against Brisbane on the last day in September at the MCG. Should I take my kids to the AFL Grand Final? Will the terrorists strike there next? Images flashed through my mind, of jumbo jets ploughing into the Great Southern Stand.
Such thoughts were real to me... thoughts I felt a bit embarrassed about, so I was reluctant to share them. Since then, I've discovered that many others felt the same way. For a period of time, I reckon a huge proportion of humanity felt lonely in the midst of unspoken fear.
On the first day of fourth term, 2001, my daughter was in Grade 2, eight years old and loving life. Heidi, the school receptionist called me at work to say that Amber had had an accident during sport. She had been looking the other way, turned for a moment and as she turned back her forehead crashed, at running pace, into a thick, hard steel basketball pole.
"We've called the ambulance Bill... I think she's OK... how quickly can you get over here?"
It took a quarter of an hour to get to Amber's school, to only discover that the ambulance had just left. Not sure what the statute of limitations is on minor offences but I must confess to driving pretty quickly for another fifteen minutes on to the hospital. So fast that I actually caught up to the ambulance and arrived to see my daughter as the doors opened out. She was in a bad way and we learnt a new word that day Cephalohematoma. A huge swelling, like a big bag of fluid, had bulged out on Amber's forehead. It was scary. Those 30 minutes of driving were intensely frightening. On reflection the fear was because of the unknown.
A few minutes later in the emergency room, Amber said "I'm scared daddy, please hold my hand".
"Of course sweetheart". She gripped tight.
Amber was physically sick a few times as we waited for the specialist. The doctor finally arrived on a day when minutes felt like hours. He calmly said that things actually looked much worse than they really were. She was going to be groggy and nauseous for a day or two yet but so importantly, she was going to be OK. Ten years on, Amber is 18 and sitting her VCE exams.
There is still a little trophy bump on her forehead. When she asked me to hold her hand, I wasn't frightened about all the bad things that had happened in the world, any more.
There was a footy coach in that time who had a favourite saying that now has become sporting cliché... "we only worry about the things we can control". That was hard to do, post-September 11. Holding Amber's hand was something within my sphere of control... I could help her when she was frightened.
I often wonder now, when we are frightened in some way, if the best way out is borne in the effort to help another. All the best with your exams Amber. It is so special that you are able to do them.
Feel free to write your thoughts and responses in the space below.
I wasn't directly affected by the terrorist attacks on the USA but I do recall feeling real fear. Irrational evaluations of risk became part of my decision making. My team, Essendon were playing off against Brisbane on the last day in September at the MCG. Should I take my kids to the AFL Grand Final? Will the terrorists strike there next? Images flashed through my mind, of jumbo jets ploughing into the Great Southern Stand.
Such thoughts were real to me... thoughts I felt a bit embarrassed about, so I was reluctant to share them. Since then, I've discovered that many others felt the same way. For a period of time, I reckon a huge proportion of humanity felt lonely in the midst of unspoken fear.
On the first day of fourth term, 2001, my daughter was in Grade 2, eight years old and loving life. Heidi, the school receptionist called me at work to say that Amber had had an accident during sport. She had been looking the other way, turned for a moment and as she turned back her forehead crashed, at running pace, into a thick, hard steel basketball pole.
"We've called the ambulance Bill... I think she's OK... how quickly can you get over here?"
It took a quarter of an hour to get to Amber's school, to only discover that the ambulance had just left. Not sure what the statute of limitations is on minor offences but I must confess to driving pretty quickly for another fifteen minutes on to the hospital. So fast that I actually caught up to the ambulance and arrived to see my daughter as the doors opened out. She was in a bad way and we learnt a new word that day Cephalohematoma. A huge swelling, like a big bag of fluid, had bulged out on Amber's forehead. It was scary. Those 30 minutes of driving were intensely frightening. On reflection the fear was because of the unknown.
A few minutes later in the emergency room, Amber said "I'm scared daddy, please hold my hand".
"Of course sweetheart". She gripped tight.
Amber was physically sick a few times as we waited for the specialist. The doctor finally arrived on a day when minutes felt like hours. He calmly said that things actually looked much worse than they really were. She was going to be groggy and nauseous for a day or two yet but so importantly, she was going to be OK. Ten years on, Amber is 18 and sitting her VCE exams.
There is still a little trophy bump on her forehead. When she asked me to hold her hand, I wasn't frightened about all the bad things that had happened in the world, any more.
There was a footy coach in that time who had a favourite saying that now has become sporting cliché... "we only worry about the things we can control". That was hard to do, post-September 11. Holding Amber's hand was something within my sphere of control... I could help her when she was frightened.
I often wonder now, when we are frightened in some way, if the best way out is borne in the effort to help another. All the best with your exams Amber. It is so special that you are able to do them.
Feel free to write your thoughts and responses in the space below.
Friday, 11 February 2011
A Life's Work... of Art
Life can be so fast. Don't you think that a funeral, in a strange way, is an oasis in the post-modern world? The ritual has its own pace. If you decide to go, you cancel your appointments and clear some time well beyond the expected finish. You are there to honour the deceased.
Yesterday, Joe Valentino was buried in the Rye Cemetery on the Mornington Peninsula some distance from Melbourne. His son Sal, gave his eulogy. Joe's daughter Mary read from an autobiography her father had written. He had requested that the family didn't read this until after he passed away. Joe died on February 4 - just last week after a short battle with cancer. Despite the 90 minute drive from the CBD of Melbourne, the church was packed. 'Why?'
Maybe part of the answer is in the title of Joe's autobiography... A Life Well Lived. Joe emigrated from Italy to Australia in the 1950's. He met his Lucy. Every morning, in his final months, Joe would see his bride of 47 years and say the same words, "Here is my angel". When his kids were born, he considered these the two greatest days of his life. He quietly resolved to be the best father he could be.
Sal explained many things about his dad's life. The stories confirmed that Joe's was indeed, 'a life well lived’. Joe was a hairdresser. He built up his business in the city, responded to opportunities... set up in Melbourne's premier hotel when the chance came. Joe built up a loyal clientele over 40 years. Sal would go in and see his dad at work. 'Regulars' sitting in the chair would ask after Sal’s wife and kids by name and laud their latest achievements. Sal thought that sometimes his dad's clients knew more about his own life than he did himself.
Joe retired when he turned 70 but kept working one day a week - even in the final months. The doctors would try to set a treatment appointment. Often in terrible pain, Joe would tell the staff in the Royal Melbourne Hospital...
"Sorry, that’s Wednesday… we will have to find another time, I'm cutting a client's hair." Sal described Joe as gentle and strong at the same time. Quiet assertion. Apparently, there was little point in the medical staff arguing. They would have to work around Joe’s commitments to his long term clients.
So why tell you this story?
Because it is reasonable to claim that Joe really was an artist. He saw no delineation, no need to create some professional gap between him and his clients. When his kids were born, he made a simple promise that helped grow two fine people because he chose to be the best dad he could be.
You don't have to have the most original idea or do extraordinary things to contribute your art to the world. You can just do your work with passion and intent. You can make simple promises and live up to them and change a corner of the world. Six days after he died, Joe was still doing that for the hundreds of people at his funeral.
Who is an artist you know who is currently working on a life well lived?
Here’s an idea – let that person know that you are a fan of their life’s work. Let them know you’re grateful. You could even send them this post and say…
“I think you’re a lot like Joe because…
Yesterday, Joe Valentino was buried in the Rye Cemetery on the Mornington Peninsula some distance from Melbourne. His son Sal, gave his eulogy. Joe's daughter Mary read from an autobiography her father had written. He had requested that the family didn't read this until after he passed away. Joe died on February 4 - just last week after a short battle with cancer. Despite the 90 minute drive from the CBD of Melbourne, the church was packed. 'Why?'
Maybe part of the answer is in the title of Joe's autobiography... A Life Well Lived. Joe emigrated from Italy to Australia in the 1950's. He met his Lucy. Every morning, in his final months, Joe would see his bride of 47 years and say the same words, "Here is my angel". When his kids were born, he considered these the two greatest days of his life. He quietly resolved to be the best father he could be.
Sal explained many things about his dad's life. The stories confirmed that Joe's was indeed, 'a life well lived’. Joe was a hairdresser. He built up his business in the city, responded to opportunities... set up in Melbourne's premier hotel when the chance came. Joe built up a loyal clientele over 40 years. Sal would go in and see his dad at work. 'Regulars' sitting in the chair would ask after Sal’s wife and kids by name and laud their latest achievements. Sal thought that sometimes his dad's clients knew more about his own life than he did himself.
Joe retired when he turned 70 but kept working one day a week - even in the final months. The doctors would try to set a treatment appointment. Often in terrible pain, Joe would tell the staff in the Royal Melbourne Hospital...
"Sorry, that’s Wednesday… we will have to find another time, I'm cutting a client's hair." Sal described Joe as gentle and strong at the same time. Quiet assertion. Apparently, there was little point in the medical staff arguing. They would have to work around Joe’s commitments to his long term clients.
So why tell you this story?
Because it is reasonable to claim that Joe really was an artist. He saw no delineation, no need to create some professional gap between him and his clients. When his kids were born, he made a simple promise that helped grow two fine people because he chose to be the best dad he could be.
You don't have to have the most original idea or do extraordinary things to contribute your art to the world. You can just do your work with passion and intent. You can make simple promises and live up to them and change a corner of the world. Six days after he died, Joe was still doing that for the hundreds of people at his funeral.
Who is an artist you know who is currently working on a life well lived?
Here’s an idea – let that person know that you are a fan of their life’s work. Let them know you’re grateful. You could even send them this post and say…
“I think you’re a lot like Joe because…
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
3.5 Billion Fellas - honourable mentions#2
Ok - this is now a series by your blogger's definition - more than one (although England and Australia's women cricketers just played a one Test series).
If you saw #1 in this series, you will know that it is tradition to check this World Population Clock at the time of first drafting the post. So, the planet's population was... 6,901,229,322. (Multiply by 50.3% for the ratio of males to females and you get Three Billion, Four Hundred and Seventy-One Million Three Hundred and Eighteen Thousand and Three Hundred and Forty-Nine Blokes - that is 3,471,318,349 ). Only 28 million or so more fellas for the title to be spot on accurate.
Today we celebrate two of that number who deserve an honourable mention... a couple of blokes who have made big personal comebacks, health-wise.
They are known as Skippy and Dave.
Skippy
Not the kangaroo, Geoff Heugill. His triumph is here (please forgive the embedded ad at the start).
Don't you just love that call by the commentator, "What's twenty metres when you've conquered forty kilos?" Skippy inspired a nation by making some personal decisions and he is building a brand around his determination to come back from being morbidly obese.
Dave
This man, not necessarily as well known to the world, is still making a difference in his circle of influence. Prior to his lifestyle change, just like Skippy, Dave explained that he was' drinking for Australia'.
A father of two pre-school aged kids, married, Dave retired from his beloved De La Salle Warriors Aussie Rules team a few years ago now. He was the captain, through his twenties and thirties, of a loyal group of his old school mates. I know that his reputation was all about his honest commitment to the contest. Where others may have more natural ability no one surpassed Dave's courage on the field and commitment to the team. He inspired others on the field.
I've recently heard him describe how unfit he became. I don't know for certain but I imagine leaving a team environment and that regular physical hit out of amateur footy probably left a gap. Now Dave explains that 'my addiction is running, the cure is running.' And just like in his footy days, he is bringing people with him. Where Geoff Heugill has no doubt inspired many to shed the kilo's, Dave tells stories of how his old team-mates are setting their own goals.
Last year, Dave and his mate Seb ran from Burwood in metropolitan Melbourne to Safety Beach on the Mornington Peninsula. They ran 80 kilometres. That's massive compared to the number of beers he was racking up each week. As he says, he's moved from being proud of his one alcohol free day a week to almost feeling guilty on the one day he now has a beer.
What makes Dave's story even more special is that he has been prepared to share those facts about his post footy lifestyle with the world. He now blogs regularly about his running but not just his running... the people he is bringing with him, the thoughts he has on the long roads about being a better dad, husband... about being a better man.
On that 80k run a huge crew joined him and ran with him and Seb... some 50k (Gully), others 20k... my own 14 year old son ran 10k that day without stopping and beat his old man (I had to take a break). What's important is that Dave has had the personal inspiration to share his inner thoughts and show how running is effecting change in his life far beyond the health credits he is racking up.
I am proud that Dave is my brother and today, February 1, is his 40th birthday.
Here's celebrating you Dave, Skippy and all the fellas on the planet who act on their will to change for the better. Who do you know who have made personal triumphs by applying their self-will? Feel free to share your inspirations in the space below.
(Here is Dave Jennings' inspiring blog 'Run Free' - enjoy!)
Happy Birthday Dave.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au/
If you saw #1 in this series, you will know that it is tradition to check this World Population Clock at the time of first drafting the post. So, the planet's population was... 6,901,229,322. (Multiply by 50.3% for the ratio of males to females and you get Three Billion, Four Hundred and Seventy-One Million Three Hundred and Eighteen Thousand and Three Hundred and Forty-Nine Blokes - that is 3,471,318,349 ). Only 28 million or so more fellas for the title to be spot on accurate.
Today we celebrate two of that number who deserve an honourable mention... a couple of blokes who have made big personal comebacks, health-wise.
They are known as Skippy and Dave.
Skippy
Not the kangaroo, Geoff Heugill. His triumph is here (please forgive the embedded ad at the start).
Don't you just love that call by the commentator, "What's twenty metres when you've conquered forty kilos?" Skippy inspired a nation by making some personal decisions and he is building a brand around his determination to come back from being morbidly obese.
Dave
This man, not necessarily as well known to the world, is still making a difference in his circle of influence. Prior to his lifestyle change, just like Skippy, Dave explained that he was' drinking for Australia'.
A father of two pre-school aged kids, married, Dave retired from his beloved De La Salle Warriors Aussie Rules team a few years ago now. He was the captain, through his twenties and thirties, of a loyal group of his old school mates. I know that his reputation was all about his honest commitment to the contest. Where others may have more natural ability no one surpassed Dave's courage on the field and commitment to the team. He inspired others on the field.
I've recently heard him describe how unfit he became. I don't know for certain but I imagine leaving a team environment and that regular physical hit out of amateur footy probably left a gap. Now Dave explains that 'my addiction is running, the cure is running.' And just like in his footy days, he is bringing people with him. Where Geoff Heugill has no doubt inspired many to shed the kilo's, Dave tells stories of how his old team-mates are setting their own goals.
Last year, Dave and his mate Seb ran from Burwood in metropolitan Melbourne to Safety Beach on the Mornington Peninsula. They ran 80 kilometres. That's massive compared to the number of beers he was racking up each week. As he says, he's moved from being proud of his one alcohol free day a week to almost feeling guilty on the one day he now has a beer.
What makes Dave's story even more special is that he has been prepared to share those facts about his post footy lifestyle with the world. He now blogs regularly about his running but not just his running... the people he is bringing with him, the thoughts he has on the long roads about being a better dad, husband... about being a better man.
On that 80k run a huge crew joined him and ran with him and Seb... some 50k (Gully), others 20k... my own 14 year old son ran 10k that day without stopping and beat his old man (I had to take a break). What's important is that Dave has had the personal inspiration to share his inner thoughts and show how running is effecting change in his life far beyond the health credits he is racking up.
I am proud that Dave is my brother and today, February 1, is his 40th birthday.
Here's celebrating you Dave, Skippy and all the fellas on the planet who act on their will to change for the better. Who do you know who have made personal triumphs by applying their self-will? Feel free to share your inspirations in the space below.
(Here is Dave Jennings' inspiring blog 'Run Free' - enjoy!)
Happy Birthday Dave.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au/
Monday, 20 September 2010
Making Good Decisions
Murray described what was in his hand as something that, at first viewing, is a fairly unremarkable collection of metal. At a Time & Space expedition, we bring along, and share treasures around the campfire. People bring a tangible item that they value and share the stories that are attached to that object. It doesn't have to be something of significant monetary value - just something that is valuable to the story teller.
In one of the sessions leading up to the camp, each participant shares their own story. Who have been the influences for good or bad in your life? What are the big events and experiences that have shaped who you are? Murray looked back on a life that had had a lot of twists and turns along the journey. I've been privileged to have heard many people in this mode (telling their story to a small group) over the years. It is a privilege because everyone has a unique story, everyone is different and it is precious to hear because people are giving themselves the time and space to take stock of their life to that point. Quite often, the person is telling their story in this way, for the first time. This was the case with Murray and he was a having a real crack, digging down to the things, the people, the events that had shaped him. A lot of stuff had happened in Murray's life and a lot had happened recently. That's all I can say... we respect the confidentiality of the small group.
Murray was happy for the story of the handful of metal to be told. Pretty simple connection he made but simplicity can be poignant and it was, in this instance. Murray was holding in his hand, his dog tags. He had experienced active service as a peace keeper in the Australian Army.
As Murray held the dog tags he said, "these represent a time when I made a good decision. I could have gone off the rails as a young bloke and joining the army gave me stability." Then the wisdom emerged... Murray shared that, "whenever I have to make a big decision I get my dog tags out... I sit with them in my hand and say to myself, 'I made a good one then, what's the right one now?'"
What helps you to make a good decision? Feel free to write your thoughts below.
Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.
Bill Jennings
http:www.time-space.com.au
In one of the sessions leading up to the camp, each participant shares their own story. Who have been the influences for good or bad in your life? What are the big events and experiences that have shaped who you are? Murray looked back on a life that had had a lot of twists and turns along the journey. I've been privileged to have heard many people in this mode (telling their story to a small group) over the years. It is a privilege because everyone has a unique story, everyone is different and it is precious to hear because people are giving themselves the time and space to take stock of their life to that point. Quite often, the person is telling their story in this way, for the first time. This was the case with Murray and he was a having a real crack, digging down to the things, the people, the events that had shaped him. A lot of stuff had happened in Murray's life and a lot had happened recently. That's all I can say... we respect the confidentiality of the small group.
Murray was happy for the story of the handful of metal to be told. Pretty simple connection he made but simplicity can be poignant and it was, in this instance. Murray was holding in his hand, his dog tags. He had experienced active service as a peace keeper in the Australian Army.
As Murray held the dog tags he said, "these represent a time when I made a good decision. I could have gone off the rails as a young bloke and joining the army gave me stability." Then the wisdom emerged... Murray shared that, "whenever I have to make a big decision I get my dog tags out... I sit with them in my hand and say to myself, 'I made a good one then, what's the right one now?'"
What helps you to make a good decision? Feel free to write your thoughts below.
Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.
Bill Jennings
http:www.time-space.com.au
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