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.

      

Lean on Your Tribe

Consider this... a member of your family is having a stressful time with one of their kids. They approach you and ask for some help.

What would you do?

You’ve got your answer? Good. Hold that thought. See if you can find some of your own stories in what’s to follow.

With my seventeen year-old son’s permission I can share that my wife Lisa and I have not had the easiest time guiding our youngest through his adolescent years. His challenges would all be considered what you would say are some of the things a mum, dad and teenager can encounter in this time of life.  Tough but - when all is said and done – pretty normal challenges. He’s pushed boundaries, I’ve picked the wrong fights. In a few years time we’ll probably look back and laugh at how stubborn we both have been.

There are signs that we are emerging through the other side of an, at times, ugly journey. How ugly? Do you remember how Tim Robbins’ character Andy Dufresne finally escaped from Shawshank prison?

His friend Red (the Morgan Freeman character), in that timeless narration voiceover said...

“Andy crawled to freedom through five hundred yards of shit smelling foulness I can't even imagine, or maybe I just don't want to. Five hundred yards... that's the length of five football fields, just shy of half a mile.”

What do you think? Is that sewer pipe not a brilliant metaphor for parents guiding a teenager through a difficult adolescence?

We might be getting to the end of the pipe, touch wood. A few weekends ago, at 1am on a Sunday morning, I found myself sitting in my car in a suburban street performing the designated driver duties. Lisa was still awake, so she came along for the ride and made the ubiquitous phone call (we don’t knock on the door any more do we?).

A handful of young folk were starting to appear in the street.

We have a phrase for how we like to find the young bloke when he emerges from a party – in good order. This morning he was in good order. He appeared with a mate and his girlfriend. Jack asks if we can give his friends a lift back home. As we drive off, the banter starts. The young lady is very chatty and I can’t remember what I said but she remarked to Jack that he had the coolest parents ever. We had to laugh. This would not be Jack’s usual opinion (well certainly not the way he sees his dad). We’ve laughed again today – enjoying some opportunities to say to Jack that we are really happy with how he’s going at the moment... in Year 12, chipping away at the homework and balancing the social life with his biggest year at school yet.

Half way through last year we certainly felt stuck somewhere in the middle of that metaphoric pipe.

It seemed like every week we were hitting problems. Boundary crossed. Consequence. Another boundary crossed – another tougher consequence. From both sides, it felt like all we were doing was upping the ante. I started to feel bereft and said to Lisa... “Do you feel like we are running out of ideas?” Lisa agreed. There will be parents now reading this who know that feeling.

As that feeling of helplessness began to overwhelm, one idea made a welcome visit.

I remembered that Jack was pushing boundaries in a way that my youngest brother Greg had done when he was growing up. I left home just before his teenage years... travelled around the country and the world. So we came in and out of each others lives. I do remember though that he gave mum and dad a bit of heartache. Being eleven years older than Greg, I have always looked at him as my little brother. He had got married the year before and was about three weeks away from becoming a dad. I shared with Lisa the idea... to ask Greg to possibly help us with Jack – could he come and simply have a chat with him.

I called Greg, it was the weekend, could he spare some time – because of what I remember he was like as a teenager – to come and have a chat with Jack some time soon. Greg lives on the other side of town.

Do you know what happened? Greg was at our door within half an hour. He took Jack out for lunch. Yum Cha in fact (which I remarked to Lisa was a pretty mixed up consequence – but he was Greg’s project now). Greg visited the next weekend and this time was equipped with some goal setting materials he had been given in a course he had done at work. He invited Jack to work through the process with him... each of them working on their own goals but at the same time, together, so that they could encourage each other. I can’t recall how many times Jack has been lectured by yours truly about the need to have goals. Of course that message is going to be better received by Jack’s much cooler, younger uncle than the broken record messages of his old man.

We had a family birthday gathering a few weeks ago, just before Jack started his last year of high school. Greg presented him with a letter. I don’t know what was in it but Jack, as you’ve been informed has made a brilliant start to the year.

It had never occurred to me until then to ask someone for help. In fact, the realisation came that this was the first time I had asked Greg for something that in anyway credited him as being an adult. My ‘little’ brother has been an adult for at least 18 years now. In the middle of a very busy, exciting time in his life (he now has a baby son, Isaac) Greg responded to a request from his brother to help his nephew.

What did you say in answer to that question at the start of this story... if a member of your family or a close friend asked you for help, what would you say? My guess is that most of us would respond like my brother did.

Why is it that I only thought to ask Greg for help when he was what felt like the last idea left?

We live in a world where we often feel we’ve got to solve stuff ourselves. If Greg needs a chop out with Isaac in 15 years or so, I’m there. Or, maybe better still, his big cousin Jack will step in.

What’s the big take away from this story? When you are doing it tough with your teenager... indeed when you encounter any challenge raising your kids... Lean on Your Tribe.

They are waiting to be asked.

You’d help them in similar circumstances wouldn’t you? Yes?

Then ask. 


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Thanks for reading. As always feel free to write a comment in the space below. There are a few ways you can comment - if you choose anonymous, it is always appreciated when you put your name next to what you say.

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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98 Anzac Days

Arch walks us out to the car. We stand on the footpath outside his Lindisfarne home and look out over the Derwent River and the Tasman Bridge. For a few minutes we chat about the view. Arch is very understated. He says something about how you can get a good look at the water from a lot of angles in Hobart.

The other person in the picture is my son, Jack. Whenever he features in one of these stories, I make sure to ask what he remembers. He remembered this simple scene.

I asked him, “Why did you remember that part?”

“Dad, because he walked us out to the car,” Jack recalled, “and Dad, do you remember? That driveway was steep and how old was Archie then? It was the time of the World Cup in 2006, I was nearly ten, Archie was like, 91?”

Parts of my memory that are smudged, Jack remembers and restores them like an old painting. He brought back into the clear, Archie’s old world courtesy. He saw out his guests – simple kindness. Paul Kelly once wrote in his song about Don Bradman, let the part tell the whole.

How did we get to visit Arch and his wife, Helen? They are the parents of someone who I’m fortunate to call a friend. I learnt that day that the family call him ‘Mart’. Readers of The Age would know him as, senior writer and author, Martin Flanagan. I had always felt buoyed by his stories. He makes images and sounds with his written words. I feel like his words, speak for me, only far more eloquently. We met in 1998 at a conference where Martin was the last speaker. I had plucked up the courage to go up and say ‘thanks for your writing’. He responded with a warm ‘thanks for that’ back and, with a smile in his eye. I recognised that same characteristic in his dad’s eyes when he opened the door to welcome me and my son, on that day in June, 2006. In the hallway I recall there were stacks of Age newspapers piled high, mementoes of Martin’s work.

Yesterday I went out to my shed where I have a filing cabinet full of stuff like the notes I have kept from that education conference. I found a page of quotes and reflections I’d scribbled from the talk Martin gave. On that day I learnt that his dad was a veteran of what is known by the soldiers as ‘The Line’, the infamous Thai-Burma Railway that was built by allied Prisoners of War in the Second World War. Martin wrote that ‘it is said that one man died for every sleeper that was laid’. In barbaric conditions, hungry, and bare footed, the POW’s worked eighteen hour days to break open enough of a cutting to put the railway line through. Their leader was Colonel Edward ‘Weary’ Dunlop. With Weary, that often overused description, 'legend' remains undiluted by his acts of leadership, courage and service to his men who worked on 'The Line'. 

In my notes, a direct quotation from Martin is there...

“I didn’t know my father’s totems.”

And below it are the words, “you’ve got to tell me dad”.

In 2005 some of that ‘telling’ happened as father and son, Arch and Martin, published The Line – a man’s experience; a son’s quest to understand. I commend it to you. Arch does not waste a word.

So back to how we came to be visiting Arch and Helen? The young bloke and I were in Hobart. I rang Martin in Melbourne to let him know I was in Tassie, his country. I had recently read The Line. Martin suggested that if I wanted, he could set up a chance for me to go and visit his mum and dad.

“Are you sure Marty?” I asked.

“No worries Billy, they are always having visitors over and they love it.”

So in Jack and me went. Arch ushered Jack straight to the lounge room and turned on the telly for him and I was taken to the kitchen table where scones and cups of tea were being produced in quantity by Helen. We talked footy and ordinary things. Martin’s sister Jo, popped over with her daughter. I remember the care that Arch and Helen’s grand-daughter had for them. I remember too that I wanted to bring the young bloke into the kitchen. Arch had thought he mightn’t have wanted to sit and chat but of course, he was welcome. Jack loves to this day, being around older generations.

More scones and cups of tea were consumed and then it was time to go.

There was one tangible memory Martin mentioned in the book. His dad had crafted a personal tribute and I asked Arch if I could see it.

Arch took me to the hallway and there was the simple tribute mounted on the wall. Martin described how it came to be there in The Line.

Weary had a small grey splinter of Hintock rock on his desk in his rooms... When he died it was given to me. I gave it to dad who made a small monument with it. On one side of the rock is a photograph of Weary... Then written in a felt pen like slashes in the bare unvarnished wood are the names of the men he knew who died up there... On the bottom of the plain bit of board are the simple words are ‘Lest I Forget.’

I remember I wanted my boy to see the little monument that Arch had made for his mates who never came back from the Hellfire Pass.

Jack remembers that Arch walked us out to the car.

In my notes, I have written...

His (Martin’s) Father – All that mattered was humanity.

This story is posted on ANZAC Day. Arch was born in 1914... so he was a six month old baby when Australian and New Zealand soldiers landed at Gallipoli. On Tuesday, Arch died two days before the 98th anniversary of ANZAC.

It was privilege to meet him.




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

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And here is Martin's article about The Line that was published in The Age (September 4, 2005).

A Mighty Mentor

The star of this story signs off her messages to the world with the words... Be inspired. Be Inspiring. The words stand in comfortable alignment with the way she lives her life.

Just before you go on reading, please, stop...

... for a moment...

... and think of a person who is a mentor to you, a role-model of kindness and generosity. Formulate the picture of their face or say their name quietly to yourself.

I met Marie Farrugia in 2010. We were both at one of my first monthly meetings of the National Speakers Association of Australia. Having made the jump from full-time teaching into the Time & Space program work, someone had suggested joining NSAA. Hard to believe if you’ve met this shy little blogger, but there I was shaking amongst these people who had being doing professional speaking for years. I felt almost frozen to the spot. Have you ever stood in one of those new spaces and thought who do I talk to next? I was pushing myself every month to turn up and be amongst these people who, as an occupational trait, present as larger than life and very confident on the outside. A lady with a beaming smile made a beeline through the crowd and was heading towards me.

“Hi Bill, I’m Marie”. The greeting couldn’t have felt more sincere but “hang on”, I thought to myself, “how does she know my name?” The answer came in a second...

“I was at the Marcellin College Mother & Son night, thank you so much” And then Marie said, “come and meet some people”. Suddenly I’m shaking hands with people and being introduced by Marie to her colleagues of many years. Some of these people had built highly successful businesses.

“Please meet Bill, he just presented an experience last month for me and my boy that we will never forget.” Marie’s welcome was effusive. It was at that moment that a shift occurred deep inside your (yes I know you don’t believe but I’ll keep saying) shy blogger. A colleague had affirmed that the Time & Space experience had made a difference to her. She helped me believe in myself, that I was doing professional presentation work. It was real.

Marie, The Mighty Farrug'(*), as I call her, made an offer to help, be a mentor in my speaking development. We caught up not long after that meeting and a friendship has grown from there. I became aware hearing Marie share her story, that she has had her challenges – one being in the form of breast cancer. When I met Marie, she was emerging from a successful regime of treatment. We had attended events each had presented at, to be present as a supportive colleague. I was the only bloke at a session in Hawthorn where she was trying a new presentation. I thought it was brilliant. Little did I know that as she told the story of her discovery of the lump during that presentation, that only that week, had she secretly learnt that the cancer was back. In 2011, we didn’t see Marie much at all at NSAA meetings as the disease had spread. The battle was on.

Marie's hospital was just near the venue of our NSAA meetings. So I visited on my way in. The memory is still strong and clear - I can see her sparkling smile that welcomed me in. It transferred a lightness of spirit that I'm sure humbled every visitor. There's no question she was physically weakened by the gruelling medical interventions. Yet typically, this mighty person was ‘other focussed’, so keen to hear the news of our colleagues, excited to learn the latest developments for the Time & Space programs and offering, as always, generous practical tips. Here was my friend and mentor, seriously ill, demonstrating that every moment presents us with a choice about how we deal with it.

I appreciate that not everyone gets the result they want when cancer strikes. I am mindful of our friend Jacinta who is in the battle right now. Her husband Jim, tells similar stories of Jac's extraordinary determination. From July 2009 up to his passing on March 20 this year, Jim Stynes' intentionally invited us all to share in and learn from his story. We are unlikely to ever forget the dignity of his struggle. Anne Lamott in her beautiful book Bird by Bird, refers a few times to a dear inspiring friend who had cancer. Anne recalled her friend’s doctor, when the terminal stages had arrived, remarking that, “in these final weeks, she is showing you how to live.”

Just recently I got an email from Marie. I am pleased to report she is going well again. Why am I telling you her story now? Because in that email she sent this beautiful clip she had made called ‘Do it For Me.’



So this is a shout out to the Mighty Farrug'(*). Thanks for your example Marie. And what's one thing we could all do that could honour that example? I reckon maybe if that person you thought of at the start of this post is a phone call or an email away, how about about simply letting them know that it was their name that you whispered to yourself. Feel free to forward this story to them as well in a 'pay it forward' kind of way.

Thanks for giving yourself the Time & Space to read this.  Who are your mighty mentors? As always, feel free to share your thoughts and stories in the space below.

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

* Pronounciation goes something like this the Mighty Farroodge (Hard 'dg' sound).

Marie's website - http://www.timeforyou.com.au/ 

The First Pill

If you don't come from Brisbane, how often do you look up the BOM website to get a weather forecast? For this blogger it is at least once a year and a comforting traditional prediction is there for today... showers and thundery rain. Huey has not disappointed. Mother Nature's roulette wheel is spun around this time of the year, every year on the first day of the Brisbane Test.

If you are not a cricket fan, please endure this indulgence (the point is expanded soon). This day has memories flooding back through 40+ years of trying to find a way to see or at least hear live, the first ball of the First Test match of the Australian cricket season. Today's first ball of the first day of the First Test (affectionately dubbed the first pill by cricket tragics) happens to coincide this year with the first official day of summer.

I've got memories down through the years of the long summer days watching a Test up at my grandparents' house where they had an orchard in the Yarra Valley. All of the cousins had their special time to stay at Grandma and Grandpa's place. Mine was the long school holidays for two weeks some time in December or January. Back then, cricket was on ABC TV and there was only a budget for one straight-on camera down the pitch. So you saw the batman face-on one over and then the next over was from behind the wicket, so you would see the bowler coming in and the batsman's back. The first day of a season was often when we were still in school. One year the first pill happened at recess and the radio broadcast was piped out onto our playground on the loud speaker. I think by lunchtime Australia was nearly all out and Rodney Hogg (a fast bowler, not a recognised batsman) was our top scorer with 36 runs. As a teacher for 20 or so years, if the timetable had me scheduled for class when the first ball was bowled, my kids would see me frantically enter the room with a coat hanger. Shoved into the back of the telly that coat hanger became a makeshift aerial and together we'd watch a grainy picture of another opening to the international cricket season.

So, thanks for hanging in there - my expanded point is? Well, here's some questions for you. Think of the patterns in your year. What are the things that punctuate your year, that when they happen, great memories burst open? Is it the Myer Christmas windows? Is it an annual holiday place that even when you say its name quietly to yourself, you are taken back there?

At the heart of this, is that intangible feeling of warmth and security. I don't take it for granted. I can see a little kid sitting on a wooden bench seat in the old Southern Stand at the MCG for the Ashes Boxing Day Test of 1974. I was really grown up - seven years old (and like, nearly eight) there next to my dad. I don't even have to close my eyes to transport back to that time. What memories do you have from your childhood days that make you feel warm? Dad took me to my first day at the cricket and a life time obsession with today was born, of wanting to see the first pill flung in anger for the long summer ahead.

You're a young person reading this? Can you guess what special things you do right now, every year, that will be the memories that make you smile when you are forty, fifty or ninety-seven years old?

People who layer our memory, with good experiences, are giving us a gift that may help us to feel secure for perhaps even, a lifetime. We can give back by doing that for our kids now and in the future. At 11am today, Melbourne time, guess what I'll be doing?

What are the memories that make you feel warm when those times and places come back around? Who made them happen for you? What are the funny little details you remember?

Feel free to share your own thoughts and memories in the space below.

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

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

Good Man Profiles - Year 7's insights

In this week's Good Man series, we are asking what are the characteristics of a good man.

Today we tap the insights of some Year 7 boys from a school in Ballarat. At a Time & Space event last month, these young blokes were asked if someone had given them the space to 'step up' or they had taken an opportunity to step up and show their capabilities, their maturity and show that they are on their way to becoming a fine young man. There are some great examples here...

When my dad had an injury and I said I would do the mowing for him. And now it's a regular thing.

Yes because I'm good at moving the sheep on the motorbike.

When ____ first let me use the 'Whipper Snipper'.

Last year I stepped up to helping my friend when he was not really happy.

There's a palpable pride in these boys' comments. At the evening, the boys really understood that concept... they had an intuition about moments in their life when they 'stepped up'. When young people are invited to be generous, fill a gap when they are genuinely needed, the foundations of adulthood are made stronger.

In the next post, you'll see how the dads and mentors have noticed the acts of kindness in their boys that show the characteristics that will help them become fine young men. Did you have a moment where you where invited to step up?

Feel free to write your thoughts below.

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

Good Man Profile # 1

This week I'm passing on the insights of some Year 7 boys (about 13 years old) and their dads (or mentors) from a school in Ballarat, Victoria, Australia.

In the last blog post, the question was raised, 'What are the characteristics of a good man?'

Here's what one dad wrote...

I remember as a small boy my family travelling in the car & my dad stopping to help a drunk woman on the footpath. It spoke to my heart deeply & I have never forgotten the impact in regards to loving those in need.

What are the characteristics of a good man? Or, who is a good man that you know and why is he a good man?

You are welcome to write your thoughts in the space below. Give your answer. Share your story.

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

Who's in Your Corner?

My Dad and I are pretty different. He's fine detail, I'm big picture. If you read one of my blog posts and find a typo in it, you can be sure that I haven't sent it to Dad for a forensic proof-read. He's read two drafts of this and suggested that I get my 'dads' consistent - he recommended going with upper case 'Dad' all the way through. I defer to the master!

This year marks my full-time move into the Time & Space program work and Dad has quietly responded when I have needed a hand.

"Hey Dad... can you pop over and just help me get what's in my head, down on paper?" Dad crosses town and is sitting next to me, asking all the practical questions, prompting and suggesting. He does the same but different things for my sister, brothers and all our kids (his grand kids).

Yesterday I needed someone to step in for the opening night of the 2010 Time & Space program at St Kevin's College. A couple of circumstances for my usual helpers meant that it looked like I would be running solo. Someone needs to greet people at the front desk, do a couple of other administrative things for the program set-up. With only a few hours notice, Dad was there.

Michael McGirr recently shared his insights (in The Age) about Mary MacKillop who is to become Australia's first saint on the 17th of this month. She once wrote, 'never see a need without doing something about it.' Dad read that line and said that for him it is all about helping his kids and grand kids where he can. He has been technically 'retired' for a few years but that term couldn't be further from the truth in the way he has launched into the next phase of his life. Dad is actively helping his busy adult kids.

So when you're asked 'who's in your corner', what name or face is the first that comes to mind. If you can, get in touch with them and let them know how much you appreciate their support. I'd love to hear your thoughts about who this person is for you or how they felt when you got in touch to say 'thanks'. Feel free to write your thoughts in the space below.

Time to give Dad a call. He's read the drafts - you know that's already happened. Thanks Dad.

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

Joe's son

My great friend of 20+ years, Tony, lost his dad Joe, on the 24th of June, 2009 at about 4.45am in the morning.

Tony and I are about the same age, in our forties and we met in 1989. The first thing I ever said to Tony was "Do you like a beer mate?" We were mates from that moment on.

Tony is from Sydney, I'm from Melbourne and how and where we met is a whole other story... suffice to say, we were part of a different year back then in 1989. Young people with ideals who were starting in a volunteers' program that saw me leaving my home to do my year in Sydney and Tony did the opposite - Sydney to Melbourne. We now live back in our own home towns. Over 21 years we have kept up contact and a great friendship has ensued. We often just talk about sport... lately we have been dissecting Australia's flagging fortunes in the FIFA World Cup.

I met Joe, Tony's dad, a couple of times. How would I describe him? Joe was old school. Practical. He was an 'unrevised' man... no modern 'sensitive, new-age' elements to Joe. An Aussie bloke who had endured his fair share of adversity in life and 'sucked it up' as they say in sporting circles. There was never any 'wordy' expression of sentiment from Joe. The last time I visited his place, travelling through with Tony... he gave Tony some chops.

"There you go, you've got your mate up from Melbourne... I got you some chops." Simple expressions, practical gifts.

On Joe's funeral booklet... a black & white photo from 1947 shows Joe and Barbara (who would become his wife) on one of their first dates walking through George Street in Sydney. Joe and Barbara are holding hands - she is beaming, her eyes are smiling. Joe can't hide half a smile curling up the right side of his mouth. He is looking sharp in his pinstripe suit. Tall, broad shoulders. She looks so pretty. A young couple in bliss.

Another photo shows Joe the footballer - Rugby League is the football code of the workers in New South Wales and Joe played over 100 games for the North Sydney Bears (who disappeared as a senior club in the 1990's). Joe is being tackled by a St George player. He has two hands on the ball and is about to pass it... one finger is sticking out from the ball. It was probably dislocated. As a forward, Joe took all the big hits - that was part of his role on the team. He endured a lot of injuries. Legend has it that in one game on the Sydney Cricket Ground, Joe was so badly cut that he was taken to St Vincent's hospital. These were in the days when a side could not replace players so the Bears were down to 12 men. Once they had stitched him up... Joe got in a taxi back to the ground and went out and played the last 15 minutes!

Those injuries are a powerful metaphor for the ones that didn't show as scars or dislocations in Joe's lot in life. They were deep within and restricted Joe's capacity to play the 'game of life' in a fully fit fashion.

Injury number 1 - Joe lost his son in motorcycle accident.

Injury number 2 - He lost Barbara too early - a long battle with cancer that eventually claimed her. Appreciate that Tony, the youngest of Joe's kids, lost his older brother and then his mum at sixteen. That is a lot for a young boy to endure.

Joe, having access to only the narrow band of masculinity available to men of that age, became withdrawn. He was angry and distant. From what I have gauged from Tony's stories, Joe sounded heart-broken and he pushed love away. Where Joe got back on the park as a footballer, he took a much longer time to find his way back as a father. Remember Tony was only a boy when all of that sadness happened. He needed his dad but sometimes traumas happen to people that stop them doing their key roles.

Lets cut through to early last year. Tony has been consciously visiting his dad regularly now. Joe had moved a couple of hours north of Sydney. Tony decided that despite the emotional absence of Joe, he would reach out with a forgiving heart to his dad and try to reconnect. He just gave back practical kindness to his dad. It was over about ten years that the son had faithfully been visiting and caring for his ageing father.

As we chatted over the years, I heard via Tony about Joe and built up a picture of how ever so gradually the father started to drop his guard. It was his son who was reaching out. As he got older, Joe needed Tony... for all the practical stuff - shopping errands, odd jobs around the house and visits to the doctor.

So, on one of those visits to the doctor, early last year, Joe found out that he had cancer. It was serious and Tony, being a 'career bachelor' was in the position to move up and live with his dad through his final months. Tony gave up work and nursed Joe in his own home. In the final days as he weakened, Joe had to go into palliative care at the local hospital. He was not happy about this.

I laughed as Tony explained that he tried putting a reassuring hand on his dad's head, he stroked his hair, as the paramedics moved him on the trolley into the hospital...

"I'm not a bloody cat!" - Joe was fighting to the end and growling at his son but he he was too weak to fully push away now. I do know that in those final days in the hospital, in those final months living full-time with his dad, in that ten year period of reconnecting... Tony built to a point that some lucid conversations were shared. Joe's guard was down and he had got back on the field of life because of his son's willingness to reach him.

So it is nearly a year since I saw my great mate get up and tell Joe's story in a moving eulogy. I am proud to be Tony's mate... he has endured tough stuff in his own life but he has never built a complete fence around his own heart.

I got a voice message from him yesterday. He has worked out how Australia can beat Serbia this Thursday morning in the final match of the group stage of the World Cup. He had done the statistical analysis. We are hanging on to a slim hope of qualifying for the final group of 16. One stat' is if Germany and Ghana draw, Australia only need to beat Serbia by eight goals! But the most important statistic is this one... at the 15 minute mark of the Australia-Serbia game which I will be watching in West Preston (Melbourne) and Tony will be watching in Marickville (Sydney), it will be exactly one year since Joe died.

We may not get the movie script which would see Australia scoring a goal just at that point but I will be thinking of my good friend at that time... about Joe and holding a quiet thought of respect out to a son who forgave his dad and helped him re-join the game of life.

Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.

Bill Jennings

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

Volunteering

Here I sit waiting for my son's soccer game to start. I can see buckets of generosity out there on the field

... there is Maria, team manager - she organises the roster for who brings the snakes and jelly beans for the kids' half time glucose hit.

... there's Joe - coach of the Moreland City Under 14B's. He's been training these players since early February - two or three sessions a week and here we are at match day Sunday.

Volunteers give generously of their time and I think this creates a space for some of those magic mentoring moments to happen for kids. I've just chatted with a couple of other dads and collectively, we are noticing this. Sure the kids learn football skills but they also get the added value of: being part of a team; working to succeed as a group and encouraging others. One dad said it really well, "all this stuff helps a kid to become a good adult".

A good friend of mine has a passion for cricket combined with a massive fear of public speaking. He coaches one of our local junior teams and each season he dreads the end of year presentation night because he has to say something about the award recipients. Just his luck this year - his team won the premiership... every kid gets a premiership medal and gets individually presented by the coach! So my friend tells me how he prepared really carefully so as not to freeze up as he talks.

He shouldn't have worried - his care and passion shone through. He got each player up, looked them in the eye and spoke directly to them. Each player received a public declaration of his talent and special contribution to the team.

"I liked the way you curbed your natural aggression Ben, in the semi-final... we'd lost a few quick wickets and you played a safe dead bat for the sake of the team."

"Simon - you are so positive... you encourage everyone in the field."

"Peter, you never complained when it was your turn to miss out on a bat."

Something special said about every kid. You could see their heads being held higher, their chests pump out. At the end of each carefully thought out presentation, he shakes the player's hand and says... "See you back at the club next year".

Why wouldn't they want to come back with a coach like theirs?

Hey - if you want to help shape the adults of tomorrow. Volunteer for something in your kid's world. It will make you feel good and you will put a great memory in the vault for your kid.

I go and shake my friend's hand, say what an honour it was to watch him honour each player and I quietly tell him... "you're a good speaker mate!"

Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.

Bill Jennings

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

A Daughter's Tribute

My friend Heidi is a champion - generous, funny and a great animator in our local community. We are lucky around here because over the years our friends, formed through the connection of our kids' local primary school, have created a few music groups. Whilst my 'day job' (that happens mostly at night) is facilitating life time memories for parents and their kids, I do also belong to a band made up of four dads who play covers at our local shops once a month. We practice in my shed from time to time. This structure is the eponymous (I love the word 'eponymous') inspiration for our band name. SHeD! In fact one of our guitarist's kids thinks my name is actually 'SHeD'! It will be a sad day when he starts calling me Bill.

Heidi is part of a group of six local mums and dads called 'Sirens' who rehearse at our friends, Nick and Clare's place - they have a studio out the back and so you can see that the pattern of eponymous band names finished on a sequence of one as Heidi's band do not practice in a siren (I promise you that I will limit the bad 'dad' jokes to only one every few blogposts!)

Sirens and SHeD and other local parents' bands get together in the shed once a year for a big party... it is an annual tradition now. We have had many memorable 'Cold August Nights', 'Rocktobers' and 'Warm November Rain' parties over the last decade.

We had a different day last Saturday - Sirens and SHeD held a 'Parents Concert' at Heidi and Tony's place... the point of difference was that the parents there were my parents, Heidi's parents and the mums, dads and aunties of a number of the band members. Heidi's thinking was that it is rare that our own parents get to hear the music we make together. At the end of the day SHeD member, Tim's dad remarked that "it was just like going to your kid's school concert except that all the kids are in their fifties!" (NB - this blogger is still way early into his forties!)

So this extraordinary gathering played and listened... SHeD played first, and not being 'age-ist' still required (as is their custom) all song requests to be sent by text message, rather than called out verbally (far more efficient). My dad hogged the request line sending in texts at a pace that would exhaust the thumbs of even the most tech-savvy Gen Y-er. We shared food in between band performances. I tried to race one of Steve's (from Sirens) kids in eating as many of the beautiful chicken drumsticks made by his γιαγιά (pronounced ya-ya', Greek for Grandmother).

"How many did you have Bill?"

"Four" I said to Steve's son, feeling pretty confident I had won.

"I stopped after six" he declared with a conquering tone.

Sirens played next. I took a seat at the back just behind my mum and dad. I love listening to the girls sing and they had some new material. Dad leaned over to mum and I heard him share an insight...

"This is not just community but its world community".

In Sirens, Clare and Nick are Macedonian, Heidi was born in England, Lisa is Irish and was born in Wales, Sandra was born here in Australia and is fourth or fifth generation and Steve is Greek. Here was the world playing for us underneath what we call the 'West Preston skies!' I got a bit of a shiver... something special was happening. The mums and dads were clearly moved.

Heidi's 'parents' concert' idea had a simultaneous inspiration that I felt honoured to witness. For many years, she has had a poem written by her mum, Bonny, in her possession. I asked Heidi and Bonny's permission if this could be the topic of today's post. Here's some background that Heidi e-mailed to me earlier this week.

'Hi Bill, ... Sadly for your blog, my mum wrote that poem while she was bored at work and that’s about all she says about it although she definitely remembers writing it and it’s more than thirty years since she wrote it. I was about sixteen when I was ferreting through mum’s dresser looking for a pair of earrings. I found the earrings but I also found the poem stuffed (literally) into a drawer. I took it and thirty years down the track I asked some of our very talented friends to put it to music for me.'

The culminating moment was Heidi singing her mum's words in a song she had recorded with Stephen from SHeD and Nick from Sirens who wrote some music to go with them.

For Bonny - it was a total surprise. Heidi sang her words and then presented her mum with a CD recording of the song. Here are the lyrics...

I’d like to weave my dearest dreams
My fondest recollections
In silks of finest gossamer
And fairy floss confections
And as the gentle breezes blow
The silks float in the air
The fairy floss melts sweetly
And all my life is there

The snow white shapes of drifting clouds
The hot sand on my toes
The multi coloured butterflies
The fragrance of a rose
The careless days of golden youth
When time ran on forever
A world of dreams like Peter Pan
In lands of Never Never

To understand the sadness
To hear my music play
To live and breathe the many things
I find so hard to say
…so hard to say


Mingled tears and laughter
Of early adolescence
When moods were black and hopeless
Or bright and effervescent
Too old to run to mother
Too young to know the ways
The struggling in-between years
So bittersweet the days

And all these things would be there
In my tapestry of dreams
Wafting in the sunlight
And drifting in moonbeams
And just to make it perfect
My daughter would be there
To sense and feel the living
That’s trembling in the air

To understand the sadness
To hear my music play
To live and breathe the many things
I find so hard to say
…so hard to say

Bonny Cox

Heidi provided a stunning moment of tribute to her mum. It was palpable to those of us lucky enough to be there, that we had experienced something beautiful... a true act of love from a daughter to her mum.

My mum sent me a text the next day... 'Thx again 4 a lovely occasion yesterday. It was very special.'

In the work I do, the focus is often on the influence a parent or mentor can have on a young person... if you are a daughter or son reading this - never doubt the power you have to make your mum or dad feel like their efforts in raising you are appreciated. Heidi - I'm proud to count you as a friend. You made the world different last Saturday, in a very good way. And Bonny, thanks for your poetry.

And to you thanks for taking the 'Time and Space' to read this!

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

Mick

Recently I ran a Mother-Son night for a school in Adelaide. On my way to the airport in a taxi... bags have been packed the night before, feeling pretty smug - 'wow my new routine and my prepared packing list for interstate trips seems to be going smoothly', I think to myself.

Get through check-in, on my way to security and that is when I miss my mobile phone. I've got ten minutes to boarding my plane. I head back out to the taxi drop off point. The taxi is gone. I check and see if it is in the gutter - no. Then I see a man in an airport security uniform. I ask if a mobile phone has been handed in. He says "no - check at Qantas' lost property desk" he advises fairly half heartedly.

This is where Mick - the hero of that hour, that day and this blogpost steps forward. He starts instructing the security guy, "Hey ring this guy's phone!" and he asks me "What's your number?" I dictate it to the security man whilst at the same time remembering I had it on silent.

"Show me your taxi receipt", Mick asks "it will have the cab number on there, I will drive down to the cab pool and get your phone!" Everything is happening fast. I hold some suspicions at the extraordinary effort Mick is making - no question.

"I've got to be at my boarding gate in less than five minutes, it won't work... I won't be able to wait that long."

Mick produces the next solution "Here is my card - ring your phone number when you get to your destination... where are you going?"

"Adelaide" I say.

"I will talk to you on your phone in about an hour then... when do you get back?" asks Mick.

"Tomorrow"

"What time?"

"About half three"

"I will be here with your phone and I will drive you home in my taxi limousine"

As I fly to Adelaide I think conspiring thoughts about Mick - 'ah, that was the catch... I'm going to be going home tomorrow in a Limmo for more than double what I would pay in a taxi... still I can't really begrudge his industriousness' I reflect, trying to think generously.

I ring from Adelaide airport. Yep Mick's got my phone.

"Look Mick - it is so nice what you have done but I can't really afford to go in a Limmo mate."

"It is the same price as a taxi - I will look after you I promise! You pay whatever you usually pay."

"I've only got cab charges Mick."

"I take cab charges - it will be no problem."

So I spend a day without my phone (now there is a topic for another posting but for now let me recommend having a 24 hour period without your phone - it is great exercise in discovering that you still can actually breathe and perform most daily tasks without a problem - try it!). I have delivered the program which went beautifully and I am on my way back.

Pick up my bags... walk out the designated place and there is Mick, waving at me next to his beautiful luxury car.

No taxi rank to wait in... my own driver in a wonderful clean car all because I accidentally left my phone behind. I take a seat in the front... there is my phone - Mick hands it to me.

"Bill, you will see that I made no calls but I did take the liberty of charging it up for you - the battery was low!"

We talk as we headed home (Mick even had my address but I was not concerned now - he had my full trust) and I hear Mick's passion for the service he offers in his business. We talk about my enterprise, how I love seeing parents and mentors sharing life memories with their kids and at the same time, creating a life memory as they speak. That gets Mick talking about his own kids, grown up... he emigrated to Australia as so many Europeans did looking for better opportunities and I can tell, here is a good dad proud of his kids... here is a good man. I am in the presence of goodness all because of my absent mindedness - this is sweet injustice!

As we arrive home, the fare is of course, as promised, nothing more than a normal fare. The final generous act is upon us... not me offering a significant tip - but Mick insistently refusing it!

"Bill, you do not live far from me... all I would ask is that you consider me to be your driver to the airport for your interstate trips... I do not want a tip, I want your business from now on."

Mick - you've got it.

How sad is it that I held Mick in suspicion... 'he's going to pinch my phone, he's going to charge me $100 to take me home' were some of my conspiracy theories.

Generosity when it is unqualified, surprises us. When offered with little expectation of reciprocity that is when it absolutely shines... if some good karma comes back, great.

Mick now has a new customer and I am a better person for experiencing his willingness to go beyond the call. He is a very good businessman but more importantly, he is a very good man.

Thanks for reading.

Bill Jennings from Time & Space

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

And if you want to get Mick's contact details... e-mail me bjennings@time-space.com.au