A 'choose you own adventure' post today. Very interactive - click on the click-able bits of the post as you wish.
Here is a gift for you for International Women's Day (the poem at the start is only 3 or 4 minutes). If you are a bloke reading this - pass this on to a great woman in your life.
On first seeing this... it took my breath away. In fact the second woman on the incomplete list below received the hard cover copy of this poem as a gift when she graduated from high school last year. It was given to her by me and the first named woman on the list...
This is an an incomplete list (sorry if I have missed you) that honours: the brilliant women in this blogger's immediate world; women I am lucky to call friend; women who inspire; women who have participated in a Time & Space Mother-Son or Mother-Daughter program (and wrote their name on the evaluation sheet) and, some women I haven't actually met but whose work and ideas I respect.
And this is an incomplete list of course because, as always, you are welcome to join in the discussion in the REPLY box below... feel free to add your honourable mentions and tell us a bit about the great women in your life.
So here goes (in no particular order, except for the first one) ...
Lisa J (aka The Mighty Lisa)... best friend and soul-mate,
Amber J - A young woman with great taste in Indie music (Dan Mangan is a recent addition to this blogger's iTunes account thanks to Amber J). There is a wonderful combination of toughness and gentleness in Amber. The other day I saw her consuming her course reading notes before she actually had her first class on her first day at university. I admire Amber's courage, kindness and zest for life. Me and the Mighty Lisa's first-born.
Joan J - the lady who listened to how my day was at school for thousands of afternoons in the seventies and eighties. She does brilliant work these days as a spiritual director, and granny, amongst many other roles that include being my mum.
Clare McG - super nursing director and mum who is hosting an exchange student, Lara, from Germany this year because well, she thought it would be a great experience for her pre-school and primary school kids. That is generous. Clare is my favourite sister.
Sisters-in-law, Leah, Rita and Nicole (well Nic will officially be my S-I-L by about 4.30pm this coming Saturday), Ann (my sage mum-in-law from Chester, UK) and all of the aunties and cousins (& cousin Col and Aunty Ros from Gruyere) over there. Special mention also to my wonderful nieces... Lucia, Sasha, Ruth and Tierney - young women now or some time soon.
Hilda Jennings, my Nana (RIP) and Grandma (RIP) - my brother Greg (the one who is getting married this weekend) wrote a beautiful blogpost that captures what Grandma meant to us all.
My NSAA friends and colleagues inspiring women doing good work - De, Tania (is writing a blog from a Mum's perspective called 'Surviving Year 12') Taruni, Phillipa, Gillian, Ailsa, Yvonne, Helen Mac, Melina and The Mighty Farrug' (inspiration). Former school teaching car pooling buddies Lizzie and the Harvenator and also Cate, the hardest working person I know, and wise mentor to boot.
Then of course there are all the locals - Robyn, Rosie, Caroline, Clare, Sandra, Pauline, Heidi, Miki, Leeanne, 'LGSpencer', Marnstorming and Moi (have a browse around Moira's CD, One Step Forward - there are songs here so pertinent to this day... she won an award at Port Fairy for Why Not Let a Mother and my favourite Moi song is Until You're Old, a poignant tribute to her mum).
Valerie, Kalindi (hey kids look for the carefully placed affirmation cards from your teacher on your 'vision posters', displayed in your extraordinarily 'finessed' classroom), Christine, Bonnie, Haidee and Sue who helped at the Silkwood School Mother-Son night and Bella, Oceana and Jess who were outstanding panelists at the Father-Daughter night.
Celia Lashlie - Champion delighter in the good news there is to tell about boys. Celia's other strong passion is in support of incarcerated women. One of the best speakers I have ever heard.
Another Celia, Nardis and Julie (love your Compassionate Flow blog Jules) - all have reconnected in recent times. It has been great to be back in touch.
Aunty Joy Murphy-Wandin - a lady who has worked tirelessly, as a bridge between indigenous and non-indigenous Australia. Probably has done more 'welcome to country' ceremonies than anyone. Massive Saints fan.
Sarah Kay - you saw her above in the clip. I love the story about the girl in the hoodie.
Mem Fox - thanks to you and Julie Vivas for Wilfred Gordon McDonald Partidge, my favourite all time picture book.
Leslie Cannold and Cecily (@happychatter) - last year I watched Leslie and Cecily engage in a Twitter debate on the Chaplaincy Funding issue. Different points of view - treated each other with respect. With no wish to be patronising, not a bad lesson in how to have an argument for us fellas.
A thought too for all women in the midst of a health battle on this IWD. Jacinta, we hold you in our heart every day.
And penultimately... here's a few faves from the Twitterverse @rosaliquidink , @peace_ , @SamJaneLane and @alihilltweet
Finally, I salute all the mums and mentors who have turned up at a Time & Space Mother-Son or Mother-Daughter session and if you put your name on an evaluation sheet in the last few years, you should find it here...
Adrianne, Alanah, Alex, Alexandra, Alicia, Alison, Alison, Alison, Alison, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Amanda, Andrea, Andrea, Andrea, Ange, Angela, Angela, Angela, Angelina, Anita, Anita, Anita, Anita, Anita, Anita, Ann, Ann, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anna, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Anne, Annette, Annette, Annette, Anni, Annie, Annie, Antoinette, Barbara, Beatrice, Belinda, Belinda, Belinda, Bernadette, Bernadette, Breeda, Bridget, Bronwyn, Bronwyn, Byron, Carina, Carmel, Carmel, Carmel, Carmel, Carol, Carol, Caroline, Caroline, Caroline , Carolynne, Cate, Catherine, Catherine, Catherine, Catherine, Catherine, Cathy, Cathy, Cathy, Caz, Cecelia, Celeste, Celia, Cherie, Cheryl, Chris, Christine, Christine, Christine, Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, Claire, Claire, Claire, Clare, Clare, Claudia, Collette, Connie, Cristina, Dani, Daniel, Daniel, Daniella, Deb, Debbi, Debbie, Debbie, Deborah, Delia, Delwyn, Denise, Denise, Diane, Diane, Dianne, Dianne, Dianne, Dina, Dolores, Donna, Donna, Donna, Edwina, Eileen, Elaine, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elle, Elsie, Emily, Fali, Fanny, Felicia, Felicity, Fiona, Fiona, Fionna, Frances, Francesca, Frankie, Fulvia, G, Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gabrielle, Gen, George, Georgie, Geraldine, Geraldine, Gill, Gill, Gillian, Gina, Giulietta, Grace, Grace, Harshini, Hazel, Heidi, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helen, Helena, Huyen, Ida, Ingrid, Ivy, J, J, Jacinta, Jackie, Jacqui, Jacqui, Jacqui, Jacqui, Jai, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Jane, Janet, Janine, Janine, Janna, Jaqueline, Jayne, Jeannine, Jen, Jen, Jennie, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Jenny, Jill, Jo, Jo (regular correspondent on this blog and thanks for the prompt last year Jo - hey Bill, blog more!), Jo, Joanna, Joanne, Joanne, Joanne, Jodie, Jodie, Jody, Jose, Josh, Josie, Joy, Joyce, Judy, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julie, Julienne, June, Justine, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karen, Karine, Karmen, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kath, Kath, Kath, Kath, Kathryn, Kathryn, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy, Kathy , Katie, Katrina, Katrina, Kelli, Kelly, Kelly, Kerri, Kerri, Kerrie, Kerrilyn, Kerry, Kerry, Kerry, Kim, Kim, Kim, Kim Ian, Kirsty, Kris, Kylie, Kylie, Kylie, Lauren, Leah, Leane, Leanne, Leanne, Leanne, Leanne , Leigh, Leonie, Leonie, Leonie, Liljana, Lillian, Lina, Linda, Linda, Linda, Linda, Linda, Linda, Lindy, Lindy, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Livia, Liz, Liz, Liz, Liz, Loretta, Loretta, Lori, Lou, Louisa, Louise, Lyn, Lynda, Lynette, Lynne, M, M.A., Madeline, Mandi, Mandy, Mandy, Mara, Mara, Maree, Maree, Maree, Maree, Maree, Margaret, Margaret , Margie, Margot, Maria, Maria, Maria, Marianne, Marianne, Marie, Marie, Marina, Marion, Marlies, Marly, Martine, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary, Mary Rose, Maura, Meg, Meg, Megan, Megan, Megan, Melanie, Melissa, Melissa, Melissa, Mich, Michele, Michele, Michell, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Michelle, Miriam, Molly, Monica, Monica, Monique, Nadia, Naomi, Naomi, Narelle, Nat, Natalie, Natalie, Natasha, Natasha, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Nicole, Ornella, Pam, Pam, Pam, Pamela, Pamela, Pati, Patricia, Paula, Pauline, Pauline, Pauline , Pearlyn, Penny, Peta, Peta, Peta, Pina, Pina, Polly, Prue, Prue, Prue , Rachel, Rachelle, Rae, Rebecca, Rhonda, Rina, Rita, Robbie, Robyn, Robyn, Romaine, Roni, Rose, Rose, Rose, Rosemary, Ruth, Ruth, S., Sabine, Sally, Sally, Sally-Ann, Sam, Sam, Sandra, Sandra, Sandra, Sandra, Sandra, Sandra, Sandy, Sara, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, Seb, Seema, Sephanie, Shane, Sharen, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharon, Sharron, Shenna, Sherri, Sheryl, Shikha, Sibi, Siew Lin, Silvia, Sim, Simone, Simone, Simone, Siobhan, Siobhan, Sonia, Sonya, Sonya, Sonya, Sophia, Sue, Sue, Sue, Sue, Sue, Sue-Ellen, Surekha, Susan, Susan, Susie, Susie, Suzanne, Suzette, Sylvia, Talei, Tammy, Tammy, Tammy, Tania, Tania, Tania, Tania, Tanid, Tanya, Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, Terri, Theresa, Theresa, Therese, Therese, Therese, Tiffany, Tina, Tina, Tina, Toni, Toni, Tonia, Tracey, Tracey, Tracey, Tracey, Tracey, Tricia, Trish, Trish, Trish, Trudy, Tuyet, Vanda, Veronic, Veronica, Vicki, Vilma, Vita, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Wendy, Younga.
The usual custom for this blog is that I have got permission in advance from you if your name appears in it. As you can see, this is a different post today. I hope this is OK.
Thanks for reading and Happy International Women's Day (well it's evening now).
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au/
PS - the first two women mentioned on the honours list are enjoying a celebratory glass of reasonably priced merlot on the couch as this post is published.
Thursday, 8 March 2012
Friday, 2 March 2012
An Unexpected Conversation
"Mind if I play with you guys?"
"No worries," I say, shaking hands with the man in the sunglasses, "My name's Bill and this is my son Jack."
"I'm Andrew.”
We are on the first tee of a brilliant little nine-hole course nestled into the foreshore of Apollo Bay, our annual summer holiday spot. One of the beaut’ things about golf... total strangers can walk up and ask 'can I join up with you?' I like it that my 15-year-old has played the game enough to know that this is part of the etiquette.
So we all hit off and so does our conversation – no small talk on the first hole!
"What do you do for a crust Bill?"
I explain the Time & Space programs.
"Right - have you come across any situations where kids have suicided?"
I reply, "Oh, the parent-child programs aren't necessarily for kids who are in trouble. It is for any young person really and their parents."
Andrew explains, "It's just that the boy who was captain of our primary school, a few years ago... just took his life. Real shock to our staff."
"That's awful," I say, fairly amazed at how deep the topic of conversation is for a couple of blokes who have just met... "So you're a teacher Andrew?"
"Yep. Love it - the classroom for the first 18 years. PE specialist for the last twelve."
Andrew is a really good fella... I can tell.
"Gee Andrew - any reason, the boy... why he took his life?" I ask.
"No clue whatsoever," Andrew answers, "it is a complete mystery. We were reeling as a staff at the end of the year when it happened. Such a great kid."
I'm conscious as we talk, my son is quietly taking all of this in.
We tee off on the second.
"Have you got kids Andrew?" I ask.
"Daughter’s the oldest and two sons... 23, 22 and 19 years old," Andrew then pauses... "Yep, they're all doing their thing." There’s a satisfied tone indicating they’re all going well.
Third hole and Andrew asks Jack if he plays sport.
"Yeah soccer," offers the young bloke, "I'm a goalkeeper."
There was genuine interest on Andrew’s part.
We are covering a breadth of topics on every hole. Andrew explains about his oldest two who were heading overseas together. He was really proud of their get up and go.
"They’re not really sure what they want to do career-wise but they've worked hard, saved to make this trip happen."
We talked and enjoyed our golf. We all had a few good hits. Andrew actually chipped in for birdie on the Eighth.
As Jack chipped to the green, I thought back to what Andrew said before… "I liked how you said that all your kids are each doing their thing."
"Yeah, great kids. The youngest one has had his challenges. My nineteen-year-old Brett," Andrew pauses, takes off his sunglasses, "is gay."
Even though we'd only known each other for eight holes of golf, the chats we’d had till then seemed to allow the space for such a personal detail to be shared. What a privilege to be trusted.
"Wow... when did you find out?" I ask.
"He came out when he was sixteen," answered Andrew, "I'll admit it, I cried for about 24 hours but came good after that. The way I see it, my son showed great courage."
Jack has putted, joins us and he picks up the thread of Andrew's story.
Andrew continued, "I asked my son, I said, 'I've only got one question... did you become gay or were you born gay?"
"He told me 'I always thought I was gay dad.'"
It's clear that Andrew admired and supported his son. He learnt that a lot of dads 'go crook' and even worse, sometimes physically abuse their sons if they come out... kick them out of home and never want to see them again.
We are on the last tee now and Andrew remarks, "How do those dads come back from that?" he is perplexed as he says, "I mean someone you love has just come out... that is showing the utmost courage. I said to Brett, who’s highly respected by his peers, 'mate you've just shown the way and made stuff so much easier for other kids.’"
Jack then pipes up... "Yeah, one of the kids at my school came out... on You Tube* actually... you know what was really good about it? No-one gave him any crap."
"I'm pleased to hear it," said Andrew.
We finished our round, shook hands and said goodbye. The three of us had had a pretty extraordinary conversation.
Later in the day, Jack remarked, "Dad, that Andrew, he’s a good bloke."
I agreed.
Thanks for reading and as always, you are welcome to share your responses, your stories in the space below (even if you don't have a Google account, you can log on as anonymous but it would be great if you wrote your name).
http://www.time-space.com.au/
* I looked up the clip when writing this article and discovered it was part of a global campaign by many people called ‘It Gets Better’. It includes this video contribution from US President Barack Obama.
And importantly if for any reason you need to talk to someone – you can call…
Lifeline: 13 11 14 Kids Helpline (for young people aged 5 to 25 years): 1800 551 800 Mensline Australia: 1300 789 978 SANE Helpline - mental illness, support and referral: 1800 18 SANE (7263) Reach Out: http://www.reachout.com/
"No worries," I say, shaking hands with the man in the sunglasses, "My name's Bill and this is my son Jack."
"I'm Andrew.”
We are on the first tee of a brilliant little nine-hole course nestled into the foreshore of Apollo Bay, our annual summer holiday spot. One of the beaut’ things about golf... total strangers can walk up and ask 'can I join up with you?' I like it that my 15-year-old has played the game enough to know that this is part of the etiquette.
So we all hit off and so does our conversation – no small talk on the first hole!
"What do you do for a crust Bill?"
I explain the Time & Space programs.
"Right - have you come across any situations where kids have suicided?"
I reply, "Oh, the parent-child programs aren't necessarily for kids who are in trouble. It is for any young person really and their parents."
Andrew explains, "It's just that the boy who was captain of our primary school, a few years ago... just took his life. Real shock to our staff."
"That's awful," I say, fairly amazed at how deep the topic of conversation is for a couple of blokes who have just met... "So you're a teacher Andrew?"
"Yep. Love it - the classroom for the first 18 years. PE specialist for the last twelve."
Andrew is a really good fella... I can tell.
"Gee Andrew - any reason, the boy... why he took his life?" I ask.
"No clue whatsoever," Andrew answers, "it is a complete mystery. We were reeling as a staff at the end of the year when it happened. Such a great kid."
I'm conscious as we talk, my son is quietly taking all of this in.
We tee off on the second.
"Have you got kids Andrew?" I ask.
"Daughter’s the oldest and two sons... 23, 22 and 19 years old," Andrew then pauses... "Yep, they're all doing their thing." There’s a satisfied tone indicating they’re all going well.
Third hole and Andrew asks Jack if he plays sport.
"Yeah soccer," offers the young bloke, "I'm a goalkeeper."
There was genuine interest on Andrew’s part.
We are covering a breadth of topics on every hole. Andrew explains about his oldest two who were heading overseas together. He was really proud of their get up and go.
"They’re not really sure what they want to do career-wise but they've worked hard, saved to make this trip happen."
We talked and enjoyed our golf. We all had a few good hits. Andrew actually chipped in for birdie on the Eighth.
As Jack chipped to the green, I thought back to what Andrew said before… "I liked how you said that all your kids are each doing their thing."
"Yeah, great kids. The youngest one has had his challenges. My nineteen-year-old Brett," Andrew pauses, takes off his sunglasses, "is gay."
Even though we'd only known each other for eight holes of golf, the chats we’d had till then seemed to allow the space for such a personal detail to be shared. What a privilege to be trusted.
"Wow... when did you find out?" I ask.
"He came out when he was sixteen," answered Andrew, "I'll admit it, I cried for about 24 hours but came good after that. The way I see it, my son showed great courage."
Jack has putted, joins us and he picks up the thread of Andrew's story.
Andrew continued, "I asked my son, I said, 'I've only got one question... did you become gay or were you born gay?"
"He told me 'I always thought I was gay dad.'"
It's clear that Andrew admired and supported his son. He learnt that a lot of dads 'go crook' and even worse, sometimes physically abuse their sons if they come out... kick them out of home and never want to see them again.
We are on the last tee now and Andrew remarks, "How do those dads come back from that?" he is perplexed as he says, "I mean someone you love has just come out... that is showing the utmost courage. I said to Brett, who’s highly respected by his peers, 'mate you've just shown the way and made stuff so much easier for other kids.’"
Jack then pipes up... "Yeah, one of the kids at my school came out... on You Tube* actually... you know what was really good about it? No-one gave him any crap."
"I'm pleased to hear it," said Andrew.
We finished our round, shook hands and said goodbye. The three of us had had a pretty extraordinary conversation.
Later in the day, Jack remarked, "Dad, that Andrew, he’s a good bloke."
I agreed.
Thanks for reading and as always, you are welcome to share your responses, your stories in the space below (even if you don't have a Google account, you can log on as anonymous but it would be great if you wrote your name).
http://www.time-space.com.au/
* I looked up the clip when writing this article and discovered it was part of a global campaign by many people called ‘It Gets Better’. It includes this video contribution from US President Barack Obama.
And importantly if for any reason you need to talk to someone – you can call…
Lifeline: 13 11 14 Kids Helpline (for young people aged 5 to 25 years): 1800 551 800 Mensline Australia: 1300 789 978 SANE Helpline - mental illness, support and referral: 1800 18 SANE (7263) Reach Out: http://www.reachout.com/
Friday, 17 February 2012
Breaking News - Volunteers Stuff Envelopes!
A 'mail-out' was conducted in a beautiful house in a leafy green Melbourne suburb on Tuesday night last week. There you go. This is an international scoop for the Time & Space Blog. Now admittedly, it has been a big news week. If you are reading this sometime after publication – here’s what else has happened: Whitney Houston died last Saturday; Greece is on the brink of economic default and the world is watching as hundreds are murdered in Syria every day. Still, having sat on this mail-out story for ten days now, the big media outlets have had their chance.
The St Kevin's College Fathers Association support a lot of bonding experiences for the boys of the school and their mums, dads and mentors. With the help of some key people on the school staff (who get the printing, the labels and envelopes ready), this committee promote the programs organising practical things like this mail-out to let families know about them.
So who are the heroes of this world exclusive? Jerome, Kaz and his wife Nancy, Onofrio (that’s Italian for ‘Humphrey’ which means 'peaceful warrior' – I found that out on that thing they call the World Wide Web), Stan and Sergio, joined Adrian, Judith and their kids in their home. The envelopes were stuffed in 90 minutes. They first program batch of letters were posted the next day. Job done.
So there is the news. You’re dumbfounded… earth shattering revelation – yes? You’ll never forget where you were when read this first – right?
OK – let’s remove the tongue from the cheek for a moment and have a look at three subtle things that were happening at this event.
1. Walking up the driveway, a young primary school girl was stretching forward on the trampoline, reading a book.
“Is this where the meeting is for the St Kevin’s dads?”
“Yes” says the girl, glancing at a timer in her hand, intently focusing on the book. Her eyes hardly looked up.
Adrian, her dad, opens the door and welcomes me in. A few minutes later, the young lady wanders in.
“Bill, have you met Grace?”
“Very briefly” I answer, “Grace told me, just before, that I was at the right address… which was really nice of her cos’ I could see she was very busy.”
I discover she was timing her nightly twenty minute reading session. She smiles and explains, “That was why I couldn't show you in. I had to finish my reading”.
“That’s a great habit to form Grace – really impressive how serious you are about it,” I say.
Adrian and Grace then just banter about the day and a delightful exchange between father and daughter transpires quite naturally. The everyday family routine was happening before me.
2. As the mail out crew arrived, the jobs were sorted and the team got underway. This is when we met Alex, Adrian and Judith's oldest. He came downstairs and was invited to help out for a while... folding, stuffing envelopes, joining in. He was happily engaging in the chat. Letting the other dads and mums know how his start to the year had gone. A few opinions about Year 7 & 8 rivalry were shared. For a few minutes, he was our fellow helper.
Earlier I'd said to Adrian... "You're good to be hosting this and you've been on the committee for a while now. Very generous of you to give up your time. I think your kids will remember that you chipped in and got involved."
I explained how my dad used to run mail-outs in our dining room for the Old Collegians Association at my school. Adrian’s dad got involved in school things too. We swapped a few stories, remembering our parents’ efforts. They weren't perfect - sometimes embarrassing but they were in there with their sleeves rolled up - having a go.
3. The banter was lively and fun throughout the job. Lots of friendly jibes. Some of the team were playfully competing to be as quick as they could. There was laughter happening as the work was done. Observations about modern life were shared.
When he arrived, Onofrio was asked where his cup cakes were. In his time on the committee, he has built a reputation as a cup cake master chef. At a later moment I ask him a bit about it.
"I like doing it. It is 'time-out' for me," Onofrio explains.
Adrian offers cups of tea and coffee. He opens a bottle of wine. Judith brings over a plate of really yummy cheese and nibbles.
Job finished and the group relaxes. Serg had got there a bit later. He explained that he had a bit on but still wanted to come. As a few planning matters are discussed, I let Serg know he will be getting a call to help out at the upcoming Father-Son night.
"No need to call, when is it?" asks Serg. He checks his phone diary as I give him the date.
"I'm free” he says, “it's locked in."
So what do you think the headlines are for this good news story?
In getting Adrian’s permission to post this story he emailed back his ‘OK’ with this message…
As always feel free to offer your reflections, your memories and insights in the space below.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au/
The St Kevin's College Fathers Association support a lot of bonding experiences for the boys of the school and their mums, dads and mentors. With the help of some key people on the school staff (who get the printing, the labels and envelopes ready), this committee promote the programs organising practical things like this mail-out to let families know about them.
So who are the heroes of this world exclusive? Jerome, Kaz and his wife Nancy, Onofrio (that’s Italian for ‘Humphrey’ which means 'peaceful warrior' – I found that out on that thing they call the World Wide Web), Stan and Sergio, joined Adrian, Judith and their kids in their home. The envelopes were stuffed in 90 minutes. They first program batch of letters were posted the next day. Job done.
So there is the news. You’re dumbfounded… earth shattering revelation – yes? You’ll never forget where you were when read this first – right?
OK – let’s remove the tongue from the cheek for a moment and have a look at three subtle things that were happening at this event.
1. Walking up the driveway, a young primary school girl was stretching forward on the trampoline, reading a book.
“Is this where the meeting is for the St Kevin’s dads?”
“Yes” says the girl, glancing at a timer in her hand, intently focusing on the book. Her eyes hardly looked up.
Adrian, her dad, opens the door and welcomes me in. A few minutes later, the young lady wanders in.
“Bill, have you met Grace?”
“Very briefly” I answer, “Grace told me, just before, that I was at the right address… which was really nice of her cos’ I could see she was very busy.”
I discover she was timing her nightly twenty minute reading session. She smiles and explains, “That was why I couldn't show you in. I had to finish my reading”.
“That’s a great habit to form Grace – really impressive how serious you are about it,” I say.
Adrian and Grace then just banter about the day and a delightful exchange between father and daughter transpires quite naturally. The everyday family routine was happening before me.
2. As the mail out crew arrived, the jobs were sorted and the team got underway. This is when we met Alex, Adrian and Judith's oldest. He came downstairs and was invited to help out for a while... folding, stuffing envelopes, joining in. He was happily engaging in the chat. Letting the other dads and mums know how his start to the year had gone. A few opinions about Year 7 & 8 rivalry were shared. For a few minutes, he was our fellow helper.
Earlier I'd said to Adrian... "You're good to be hosting this and you've been on the committee for a while now. Very generous of you to give up your time. I think your kids will remember that you chipped in and got involved."
I explained how my dad used to run mail-outs in our dining room for the Old Collegians Association at my school. Adrian’s dad got involved in school things too. We swapped a few stories, remembering our parents’ efforts. They weren't perfect - sometimes embarrassing but they were in there with their sleeves rolled up - having a go.
3. The banter was lively and fun throughout the job. Lots of friendly jibes. Some of the team were playfully competing to be as quick as they could. There was laughter happening as the work was done. Observations about modern life were shared.
When he arrived, Onofrio was asked where his cup cakes were. In his time on the committee, he has built a reputation as a cup cake master chef. At a later moment I ask him a bit about it.
"I like doing it. It is 'time-out' for me," Onofrio explains.
Adrian offers cups of tea and coffee. He opens a bottle of wine. Judith brings over a plate of really yummy cheese and nibbles.
Job finished and the group relaxes. Serg had got there a bit later. He explained that he had a bit on but still wanted to come. As a few planning matters are discussed, I let Serg know he will be getting a call to help out at the upcoming Father-Son night.
"No need to call, when is it?" asks Serg. He checks his phone diary as I give him the date.
"I'm free” he says, “it's locked in."
So what do you think the headlines are for this good news story?
Primary school girl, reads book uninterrupted for 20Of course, we know this volunteer work party is not the sort of story that CNN, News Limited or the ABC are going for as their number 1 item of the week. But… parents do help their kids develop good habits… teenagers chip in and help others, showing signs that they are on their way to being young adults… people get together and volunteer. These things happen every day… all over the world. And it is good news.
minutes?
Teenage boy helps group of adults with task – joins in the
conversation.
Family welcome people into the home. Generous volunteers
complete mail-out and enjoy each others’ company!
In getting Adrian’s permission to post this story he emailed back his ‘OK’ with this message…
It is funny that the things you mentioned I had never given any thought to. ThisI'm convinced that it is the little efforts like this... these people 'turning up' that: embed the memory for future generations to follow their example. It is this sort of generosity that makes the difference between us living in a society rather than just an economy. To all the volunteers reading this. I salute you!
is my fourth year in the association and the other night felt like having good
friends around rather than conducting a meeting.
As always feel free to offer your reflections, your memories and insights in the space below.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au/
Thursday, 2 February 2012
Father Bob & the 'YB' have Entered the Building
"So... do you want me to come in with you?" I ask.
The young bloke (aka YB), our #2 child, and #1 son, and I sit this morning in the car park of his new senior high school. He is starting in Year 10 today.
There is a typical pause. It could be his own considered thinking which has always been fairly deliberate or the combination of 15 year-old vagueness mixed with the general vague state he has inherited from his dad.
There is still more think time. Then...
"Nah, I'll be right."
More silence and we sit there looking at the school building.
"So what happens now... I just go to Reception?", YB asks.
"Yeah, I think there will be people there waiting for you like they did on your orientation day, giving out timetables and showing you where to put your stuff."
"OK, see ya dad." A considered handshake is exchanged. I let him know that I am proud to be his dad and he waves without looking back as he takes a heavy, first-day-bag into his new school. The earliest year level at this senior high is his year, so he is starting on an even footing with all the other kids. I sit here wondering how he is going. A lot of people are having first days this week...
Father Bob Maguire had his first full day at his new address yesterday after 38 years at his old one. For the benefit of those in Australia who live in a media black-out, and readers overseas, here is what happened at his last Sunday morning mass as Parish Priest at St Peter and St Paul's in South Melbourne this past weekend.
Father Bob at 77, 'orthodox but unconventional' as he likes to describe himself, has moved on from his parish... the base from which he carried out many services, not just as a traditional parish priest but as the leader of an army of volunteers who serve people who have fallen on hard times. The disenfranchised, the homeless, the prostitutes, the mentally ill, the elderly and disadvantaged young people of South Melbourne, Port Melbourne and St Kilda, rely on the practical outreach of The Father Bob Maguire Foundation. Many of you will know that the controversy of his move, stems from the wish that he did not want to leave his home, his base from which he was able to exercise his ministry. Bob's parish gave him identity. Being a parish priest enabled him to have some handle, a good kind of authority that auspiced his public role and outreach.
Where the hypocrisy of attention by the hierarchy, on Bob's forced retirement, has been widely reported, I have watched from a perspective of concerned comrade, with an awareness that for Bob, he was being symbolically and perhaps psychologically orphaned by his current day 'family', the institutional church - something that had happened to him as a kid. F-Bob's (as this comrade calls him) dad and mum passed away when he was 12 and 13. He fended forward with the help of his older brother and friends and that tough, unconventional perspective must have been formed in that adversity. An endearing resilience that has shown in the last couple of years may well have been borne in those days when a young teenager had to use his wits to make his way in the world, without the security of even one parent being around.
Change is tough and in the lead up to the young bloke's first day at a new school, there's been a bit of moodiness. Unlike Father Bob, he chose to move to a new place. We asked him to have a think about what was the right place for him. He liked his old school (and so did his mum and me) but he felt, on balance the new place offers a number of good opportunities. That doesn't mean the decision wasn’t tough. It doesn't mean his imperfect dad hasn't had a few flare ups as the young bloke has dealt with the decision to change in the last couple of months. We could be in the middle of a heated argument and then I'm struck by the notion - 'he's worried about the move'. Similarly, I heard Father Bob interviewed on the ABC Conversation Hour before Christmas. The anger, near bitterness, that was in his voice was palpable. It was raw and tough to listen to. Other friends' heard it and we shared similar reflections. That's the key though, people have responded and shown their care. Bob has rawly expressed his feelings, his 'truth' throughout, and on Sunday over 1000 people turned up and showed support. They are part of the big family that F-Bob’s unique perspective on life, has brought together. I reckon his own kindness, heart for the underdog, has come back at him in spades. Good people have fuelled his resilience to move on to the next chapter.
I'm mindful, as dad to my daughter and son... that they gain fuel for accepting change through life as people who love them, and care about what happens to them, wish them well as they take on the next challenge - some harder than others. We can't take away the challenges they face but we can turn up in their lives - especially at the important moments.
At his final mass on Sunday, the shift was palpable in Father Bob - he had accepted the change, and was moving on. The service had a bit of everything... Bob's irreverent humour, a beautiful song by war victim and refugee, Emmanuel Kelly - an inspiring young man, a Scottish bagpipe band that led Bob out after the final song 'Glory, Glory Hallelujah' that contains the words... 'the truth goes marching on'.
And what is that 'truth' for this story? Change, difficult shifts, will always happen to us. They will always happen to the people we care about. When they enter their new buildings like Father Bob and the young bloke have this week... that's when they need us to be there for them.
Who has been there for you in a moment of change? Who are you looking after right now? As always, feel free to write your own thoughts below. Thanks for reading.
Bill Jennings
www.time-space.com.au
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
Saturday, 31 December 2011
Two Highlights from 2011
Two personal highlights from 2011. They even contradict each other depending on the world perspective we take but there you go... this is the world we live in, going into 2012. I hope it is a good one for you and thanks for reading the blog this year. As always, feel free to comment, email or tweet a response.
Number 1 - Minority World Highlight
Flying back to Melbourne from Sydney having attended a two day seminar learning some great content but also witnessing the presentation magic of the brilliant Allan Parker .
Have you ever had one of those moments where all was calm? You felt real peace? You're inspired and quiet inside? I love getting a window seat in a plane. My head is leaning up against the perspex and this magnificent sunset starting to break out over the sky. I took this photo.
I had the earphones on, looked up and saw something on the in-flight TV Channel. Something of beauty (and relevant as this post goes up on New Year's Eve). The subject of this video always gets a pretty good view of the fireworks on Sydney Harbour. I reckon you'll enjoy this (especially if you're a Nick Cave fan).
Number 1 - Minority World Highlight
Flying back to Melbourne from Sydney having attended a two day seminar learning some great content but also witnessing the presentation magic of the brilliant Allan Parker .
Have you ever had one of those moments where all was calm? You felt real peace? You're inspired and quiet inside? I love getting a window seat in a plane. My head is leaning up against the perspex and this magnificent sunset starting to break out over the sky. I took this photo.
I had the earphones on, looked up and saw something on the in-flight TV Channel. Something of beauty (and relevant as this post goes up on New Year's Eve). The subject of this video always gets a pretty good view of the fireworks on Sydney Harbour. I reckon you'll enjoy this (especially if you're a Nick Cave fan).(n.b.... What I saw on the plane was this ... the half hour documentary on the making of the clip).
Number 2 - Majority World Highlight
A response to last week's post came in from the 'majority' world. It is an extraordinary world we live in when you consider a friend (and mentor) of mine opened up the blog in Vietnam. She emailed back...
Hi Bill,
Merry Xmas. Sitting in Saigon having early Brekky. It's 6.30am here. Just
read your beautiful story. What a lovely way to start my Xmas day...
Saigon at Xmas is amazing. I have never seen so many crowds in the streets
last night... motorbike mayhem! Seems the Buddhists and Taoists are embracing part of the Christmas traditions.
... yesterday rode around on Cyclo - well I sat there while a man who was at least 101 years old peddled! This country is truly unbelievable. Asia and Australia are poles apart and I wonder who is the happier... we have way too much... convinced of that... that is way too much of what has no real value.
Love to you and your family on this Christmas day 2011.
My friend's story evoked straight away, a memory of incredible generosity... received like her, as a visitor from the minority world to the majority world.
Go Back to Where You Came From aired on SBS in June. The ratings back up that it was a television highlight of 2011. The first episode trended as the number 1 discussion in the world that night on Twitter. We are a country divided on the issue of asylum seekers. The documentary was brilliant, it put six Aussies, all with views across the spectrum of the issue, into the shoes of the asylum seeker. They lived their story, only in reverse. Starting from the place of final settlement these people traveled back through detention centres, made a dangerous journey on a leaky boat, lived in transit countries and refugee camps before having the choice to go right back to the war zones from which people have actually fled. One resettled African family (on the link above, you'll see a photo of the Masudi family in Wodonga) welcomed the participants in their home with a customary ritual. This sparked a personal memory.
When I saw this ritual, seven years fell away and in an instant I was transported back to the most humbling experience of my life. Below you see my two kids in 2004 in a village outside of Kampala. Now let's list the ambiguities... I was on Long Service Leave and heading to visit the 'in-laws' in the UK (where they don't have LSL). Dad was working in Uganda as a consultant, so I took the kids to visit him on the way. Dad's work colleagues had the services of a driver, John.
There is John standing next to me. His two girls are in the school uniforms. They showed their perfect copperplate handwriting in their school books to my kids' astonishment. Down below in the bottom corner you can see a plastic basin and a water container.
A most profound ritual of welcome that remains the most gracious hospitality I have ever received. We shared an incredible meal of beautiful spicy pork pieces. John even bought in some soft drink for the kids, conscious how their stomachs might go with the drinking water. Dad explained that John would have spent a week's wages on the feast. It was embarrassing but dad said to just 'go with it' as refusing would greatly offend. John and his family welcomed their guests by washing our hands, they gave all they had to a group of people from the other side of the world who by comparison, had everything.
A response to last week's post came in from the 'majority' world. It is an extraordinary world we live in when you consider a friend (and mentor) of mine opened up the blog in Vietnam. She emailed back...
Hi Bill,
Merry Xmas. Sitting in Saigon having early Brekky. It's 6.30am here. Just
read your beautiful story. What a lovely way to start my Xmas day...
Saigon at Xmas is amazing. I have never seen so many crowds in the streets
last night... motorbike mayhem! Seems the Buddhists and Taoists are embracing part of the Christmas traditions.
... yesterday rode around on Cyclo - well I sat there while a man who was at least 101 years old peddled! This country is truly unbelievable. Asia and Australia are poles apart and I wonder who is the happier... we have way too much... convinced of that... that is way too much of what has no real value.
Love to you and your family on this Christmas day 2011.
My friend's story evoked straight away, a memory of incredible generosity... received like her, as a visitor from the minority world to the majority world.
Go Back to Where You Came From aired on SBS in June. The ratings back up that it was a television highlight of 2011. The first episode trended as the number 1 discussion in the world that night on Twitter. We are a country divided on the issue of asylum seekers. The documentary was brilliant, it put six Aussies, all with views across the spectrum of the issue, into the shoes of the asylum seeker. They lived their story, only in reverse. Starting from the place of final settlement these people traveled back through detention centres, made a dangerous journey on a leaky boat, lived in transit countries and refugee camps before having the choice to go right back to the war zones from which people have actually fled. One resettled African family (on the link above, you'll see a photo of the Masudi family in Wodonga) welcomed the participants in their home with a customary ritual. This sparked a personal memory.
When I saw this ritual, seven years fell away and in an instant I was transported back to the most humbling experience of my life. Below you see my two kids in 2004 in a village outside of Kampala. Now let's list the ambiguities... I was on Long Service Leave and heading to visit the 'in-laws' in the UK (where they don't have LSL). Dad was working in Uganda as a consultant, so I took the kids to visit him on the way. Dad's work colleagues had the services of a driver, John.
There is John standing next to me. His two girls are in the school uniforms. They showed their perfect copperplate handwriting in their school books to my kids' astonishment. Down below in the bottom corner you can see a plastic basin and a water container.Just like the Masudi's did for their guests in Wodonga, John's daughter, Joan, later places my hands over the bowl, pours water from that container over my hands and then dries them with a towel. A practical way to prepare for a shared meal.
A most profound ritual of welcome that remains the most gracious hospitality I have ever received. We shared an incredible meal of beautiful spicy pork pieces. John even bought in some soft drink for the kids, conscious how their stomachs might go with the drinking water. Dad explained that John would have spent a week's wages on the feast. It was embarrassing but dad said to just 'go with it' as refusing would greatly offend. John and his family welcomed their guests by washing our hands, they gave all they had to a group of people from the other side of the world who by comparison, had everything.
Saturday, 24 December 2011
The Man Who Never Forgot
The major block of colour is maroon. Boys in school blazers, in their hundreds, are crossing the street, streaming from trams and buses towards the requiem mass for Father John Carnie. Appreciate that the boys have been given the day off and the choice, by their school, to attend this funeral. Father John had been their chaplain at Marcellin College - a post he held for 25 years. I first met John just prior to him starting in this defining ‘work of his life’, when I was a young bloke in 1984, in Year 12 myself at another school. We became fellow team members of a youth community that ran Stranger Camps for young people. The essence of the experience was that the Year 12 students came from many different schools (hence the name ‘Stranger’) and had the opportunity to share their own story and hear the precious stories of others. A friendship started from there, despite our age difference. It lasted down the years even though we hadn’t managed to catch up much in recent times.
Whenever we caught up though, the little quips would start flowing like we’d seen each other yesterday… I could remember his old jokes and would get them in there, before he could say them, to his delight. John always laughed and said “you are like the Borbons” (his paraphrased reference to an old European royal house), “they didn’t know much but they never forgot”. As this Time & Space work grew, Marcellin embraced these experiences for their boys and parent community. That meant that I could catch up a bit more with John on his home turf. The last time I saw him was at a Time & Space for Stepping Up night at Marcellin in 2011. We stood together looking out across the 160+ Year 8 boys and their dads and mentors. John marvelled at how they were deeply engaged in one to one conversations, encountering things they might not have known in each others’ story. The shining faces reminded us of what we used to see over a quarter of a century ago on those Stranger camps. Here’s the last photo I took of John at a Stepping Up night.
This is a classic John Carnie shot because it shows him (in his beloved Marcellin jacket) doing something he did brilliantly – ‘turning up’. He was famous for turning up or ‘gate-crashing’ as he liked to call it. The trust and rapport he had built was so high, that Year 12 students would enquire expectantly with him saying he was welcome to gatecrash their eighteenth birthday party on an upcoming Saturday night. Back in the 80’s when John was in his mid-fifties, I can assure you, he was gate-crashing back then. We loved him turning up to our parties. The mums and dads loved it. With his repartee the man was an ageless rock star!
The stories I have heard told by Marcellin boys, families and staff affirm the fact that he never lost his capacity to connect with people of all ages. A brilliant, quick wit... he had the ability to have the surliest teenager in fits of laughter. John's swag of qualities was extensive and whilst he had that timeless capacity to connect with the current crop of students, it was his 'old school' traits, the way he went about what he did, that tell just as much about his commitment and care. Without fail - every year, I would get a phone call or a card on my birthday. A mutual friend got a phone call early in the morning every year for the last seven years on the anniversary of his mum’s passing. John used to joke I was the ‘Borbon’. I am telling you… he was the one who never forgot!
At Marcellin, John got into the rhythm of doing the same, ‘never forgetting’ for every boy at the school. There would be a knock at the classroom door. A student is called out and there's Father John wishing many happy returns to that young man. He did this faithfully for 25 years. He interviewed every boy when he arrived in Year 7 and on the birthday classroom visit in Year 12, the young man would receive a card from John as well. He never forgot that the simple things are precious to people. As new technologies evolved, John embraced some that he could help him in his mission. He spoke with wonderment about the electronic timetable program that he could look up, to find where a student was at any given period, so he could go and make those birthday visits. The ‘remembering’ and John’s trademark effect of making each person feel special, had some replete ‘old technology’ methods underpinning it.
After he died in August this year, the College Principal, Mark Murphy and a colleague went to respectfully clear out his office. They found a filing card system so organised that the honour and care sang off every record. Little notes about the first interview with a Year 7 would describe a joke that was shared or particular dimension of the conversation that helped John to remember that special detail the next time they met. If a young fella was going through a tough time, a card might have an annotation like, "make contact in two months” and sure enough that card was filed with that date. The cards had lines through them when a new birthday greeting had been honoured. New notes were made for each meeting. In chatting to Mark Murphy, I got the sense of his appreciation of the incredible commitment and sheer hard work that was evident in John’s system.
So this master of remembering, of ‘turning up’ and old technology caused the most amazing crowd to gather at and pack out St Pat’s cathedral. The maroon blazers filled the vast sides in their hundreds. There were other young men, a bit older in their suits, all around where I was sitting and I noticed something in common that, like John’s birthday system, could not have just happened by chance. Each of them were wearing an Old Collegian’s tie. To a man, each had his ‘old boys’ tie on. How did they do it? I learned that one of them had utilised the technology of their generation, Facebook. On the Father John tribute page, one young old boy had put it out there to wear their Old Collegian’s tie. It had got hundreds of ‘likes’. They all turned up in their old school ties to honour the man who had turned up for them every day they were at school.
Priests, young people and Facebook all get their share of bad press. Obviously some of it is deserved (I would never minimize that) but surely sometimes the criticisms block out the good.
This post is being sent out at Christmas time. I can’t think of a better story to tell this year about a man who lived a sense of what Christmas is all about... every day.
As the story goes, a baby was born in a manger and in that moment humanity and divinity were combined. This was Father John’s life work, his delight, his vocation – he sought out the divine spark in every person he encountered.
Happy Christmas everyone… feel free to share your thoughts below.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au/
Whenever we caught up though, the little quips would start flowing like we’d seen each other yesterday… I could remember his old jokes and would get them in there, before he could say them, to his delight. John always laughed and said “you are like the Borbons” (his paraphrased reference to an old European royal house), “they didn’t know much but they never forgot”. As this Time & Space work grew, Marcellin embraced these experiences for their boys and parent community. That meant that I could catch up a bit more with John on his home turf. The last time I saw him was at a Time & Space for Stepping Up night at Marcellin in 2011. We stood together looking out across the 160+ Year 8 boys and their dads and mentors. John marvelled at how they were deeply engaged in one to one conversations, encountering things they might not have known in each others’ story. The shining faces reminded us of what we used to see over a quarter of a century ago on those Stranger camps. Here’s the last photo I took of John at a Stepping Up night.
This is a classic John Carnie shot because it shows him (in his beloved Marcellin jacket) doing something he did brilliantly – ‘turning up’. He was famous for turning up or ‘gate-crashing’ as he liked to call it. The trust and rapport he had built was so high, that Year 12 students would enquire expectantly with him saying he was welcome to gatecrash their eighteenth birthday party on an upcoming Saturday night. Back in the 80’s when John was in his mid-fifties, I can assure you, he was gate-crashing back then. We loved him turning up to our parties. The mums and dads loved it. With his repartee the man was an ageless rock star!The stories I have heard told by Marcellin boys, families and staff affirm the fact that he never lost his capacity to connect with people of all ages. A brilliant, quick wit... he had the ability to have the surliest teenager in fits of laughter. John's swag of qualities was extensive and whilst he had that timeless capacity to connect with the current crop of students, it was his 'old school' traits, the way he went about what he did, that tell just as much about his commitment and care. Without fail - every year, I would get a phone call or a card on my birthday. A mutual friend got a phone call early in the morning every year for the last seven years on the anniversary of his mum’s passing. John used to joke I was the ‘Borbon’. I am telling you… he was the one who never forgot!
At Marcellin, John got into the rhythm of doing the same, ‘never forgetting’ for every boy at the school. There would be a knock at the classroom door. A student is called out and there's Father John wishing many happy returns to that young man. He did this faithfully for 25 years. He interviewed every boy when he arrived in Year 7 and on the birthday classroom visit in Year 12, the young man would receive a card from John as well. He never forgot that the simple things are precious to people. As new technologies evolved, John embraced some that he could help him in his mission. He spoke with wonderment about the electronic timetable program that he could look up, to find where a student was at any given period, so he could go and make those birthday visits. The ‘remembering’ and John’s trademark effect of making each person feel special, had some replete ‘old technology’ methods underpinning it.
After he died in August this year, the College Principal, Mark Murphy and a colleague went to respectfully clear out his office. They found a filing card system so organised that the honour and care sang off every record. Little notes about the first interview with a Year 7 would describe a joke that was shared or particular dimension of the conversation that helped John to remember that special detail the next time they met. If a young fella was going through a tough time, a card might have an annotation like, "make contact in two months” and sure enough that card was filed with that date. The cards had lines through them when a new birthday greeting had been honoured. New notes were made for each meeting. In chatting to Mark Murphy, I got the sense of his appreciation of the incredible commitment and sheer hard work that was evident in John’s system.
So this master of remembering, of ‘turning up’ and old technology caused the most amazing crowd to gather at and pack out St Pat’s cathedral. The maroon blazers filled the vast sides in their hundreds. There were other young men, a bit older in their suits, all around where I was sitting and I noticed something in common that, like John’s birthday system, could not have just happened by chance. Each of them were wearing an Old Collegian’s tie. To a man, each had his ‘old boys’ tie on. How did they do it? I learned that one of them had utilised the technology of their generation, Facebook. On the Father John tribute page, one young old boy had put it out there to wear their Old Collegian’s tie. It had got hundreds of ‘likes’. They all turned up in their old school ties to honour the man who had turned up for them every day they were at school.
Priests, young people and Facebook all get their share of bad press. Obviously some of it is deserved (I would never minimize that) but surely sometimes the criticisms block out the good.
This post is being sent out at Christmas time. I can’t think of a better story to tell this year about a man who lived a sense of what Christmas is all about... every day.
As the story goes, a baby was born in a manger and in that moment humanity and divinity were combined. This was Father John’s life work, his delight, his vocation – he sought out the divine spark in every person he encountered.
Happy Christmas everyone… feel free to share your thoughts below.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au/
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
Road Trip
The two of us loaded our overnight gear into the boot at the front of the old 'Volksy'.
Just the two of us.
That meant that the little red headed kid got the prime front seat propped up right next to dad. In 1973, dad took me on a journey up the old Hume Highway to Glenrowan in North East Victoria. We were going to visit his old mate Tony, who had been best man at mum and dad’s wedding in 1966. I must have been all of five or six years old. It is funny hearing dad tell the story – it is a vivid memory for him too.
It was deep into summer and the day we left, was a scorcher. Dad’s account is that five minutes after leaving the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne, we had to stop for a cold can of cola at our local servo. I was asking for lunch by the time we got to Broadmeadows.
It is my earliest memory of having time one-on-one time with dad.
Tony ran a farm. Big tractors and machines, fields of wheat and old corrugated iron buildings. Dad and I stayed in the old ‘sleep-out’. There were louvre windows with rectangles of thick glass. I remember the sound of the cicadas well beyond dark. The mosquitoes were more the size of dragon flies and buzzed around us all night. I rang dad to get his memory of this. He reckons a cool breeze floated through for few minutes around 4am and then it was hot again. But you know what? I was loving it. This was my time with dad.
I reckon Dad did something else by taking me on that trip, he embedded the value of one-on-one, parent-child time. That six year old boy from 1973 is now a dad himself. And just because he runs programs for young people and their parents/mentors doesn’t give him any special claims on perfection (just ask my two teenage kids). No parent is perfect. In making the time, however, Dad made me feel special, a feeling that lasts through time. No-one can take that away from him, from us. It is something that he taught me to do with my own daughter and son. The warmth of the memory is offered as evidence to support the idea that one-on-one time strengthens a child’s resilience.
The lesson from dad has come in handy this year. My son, now fifteen years old is well in the depths of rampant adolescence. He asked if we could repeat an overnight bike ride we had done a few years before. To be invited by him, at this stage of his life, was an opportunity not to be missed. So in the second term holidays we rode the Warburton trail… stayed in a room at the pub, had a counter meal and rode back the next day.
It’s the little things, I’m sure, that will stick through the years. We had taken a footy with us on the ride and a hell of a game of kick-to-kick evolved… nothing unusual there, only that we played it in our room in the pub. We were seeing how many marks we can take in a row without dropping one. It was so much fun. Sometimes in raising kids through the adolescent years, it is hard to believe there is anything remotely funny about that task. We laughed on this trip… saying stupid things and just laughing. It was an oasis.
Then, in the third term holidays Jack and I headed off on a road trip. My brother lives in Queensland and my wife and I agreed that it might be a good thing to give his older sister some quality quiet time in preparation for her Year 12 exams. The Mighty Lisa would stay with Amber and the two fellas headed off on an old fashioned road trip… we packed the car… and headed north.
We stopped in motels… bought Chinese take away in Narrabri… stayed with my brother and old friends over ten days and nights on this road trip up and down south eastern Australia. They were big drives.
Much of the time we were quiet… then one of us would ask a question, we would talk for a few minutes then go quiet again. I wonder how Jack might remember our adventures down the track. A few clues have already been picked up. I know he really valued those quiet times and rhythms. I know because he told his grandfather about the trip on the phone and how much he had loved the time together – just the two of us. His grandfather then told me.
Can you see the story turning full circle here? My dad taught me something by taking me on that road trip. Have I ever let him know how much I cherish the memory? I have now.
Thanks for reading. Do you have a road trip memory? Feel free to share yours in the space below.
Bill Jennings
www.time-space.com.au
P.S. You can find this article, called just the Two of Us, in the Parenting Ideas e-Magazine Christmas Edition amongst a whole bunch of other great articles by clicking here
Just the two of us.
That meant that the little red headed kid got the prime front seat propped up right next to dad. In 1973, dad took me on a journey up the old Hume Highway to Glenrowan in North East Victoria. We were going to visit his old mate Tony, who had been best man at mum and dad’s wedding in 1966. I must have been all of five or six years old. It is funny hearing dad tell the story – it is a vivid memory for him too.
It was deep into summer and the day we left, was a scorcher. Dad’s account is that five minutes after leaving the south-eastern suburbs of Melbourne, we had to stop for a cold can of cola at our local servo. I was asking for lunch by the time we got to Broadmeadows.
It is my earliest memory of having time one-on-one time with dad.
Tony ran a farm. Big tractors and machines, fields of wheat and old corrugated iron buildings. Dad and I stayed in the old ‘sleep-out’. There were louvre windows with rectangles of thick glass. I remember the sound of the cicadas well beyond dark. The mosquitoes were more the size of dragon flies and buzzed around us all night. I rang dad to get his memory of this. He reckons a cool breeze floated through for few minutes around 4am and then it was hot again. But you know what? I was loving it. This was my time with dad.
I reckon Dad did something else by taking me on that trip, he embedded the value of one-on-one, parent-child time. That six year old boy from 1973 is now a dad himself. And just because he runs programs for young people and their parents/mentors doesn’t give him any special claims on perfection (just ask my two teenage kids). No parent is perfect. In making the time, however, Dad made me feel special, a feeling that lasts through time. No-one can take that away from him, from us. It is something that he taught me to do with my own daughter and son. The warmth of the memory is offered as evidence to support the idea that one-on-one time strengthens a child’s resilience.
The lesson from dad has come in handy this year. My son, now fifteen years old is well in the depths of rampant adolescence. He asked if we could repeat an overnight bike ride we had done a few years before. To be invited by him, at this stage of his life, was an opportunity not to be missed. So in the second term holidays we rode the Warburton trail… stayed in a room at the pub, had a counter meal and rode back the next day.
It’s the little things, I’m sure, that will stick through the years. We had taken a footy with us on the ride and a hell of a game of kick-to-kick evolved… nothing unusual there, only that we played it in our room in the pub. We were seeing how many marks we can take in a row without dropping one. It was so much fun. Sometimes in raising kids through the adolescent years, it is hard to believe there is anything remotely funny about that task. We laughed on this trip… saying stupid things and just laughing. It was an oasis.
Then, in the third term holidays Jack and I headed off on a road trip. My brother lives in Queensland and my wife and I agreed that it might be a good thing to give his older sister some quality quiet time in preparation for her Year 12 exams. The Mighty Lisa would stay with Amber and the two fellas headed off on an old fashioned road trip… we packed the car… and headed north.
We stopped in motels… bought Chinese take away in Narrabri… stayed with my brother and old friends over ten days and nights on this road trip up and down south eastern Australia. They were big drives.
Much of the time we were quiet… then one of us would ask a question, we would talk for a few minutes then go quiet again. I wonder how Jack might remember our adventures down the track. A few clues have already been picked up. I know he really valued those quiet times and rhythms. I know because he told his grandfather about the trip on the phone and how much he had loved the time together – just the two of us. His grandfather then told me.
Can you see the story turning full circle here? My dad taught me something by taking me on that road trip. Have I ever let him know how much I cherish the memory? I have now.
Thanks for reading. Do you have a road trip memory? Feel free to share yours in the space below.
Bill Jennings
www.time-space.com.au
P.S. You can find this article, called just the Two of Us, in the Parenting Ideas e-Magazine Christmas Edition amongst a whole bunch of other great articles by clicking here
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