Dear Noah,
A lot of people in this world don't have great Dads. Some are abusive. Some leave. Some are around but really not around. I don’t know what those things are like. Some people do have great Dads. And I am lucky to be one of them. Your Papa/My Dad, is a good man. A great Dad. Noah, I want to be your great Dad.
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Part 1
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 My son has enormous brown eyes smooth, plump cheeks, and a little button chin that can melt your heart like butter in the microwave When you blow raspberries in his neck his giggles spill over like a waterfall and your melted-butter-heart explodes with joy My son has fresh eyes for the world a wide, open heart and I cannot tell him how much I love him cannot kiss, cuddle, tickle, snuggle-the-poop out of him anywhere near enough I have an abundance of that weird, want-to-squeeze-and-use-naughty-words-to-describe-the-intensity-of-my-love kind of love (You know the one right?) My son also has a blood curdling stomach churning brain deafening wild banshee scream with sharp, prickly edges that can endure, repeat and build in intensity for small windows of forever Part 1
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Sometimes chicken, chips and salad taste absolutely incredible. And it has very little to do with the chicken, chips and salad. Like when we were sitting in a room with a dear friend, a mate, a brother, who had jumped in the car and travelled 1.5 hours to bring this meal to us. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 There are some clear differences between being a Mum and a Dad. We could start with the obvious: Noah didn't grow inside my body for 9 months. He also didn't emerge from my private parts. I don't happen to have breasts. Each of those things means there is something between Sam and Noah that goes beyond the experience of parenthood I will ever have. Mysteries I will only ever observe in wonder. For Part 1, click here.
For Pt.2, click here Choices and opinions. They are riddled throughout the path towards parenting, and seem to exist in every moment once you arrive. Disposable vs cloth, breast vs bottle, prams vs wraps, pink vs blue. For Part 1, click here.
A few months ago, I had poo all over my hands. Let's give that some context. I was in the parent's room at Macca's. It felt like there was poo all over the floors, the walls, the ceiling. There was poo smeared up Noah's leg, on his hands, on his feet. I needed back-up, badly. This morning, my son tried to eat my nose. He’s currently commando crawling around the house, banging the ground with assorted kitchen utensils that have been offered up for entertainment and finding remnants of toast or capsicum on the floor from one of yesterday’s meal times. He squawks and squeals with delight, while eating one of his Mama’s Havianas.
Thoughts are banging around in my head. A writer who never writes trying to squeeze out some words, during this brief window of opportunity while little man licks Sam’s footwear and she sleeps. I have struggled to write poetry lately. This morning I wonder if it’s time to let go of that for a while; if it’s time to tell different stories with different words, to pause and let the beautiful chaos of the last seven months bubble up and out into whatever form it needs to take. It’s ironic - even a little idiotic - but I think, the most religious person I know is an atheist And I can already hear the objections to that sentiment The crowd switch-off, the flare-up of ‘faith vs. evidence’! But try to stay with me - this may be relevant whether you’re a ‘right-wing evangelical’ a ‘progressive intellectual’ or a ‘lefty vegan’ smoking the botanical I’m not a fan of the labels - trust me; I try to avoid them (Can’t we just agree we’re all human, and we’re all kind of annoying?) But I do find it funny that my friend, a Facebook activist atheistic strategist, trying to save the world with surprisingly violent words for a pacifist loves to remind me how backwards my passion is He’s a university student; he’s doing an arts degree (So we’ve got something in common; I’ve got an arts degree) But if you’re asking me - doesn’t matter if you’ve got an arts degree or a PhD in some form of scientific mastery Either way, you can still a bastard, be. Don’t take that as an accusation I just have some simple observations the same temptation for self-righteous proclamation and broad, sweeping condemnation can be wielded by every variation of information interpretation We all want to be right, right? We all want to lift our hands or fall to our knees sing, pray, preach, proselytise, lecture gather in conferences, forums, theatres rejoice and lament about the wonder and the agony and the mystery, of it all. about Higgs Bosons, protons, photons, the complex language of DNA the injustice of all the pain the hope of a tomorrow better than today! Surely these impulses are as human as believing you’re the ant the universe revolves around? But religion is a funny concept with myriad meanings Did you know Jesus seemed to only fight with religious leaders? Did you know every university textbook was written by someone, or some crew as grand and flawed as me and you? Did you know first-class academics have been in favour of eugenics and beautiful work has been done by ‘uneducated peasants’? Did you not know that all the boxes break? We’re all a little messy, a little religious a little pretentious a little evangelical a little lost a little in need of comfort a little in need of restraint I’m not a fan of the labels - trust me, I try to avoid them Can we just agree we’re all human, and we’re all kind of annoying? Beautiful, frustrating, growing children asking question after question thinking with our stomach, our scratches, our exhaustion trying to sneak in a bite when we get in a fight crying for a parent to intervene because our knees are bruised. So, how about we put ourselves aside for a moment dress each other’s wounds make some fairy-bread and play in the streets again. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about work.
About purpose, employment, income, bills, joy. Those fun things we’re all trying to juggle. I recently resigned from a job that was important, in many ways fulfilling and aligned with a significant amount of my skillset. It was stable, secure and paid the bills. I know this is more than some can say. And I know it seems crazy to walk out of those things without any guarantee of the next thing. For various reasons though, I felt a sense of call to step out of that stability. A long-term stirring; a quiet and persistent voice; a gut-churning I couldn’t ignore. To walk into some specific things I have felt compelled to do. To apply in my own life the messages I have told numerous young people: 1) YOU need to believe in YOU if you expect others to, and 2) You should pursue purpose over pay-checks. So, a step, a leap, a dive-bomb into risk and vulnerability. And as much as those two things have freaked me out – experiencing them has been vital to growth and learning I’m experiencing at the moment. But, before I finished up in my job, I couldn’t help but think about two ladies I learnt important lessons from in my time as a Youth Worker. Their names are lollipop lady and pork-roll lady. Well those aren’t actually their names, but for the time being let’s pretend they are (and we’ll address this a little later). Lady number 1: Every day when I drove to work, I drove past lollipop lady. She worked as a ‘crossing guard’ at one of the local primary schools. In other words, her job consisted of stopping the traffic to allow children to cross the road safely. Important, yes. Exciting…probably not. In essence, a simple yet important job that almost anyone could do, and a lot of us may feel would be a waste of our time and talent (because we’re sooo important, right?). Let’s come back to that. The important point: lollipop lady conducted her duties with a sense of dignity and gravitas that consistently blew me away. She was a lollipop lady on a mission. A glimmer in her eyes and a spring in her step told me that every single day she understood she was saving children from certain death and delivering them into the loving arms of education. She was to the lollipop industry what a dolphin is to Seaworld. Lady number 2: On special occasions when I had a spare fiver and a hunger for something other than tuna and saladas, I would walk up the hill to Ken’s pie shop (yep, that’s right – I’ve revealed the location; you can go get an awesome and well-priced pork-roll if reading this has made you hungry). Upon reaching the top of the hill and entering Ken’s pie shop, I was greeted by the most genuinely happy human I’ve ever encountered. She was not Ken. The bakery did not belong to her. But she made pork-rolls and displayed the best customer service under the sun. Was her job important? Somewhat. Exciting? Not really. And in contrast with lollipop lady who was at least helping save children from getting hit by cars, pork-roll lady was only saving people from lesser lunch options – no life and death here. And yet, every single time I went to get a pork-roll I was taken aback by how genuinely happy – nay, outright joyful - she was. Not in an artificial, over-the-top, annoying way. It was more of a childlike contentment, a cool, calm consistency, like she never, ever forgot that it’s a beautiful gift to be alive. So, here are a couple of things I learnt from these ladies. 1. Any job – no matter how major or minor, how varied or repetitive, can be done with purpose and joy. 2. When simple jobs are done with a sense of great importance, they have a huge overflow. On several occasions, simply observing these ladies influenced my perspective on my entire day and moved me from mental whinging to gratitude. But, what was the secret to their success? Dare I say, there are plenty of people out there in similar jobs who are just counting down the hours and wishing they were doing something ‘bigger and better’. What set these ladies apart? Well, I’m just speculating. But here’s my theory. Lollipop lady and pork-roll ladies have real names. And those real names matter because their identity is not built on their jobs. I’ve got a hunch they each have a strong sense of confidence in who they are, completely separate to their jobs. And that’s why they are so good at their jobs! And, I’d also say they see the beautiful fruit that even relatively simple jobs bring. Children crossing the road to go to school is important. Pork-rolls can really brighten someone’s day. There is purpose in the little things. Sometimes changing the world starts with making someone a pork-roll and being really happy about it. So whatever you are doing today – do it like it matters. Because it does. And remember that your name is not barista. Or teacher. Or politician. Or poet. You have a name, and your identity is something you bring to your job – not the other way round. |
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