KerrieJean.com

Children want to fit in…..

But sometimes it’s not possible.

I’ve just discovered that a lobby group called Rainbow Schoolies will be agitating to make sure students of gay parents don’t feel strange when they make two Mothers Day cards -  or their Fathers Day cards feature sperm banks.

[http://www.smh.com.au/lifestyle/life/happy-fathers-day-mum--gender-restriction-a-challenge-for-gay-families-20111016-1lrfi.html]

Call me old fashioned…..but kids have always coped well  – on their own terms  – with parents of  ‘difference’.

Life goes on. No one gets too upset. No one goes beserk.

My father, Hec, was born in 1914.

It’s, of course, now common for fellas to hold off having children at least until they get their vasectomies reversed – whether that be in their forties, fifties or nineties.

But in the small irrigated township of 1950s Leeton, NSW,  Hec was launching his Fecundity Festival at the same time his peers were frantically arranging shotgun marriages or Papal annulments for their grown up children.

When I was born Hec was 45.

['In my dreams..' cr: Keene & Cheshire County photos: flickr]

In what was a stellar late breaking reproductive career,  he produced five lovely girls in a little more than six years.

Then – like so many brilliant late developing actors, singers or AFL footballers - he retired.

It was my difficult entry into the Catholic education system that confirmed My Dad was a freak.

As was family tradition, Hec delivered me into the clutches of angry, sweaty women in heavy black dresses and creepy long veils.

Tonnes of religious bling hanging from their thick leather belts clinked and clanked in the traditional Riverina  ’start of school year’  heatwave.

Was I having a nightmare in which magpies had grown to one hundred times their size?

No.

Looking around, I saw huge magpies hovering over many other kids.

But there was something else.

The fathers.

They were different to mine.

And it wasn’t just the missing teeth…….

They were jaunty with slicked back mullets, tight pants and - my goodness - some were even sidling  into the magpies…….

And the magpies liked it!

The harsh reality?

Me - five, Hec - 50, other dads 23-27, the magpies, indeterminate.

I did for many, many years want A Dad like all The Other Dads.

So much so that when the local Coles store ran a ‘Draw Your Dad’  Fathers Day competition my entry was of a young man with a mullet and missing teeth.

It won.

My interpretation of  Hec Ross writ normal was in the Coles window for two weeks.

Gwennie said the judges obviously had NO idea about anything.

I won a selection of ‘Old Spice’ products.

Hec didn’t want them.

He said no man worth his salt would walk around town smelling.

Even though he was very old, I thought he had a point.

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We all want to fit in, don’t we?

I still do but one thing’s for sure, my new mullet isn’t working very well towards this aim….not at all, not at all……..

Did you have parents that weren’t quite ‘right’ when conformity was the rule?

Isn’t it awful to think how embarrassed they made us?

Still…….fathering a child at age 45 in a country town in the fifties…..well I never!!!!!!

Feel free to report in on these issues – and anything else that takes your fancy. Do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

The Leeton Redlegs Australian Rules Club’s glory period co-incided with my less than glorious adolescence….

I was soooo pathologically nervy, soooooo godamm ‘kookified’ it’s a wonder I’m not writing as the Pacific Rim’s only known survivor of early seventies spontaneous self-combustion.

But……I’m not here [thankfully in one piece] to boast about how a very tortured teenager conquered her fears, eventually exploding onto the highly competitive Riverina dating scene as an audacious, even gleefully obnoxious participant.

No.

I want to speak candidly about a highly charged sports fitness/public/private life debate which always erupted in my hometown whenever a football team of any code resurrected traditional and potent images of masculinity……and made The Finals.

The question?

In the pursuit of maximum testosterone payloads, vital on-field aggression and team coherence should players refrain from conjugal activities the night before The Big Match?

[Coach and team: Pre-grand final training session. Cr: National Library Ireland: flickr]

Everyone had an opinion. Everyone was right. Everyone got cranky.

And, as the big day loomed closer, things got downright ugly.  

The Pre Big Match Abstainer Bloc was made up of sports loving spinsters, clergy, lawn bowlers and 50 percent of club officials. 

They were persistent, mad – and bad.

They even spoke of  kidnapping finals footballers’ wives.

For twenty four hours before The Big Game, they’d be held in camouflaged [dirt covered] caravans in the local Dusty Retreat Van Park and Dirt Slide. 

Their only comforts?

Nine dozen Cadbury Milk Trays and 10 dozen bottles of vintage Porphyry Pearl.

The Pre Big Match match Pro Conjugal Lobby was an unlikely coalition of potential players, players, former players, human rights activists and 50 percent of club officials.

They [many for the first time] spoke of sacred and mysterious relations between man and wife.

And they invoked a breathtaking range of anthropological, literary and scientific sources in support of their argument. 

Those sacred and mysterious relations had served as powerful nerve settlers for sportsmen throughout history -  chariot drivers and gladiators in particular. 

Furthermore, how could you ask brave men to do something which had never – and would NEVER - be asked of young and fit members of a champion netball team?

And so it was that The Big Game would be played – and won or lost.

And I’ll tell you this………

Post The Big Match,  no one ever dared to re-ignite the Coital Conversation whatever the result.   

*About 10 years ago, I was recording a story about the Australian Rules Football Club in the Tasmanian mining town of Queenstown.

It’s a famous club and so it should be.

Games in Queenstown are played on Australia’s only gravel oval. [Mine site 'leftovers']

Anyway, I finally had the chance to ask  a coach of the ‘modern game’ era his view on the ’sacred relations before finals footy’ imbroglio.

He thought, he thought again……he leaned into the mike……..

“There’s tremendous pressure on the blokes in the lead up to Big Games. Tremendous pressure….. 

“My recommendation? ’Don’t change ya routine no matter what it is.’”

…………………………………………………………….

So, is it okay that sports administrators think they have the God given right to go into bedrooms of young Australian sportsmen?

….Or is it just another sign of the ‘win at any cost’ mentality that has taken over our fine sporting traditions?

While I’ve got your attention, many commentators are saying it was very, very disrespectful for the ABC to portray Mr Mathieson and Ms Gillard in an intimate moment under the Southern Cross.

My response?

I think it’s time we got a new flag.

Anything else going on in your life….terrible or terrific?

Do report in…… 

By:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

If more than six people of an obvious gender approach me over a period of at least three days with startling news of an intimate nature I declare it a ‘Trend’………

Never one to blow my own trumpet BUT this methodology has proved far more reliable than all the resources of the Nifty Nielsen Box Ticking Corp combined.

And so it is I am able to report a trend so outrageous, so gobsmackingly audacious, so potentially explosive that for a couple of tense moments I feared my hearing was deteriorating as fast as the elastic sides of a size I6F homebrand bra.

[I'm back!: cr: Library of Congress: flickr]

SURVEY SAMPLE: 

Six women aged 50+: Reasonably presentable. Blood alcohol content, medium range.

Research fields: Three drinks and goats cheese [phew!] and dolmade platter parties.

Demeanour of sample: Flushed, excitable, disconcerting flickering of pupils, copybook post dolmade-ingestion windpipe constriction.

THE NEWS: That after periods ranging from 10 to 25 years, all six women were about to reconnect with their passionate/sensual selves.

HOW?????????????: By both *traditional and *non-traditional means.

*Traditional means included lies and subterfuge. 

[Example: To potential suitor: 'I'm 39 and haven't got a bitter bone in my body.' ]

*Non-traditional means included new lies and new means of subterfuge.

[Example: Posting up to 1200 different profiles on dating sites claiming everything from being a fomer Miss Pacific Rim -  to having the most expensive and well maintained Sealy Posturepedic King Ensemble ever manufactured in the Southern Hemisphere.

WHY???????????

All six women reported the need for a challenge other than the not inconsiderable ones presented by Pilates, delinquent teenage sons and the spectre of  blissfully happy former husbands et al who [10 to 25 years ago] had taken precisely 36 hours to recover from their drawn out, shockingly malevolent separations. 

The women also all reported recent sensations of  ‘veils of bitterness’  mysteriously lifting from their bodies.

CONCLUSION:

Australian rules of sensual relations are about to be re-written in nothing short of explosive terms.

Men of all ages will be fighting for the attentions of a significant cohort of attractive and intelligent women who’ve not been seen on the market since the ‘True Believers’ Federal Election of 1993.

In terms of infrastructure, restaurants, bars and nightclubs will have to meet new and expensive safety regulations to cater for the new cohort.

As it is in all social revolutions, everybody will be thinking differently……….

The lady is a ramp!

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Isn’t it great?

Even 22-year-olds will be heard on buses saying things like: ‘Gee, I wish I was over 50!’

Please report in on your thoughts and plans. You don’t want to be left behind – it’s a terrible feeling.

Perhaps you’re worried about the new sensual landscape…….why, why, why?

I really can’t see why you would be……..

 [I bet many of you said you'd never get a flat screen telly - and guess what.....guess what?]

Would love to hear from you……do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Dear Australians,

Particularly the 0.7% of you who think the top sort I share my life with is doing a good job…….

There’s lots of chit chat about the national broadcaster’s modest four-parter, ‘At Home With Julia’.

Isn’t it about time I was asked what I think?

Thank you.

Here goes………

I like a good laugh [who doesn't?]

And, trust me, the most important part of a hairdresser’s day is hosing down panic stricken clients [I said bob not swab!] with soothing talk about what’s hot – and what’s not – on telly. 

……I can’t tell you how many hours I spent chair side in Shepparton debating the urgent gender issues raised by ‘Buffy The Vampire Slayer’.

To [sigh] ’At Home With Julia’.

I have been miscast, misread - badly.

I am certainly not feeling superfluous to national – or domestic – requirements.

Quite the opposite.

I have never ever been in the unenviable possie of having to beg for a stupid, self respect draining ’date night’ .    

I adore hanging out in The Lodge. 

[Tim: 'It's more like this.' Cr: State Library Archives, Florida: flickr]

If I’m not flat out with official duties - Patron: National Prostate & Groin Region Festival, Patron: National Colorbond Men’s Shed Cult – I  just kick back……

…..Enjoying sharing Pantene jokes with the help has become a bit of a ritual: 

‘Mr Matheison, your 24 freebies haven’t arrived yet for the AFL Grand Final/Deniliquin Ute Muster/Manuka TAFE Eagles Tribute Night but I’ve been assured they will….’

‘Don’t worry Derek – it won’t happen overnight but it will happen……’ [giggles all around]

On the international front, I adore, simply adore my understated ‘Woolmark coat and Woolmark scarf’ appearances with Julia at the top of the steps of our RAAF jet…whoosh!

Then, I get to inspect lines and lines of welcoming military top brass in their fancy dress uniforms.

If they’re from a regime that I’ve been warned is a bit ‘iffy’ I always do a bit of extra strong eyeballing.  [Until now, I haven't told anyone this, no one......]

Anyway, I could go on and on……….

It is disappointing, even hurtful, to be so misrepresented.

The truth is:

I’m having the time of my life.

And just one more thing.

I’ll keep doing so until that ‘no fun’ Kevin and his missus put a stop to it.

***********************************

Don’t you agree……Mr Mathieson, as portrayed in At Home With Julia, is ‘all wrong’?

How long do you think his lease on The Lodge has got to go?

Will he get his bond back?

Do approval rating from thousands of ‘unknowns’ matter when you’re in love?  Personal experience tells me not at all, not at all.

Do be in touch…….it’d be great. Do it now by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Can’t tell you exactly what number wave of Feminism we’re up to but I can tell you this…..

The biggest dumper ever has just rolled in.

….I get about and in my dealings I have one rule - and one rule only:

I’ll listen to anyone who’ll listen to me.

All this week?

Men of all levels of attractiveness [hideous to hot] all levels of income [$0 to $00000000000000]  and all levels of reactions to seeing me [titillated to deeply distressed] desperate to declare what they want in women……

And what they want is the world’s most ruthless pastry deflector, Wendi Deng.

[I quit! Cr: Daleberts: flickr]

Sure [I say] Miss Deng has the reflexes of a woman one quarter of  her husband’s age…..she presents quite well……she has a sweet smile when she’s not deflecting pastries……..

….But come now, what does Miss Deng have – other than a man with $$$$$ and very good contacts in British Telecom - that other women [just like me] do not have?

Sure [they say] but Miss Deng  fights for her man…….deflects dangerous pastries……packs mean punches…………

They all say: I want my woman to do that for me.

So, no less than a critical juncture – the ‘Deng’ moment – in the appalling  history of gender relations.

With studies showing that men still only wash up 1.7 % of available dirty dishes worldwide, they’re now refusing point blank to rescue any more damsels in distress.

And the new demand is that women come out swinging in their defence.

Je refuse.

I’ve been out with many, many, many men who kindly, kindly, kindly folk took it upon themselves to forewarn me about.

……..Too bald, too hairy, too nice, too horrible, too comfortabe, too wretched, too immature, far too immature etc, etc, etc.

And the kindly, kindly, kindly folk were right.

The behaviour of the too-this-and-too-that fellas could generally be described as ‘indefensible’.

But I never ‘did a Deng’.

Never defended the indefensible.

I just went round and picked up my quarter bottle of Mum, old cottontails,  favourite sports bra and latex balaclava – and cleared off.

Pride, ladies and gentlemen, pride.

***********************************************************************************************************

So now, men want women to defend them…….?

I don’t know – sometimes life is all too much……..

…..I was brought up on the Gallipoli story….

I mean, aren’t fellas supposed to come out swinging on my behalf?

Wendi Deng’s behaviour – and the way men have reacted to it - is very confusing……

Or is it just me…..?

Come out swinging……it’s [apparently] easy……..do it by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.

Following on from my urgent missive on the new perils of cyber dating I have received a highly alarming unsolicited ‘on the ground’  report from my [unpaid] field correspondent, Roma Street.

[ My scary story if you missed it: http://www.kerriejean.com.au/2011/06/exclusive-no-women-on-dating-sites-by-2012/]

Is there NO end to the depravity passing itself as ‘high romance’ on so-called social media facilities?

Already, there’s thousands of nervy people in this site but if The Bald Face/Bumbook Truth makes us all tremble from the knees up even more – so be it.

Forthwith, I am calling for everyone to get Face/Bumbook out of their intimate lives.

If that’s NOT possible, I’d strongly counsel you rip down the page of  anyone you’re *romantically involved with - NOW! 

[*romantically involved = at least one date]

Now…….take it away Roma Street……

The ethics-free or ethics-neutral date-seeker can always go the thoroughly modern option of cutting someone else’s lunch via Facebook.

‘We did not meet on Facebook’: cr: BergenPublic Libray: flickr]

Pick out someone you used to go out with at high school or university, and give them a poke on Facey as a preliminary to giving them a poke in real life.

Judging from the anecdotal evidence of my geographical and parenting peers [a couple of whom have lost spouses to the practice], the Facebook hook-up with the long-lost squeeze is de rigeur for today’s toey singleton.

“Dear So-and-So who used to go to Leeton High School/Temora TAFE/Mitchell College,

Geez, what a small world.

I was just scrolling through a list of people on Facebook with the same exact first and last names as you, and there you were.

I often look back on those days and think…… etc etc etc……

I suppose by now you’re happily etc etc etc…………

I guess it wouldn’t do any harm if we etc etc etc etc….”

The next thing you know, someone else’s husband is standing before the mother of his children, suitcase in hand, saying:

“We really feel we owe it to ourselves to explore these feelings.”

Bingo.

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Ed’s note: Well, the tides may be rising and if we don’t do something soon we’ll all be wearing UV Cream to bed,  but Roma Street’s  report back made me feel very queasy indeed.

Does anyone have personal experience of Face/Bumbook as a romantic tool?

Would love to hear your ghastly [or happy] story – think of your contribution as a community service……..does that make it any easier?

Do your community service by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the URL thingo.