Where did I come from?

Nowadays, whenever I visit my parents at the family home, mum will show me the progress they’ve made in “decluttering”, which is the term she uses for getting the house ready to sell. A few months ago she gave me a box of books from my childhood collection. I simply added it to the pile of boxes at my place that I hadn’t sorted through yet after a particularly rushed move. When I came back to it, sure enough, there was that 80’s classic in soft cover: “Where did I come from?” This book was how we all learnt about “the facts of life”, and it boasted that this was achieved “without any nonsense and with illustrations”.

No nonsense sex education from the 80s

As we each play our part in the process of determining which items from 45 years of a household should be kept and which ones should be passed on, there have been a couple of trips down memory lane. One particular day Dad asked me, over a well-earned tea break, whether I’d ever lived in this house. “Yes, I grew up here, actually," I replied, as matter-of-fact as I could manage, reflecting briefly on the two or so decades that had shaped my current life; the many arguments about his loud television blaring while I tried to get to sleep and the moments lying in that bed, looking out that window contemplating my place in this life. “In fact, the room that you sleep in was once my room” I offered. Dad was somewhat intrigued by this new information, and what followed was a casual discussion about where I used to have the bed, and how he was now utilising the space. 

Although I’d occupied all 3 “kids” bedrooms at different times, it is now generally understood that the upstairs room was mine, the one closest to the bathroom was my brother’s and the front room, which had a window onto the front porch, was my sister’s. When they were babies, the twins had their matching cots in the front room, and I can remember them talking to one another across the room in their unique dialect of baby babble. They ended up chewing the white paint off their cot rails to reveal a pale, mid century green below. At that time, I was in the room nearest the bathroom, and the busy floral carpet that my brother later pulled up in favour of floorboards offered an opportunity to skip and dance from one hideous flower to the next on the short trip to the toilet.

The other day mum handed me several copies of the ultrasound images from when she was pregnant, dated May 1976. Scientific proof, finally, that I wasn’t adopted. The facts of life, without any nonsense and with illustrations. Mum’s sister, who had also harboured a belief that she’d been adopted, recently did a DNA test, and had to confront the reality that, like me, any feelings of being misunderstood or on the edges of belonging could not be put down to genetics. 

Proof of life

Another time, mum pulled out her journal from when I was 18 months old and began reading from it. According to her notes, it was a worrying time because “A” (as in, me) had been aggressive with other children, pulling the neighbour’s hair and hitting children at playgroup. This behaviour was UNPROVOKED, mind you, which made it all the more alarming. Together with a spate of possibly related nappy changing antics, mum was clearly at her wits end. 

I’m still not sure why the 18 month old me was pulling other children’s hair, but as a rage well known to women in the Autumn of their lives begins to take hold, I have empathy for that little girl. Rage or aggression can appear unprovoked, but really it rises up in response to a thousand tiny cuts, the multitude of micro-aggressions experienced on a daily basis. Almost fifty years later, societal views about the roles and expectations of girls, women and eldest daughters still exist. There is still a disapproval of "strong emotions", and an expectation that we can't have needs of our own. But rage isn't necessarily a bad thing. When channelled with care and purpose, it is the mother of powerful social change. I recently learnt that my grandmother, having realised that she couldn't stay silent any longer, had a quiet (but firm) word with Fred Nile about his stance on abortion. 

On another visit, while making space for a few of my clothes in my brother's wardrobe, I found a photo of my siblings and me in a 3-way embrace. They say that the sibling relationship is the most important and longstanding, because they have known us throughout all our phases of life. When mum’s uncle died a few years ago, his sister, the last remaining sibling, grieved particularly because he’d “left her all alone”. 

Siblings

On yet another occasion, mum presented me with a written exchange with the tooth fairy, from some 40 years ago. They say “Give me the child at 7 and I'll show you the adult”. In a suitably miniature font, the human protagonist has a couple of questions for her winged correspondents. She was concerned that the tooth fairies hadn't taken the tooth, which was their rightful reward in exchange for a gold coin. Furthermore, she wanted to get to know where these little creatures lived and what their names were. Integrity in business affairs and building meaningful relationships were as important back then as they are now. 

Miniature correspondence

As the trip down memory lane inevitably comes to a close, and the house mum and dad called home for almost half a century is gradually emptied of its “clutter”, the place feels more and more spacious. And with spaciousness, it's possible to  see things more clearly. I can embrace the aggressive toddler, the inquisitive child, and the loving sister as all true parts of a whole person. So, where did I come from? I believe we all come from ourselves, are shaped by our environment, and eventually return home to who we really are.

Under wraps

"Can you keep a secret?" I type the text message, then pause. I've been told that the news is embargoed until Monday, but I'm eager to tell someone. After staring at the words for a few minutes, I decide not to send and the message just sits there as a draft. There have been a few occasions recently when I have hurt others by revealing secrets that, while having an impact on me, are not mine to tell. I've also experienced that sinking feeling when you realise a trusted friend or family member has told one of your secrets to somebody else.

It got me thinking about secrets, though. There are pieces of juicy gossip, skeletons in the family cupboard, confessions we tell a lover, and those shocking revelations that only come to light after a person dies. These days we think of our society as generally being less secretive than it was even half a century ago. Unwed mothers are no longer sent "down south for a while" in a veil of shame, we don't hide our political beliefs as reticently as our parents did, and people don't disown you if you come out as gay. But there are a lot of things we still like to keep hidden.

I have been thinking lately about mandatory reporting, and the times when there are not just emotional but legal implications of keeping and telling secrets. We are seeing the life-destroying impacts of institutional child sexual abuse coming out of the Royal Commission. And, the continuing theme in those historic incidents was the secrecy surrounding it. Children were encouraged to keep the incidents a secret, and mostly they did - for a very long time. Perhaps they kept quiet under threat of violence, perhaps because they didn't feel they would be believed, or perhaps for fear of what would happen to the perpetrator.

I remember reading the memoire of a woman who had been groomed as a child for a sexual relationship with a much older man. He showed her attention and kindness that other adults didn't, and they increasingly found ways to be alone together. She was eight when the first incident happened, eleven when things got more serious, and eighteen when she began to break away. He died when she was in her early twenties. Writing the memoire many years later, she could reflect on why what he did was wrong, how it impacted her, as well as the circumstances of her life that meant she was particularly vulnerable to the abuse. She had kept the relationship a secret throughout their time together.

The Royal Commission reveals, if nothing else, that child sexual abuse is far more prevalent than any of us could have imagined, and its effects are still strongly felt by survivors half a century later. These are secrets that need to come to light in order to give a sense of justice and closure to survivors.  We need to shift the culture in our institutions from one of turning a blind eye to one of open-ness and of acting swiftly and professionally to address issues before they escalate. We need to send a clear message about what sort of behaviour is appropriate and what is not, especially when it comes to children.

So, I think about the secrets in my life. The ones I've told and the ones I've kept hidden for many years. I'd like to get better at knowing when to tell and when to refrain, who to trust and whose trust I need to earn back. Sometimes the unsolicited sharing of a secret can spell the end of a friendship. Other times it's just a blip in the road. And sometimes telling a long-held secret can be a way to find healing and comfort, and bring two people closer together. 

And as for that embargoed piece of news? Well, I'll tell you on Monday.

Slippery cabbage, soft rock and slidey slippers

As I wait in line to top up credit onto my phone, a familiar sound enters my consciousness. It's the nonchalant meandering of slippered feet across the tiled floor of the "Our Telekom" shop. Everyone wears flip flops in Solomon Islands, referred to as slippers, and they make a swishy sortof sound as people casually stroll about...to the counter where they take a small piece of recycled paper on which to write their details, then cruising wistfully past the cabinet with the new smart phones in it, stopping to greet an acquaintance or two and then proceeding to the end of the queue. I realise I'm going to miss that swishy, slidey sound.

Given that this was my last trip to Solomon Islands, at least for a while, I was taking time to savour those sights, sounds and taste sensations that make a place unique. I tried cassava in coconut milk again the other night, because an Australian colleague was raving about it, but, this only served to confirm that I really don't like it. The taste is too bland and the texture too starchy for me. But there are taste sensations that I have enjoyed and will definitely miss. I like slippery cabbage (or ferns, yep like the ferns you would encounter on a bushwalk in rainforest conditions) cooked in coconut milk, which is sweet and green and delicious. I also got used to banana pancakes at the Lime Lounge, and omelette a la 2 minute noodles, a staple lunchtime meal at Red Cross cafe in Chinatown.

Banana pancakes

This visit, my colleagues had organised for us to hold our staff reflection workshop out of town at one of the community learning centres where we work. I like visiting communities. Apart from seeing what is actually happening on the ground, its also a bit like camping. You take a head torch on the midnight toilet visit, bathe in the sea or river, and tell stories into the evening. At our workshop evaluation, a few people said it was the best workshop ever, so that was a great note to end on.

Relaxing in between sessions

For my farewell, a few friends and colleagues kindly accompanied me for dinner and dancing in town. I think the Solomons might just be the only place where my preference for soft rock is shared by those who in every other respect are way cooler than me. We grooved the night away to the sounds of Elton John, Barry Manilow, Elvis Presley, Billy Joel and some pacific island artists that I was less familiar with. I also learnt a new phrase in pidgin - "fillim up buckets", which I think would loosely translate to "crying a river", used to describe what happened when we thought of no longer seeing one another every three months or so.

Farewell at Iron Bottom Sound Hotel

But eventually the evening came to an end, and the next day it was time for my flight home. The goodbye entourage was there to see me off at the airport amid hugs and smiles. Fond farewells were slightly marred by the discovery that Solomon Airlines had changed the time of the flight and was taking no responsibility for onward connections. This risk was made clear to me during my handover 3.5 years ago, and had never eventuated until now. Having carefully planned a 90 minute connection in Brisbane, I was now left with 30 minutes in which to proceed through immigration, baggage, customs, transit to domestic, go through security and board the flight. Not being one to give up, I "mentioned" the issue repeatedly to the flight attendants until they upgraded me to Business class for landing and then I raced like I've never raced before. It turns out that particular connection can't be done in 30 minutes. 45 maybe. I have to say Virgin was very good about rescheduling me onto a later flight at no extra cost, and so all was well that ended well.

Solomon Islands sunset

I know I will look back on these years of Solomons travel with fondness and nostalgia. There were many difficult meetings, sleepless nights and challenging situations, but also times when I have never laughed so hard, and moments of immense pride and gratitude. I know that the APHEDA staff and the communities they work with are incredibly inspiring and dedicated people. I look forward to seeing where their careers and life journeys take them, and hope our paths cross again in the future. Lukum iu fella moa.

The story of the extraordinary helping elephants

My feeling is that play and storytelling are closely intertwined with a child's social and emotional development. What might seem repetitive or boring to us, is an important exploration for the child of an idea or problem until there is resolution or understanding. I would like to share a story that my nephew Noah has been working on recently, starring a trio of wooden elephants and some adult friends playing minor roles as assistant puppeteers and storytellers ...

The director and storyteller with his elephants

Once upon many a time there were three elephants; a mummy elephant, a daddy elephant and a Noah elephant*. This happy family liked to bound exuberantly over the African plains. Then, suddenly and tragically, during the course of such joyful bounding, one of the elephants falls over. 

"What happened?" the mother elephant asks in a very concerned voice. 

"I falled down" explains the Noah elephant, or the Daddy elephant, depending on who fell. 

"Don't worry" soothes the mummy elephant, "I will rescue you", and efforts are immediately made to help. If the other two elephants can't put the fallen elephant back on its feet, a large rescue truck or fire engine with a crane can be brought in to assist.

The family bound off happily again, until another calamity erupts. This time the daddy elephant, because he is actually a puzzle, falls apart and find himself bounding off without his rear end. But again, disaster is averted with the assistance of puppeteers, match box cars or a dinosaur figurine, and all is well again with the world.

THE END.

This story, in all its variations, says a lot about the story teller's own world view. Just last week he adopted a kitten that was found abandoned on a bus. whenever it cries he says "don't worry meow". A few weeks ago he became distressed when at the aquarium, having noticed a lobster that seemed stuck against a rock and wondered whether in fact he should help this lobster out of its predicament. It was only when he was reassured that the lobster's friends would probably help him out that he was satisfied and able to move on to the next exhibit.

As I delight in this stage, I wonder how I can foster and encourage the empathy that I see emerging in my young relative. Probably adding variations of the story that involve the elephants farting loudly and saying "excuse me" probably wasn't the best way to do this, in retrospect, particularly when I am told he now likes to insert this variation into everyday tasks at shopping centres and other public places, much to his grandmother's embarrassment! But on a more serious note, I hope I can join in modelling good helping behaviour, and I applaud Noah for his dedication in tackling such an important theme. I recommend the helping elephant show as a must-see for all ages!

*Any reference to real people is purely co-incidental.

Family Maiden Aunt

With my brother's wedding coming up, it has dawned on me that I am in that slightly uncomfortable place that Bridget Jones was so well known for -  being single and childless. Yep, I'm now the family maiden aunt. But don't worry, I'm not completely alone. Apart from good ol' bridget, there is also a close family member not in a committed relationship... my three year old nephew!! So the two of us singles will be bunkmates for the duration of the wedding. Sigh. Back home, things are not much more impressive. I'm living in a share house again, and my assets include a wardrobe that I found on the side of the road, a chest of drawers that has been with me since childhood, and my shoes are lovingly arranged on four bricks and a length of wood that was lying about in our garden. All that's missing from the picture of the poverty stricken, lonely spinster is a cat.

Not a bad companion, really

And like Judy Small, in her ditty about being the family maiden aunt, I may have experienced some inadvertent sighing and shaking of heads from extended family members. Topics of inquiry in my early thirties focused on things like "when are you getting married?" and "do you think you'll have kids?" Now that all that's been covered, and it seems apparent that I won't do either, there's just an awkward silence. Some people are almost too enthusiastic about my work - possibly afraid to touch on more personal matters, some seem wistful and a bit starry eyed when we talk about the things I have done recently like travel and work and activism and adventures. With others there is definitely the impression that I have taken the easy, selfish road.

So, I guess I want to explain. When I was younger I did imagine myself as a parent and a partner. I had a dream that I still occasionally indulge in... it's of a slightly rural, sustainable house, with a vegie patch, chickens, kids, and maybe even a few children. (The kids are the young goats, if that wasn't clear). During my teens and then again in my late twenties I spent a lot of time babysitting and as a nanny. I would return home utterly exhausted, but happy -  boring friends and family with stories of how Connor insisted we start populating his ant farm then and there, or how Lexi so beautifully explained to me why she was angry and what her needs were. Definitely the most rewarding work I have ever done has been with children, so I have some idea of what I'm missing out on. But don't feel pity for me. I've made some choices in life that have taken me on a different path. It's taken a fair bit of "work" for me to get to that place of acceptance, recognising that where I am is a result both these choices and the cards I've been dealt, but I'm pretty much there now.

I am okay with this, because I know there are certain things that I can do because I'm not tied down. There are perks. I can do the work I love without worrying about anybody missing me back home when I travel. I can be the person who attends a rally, or evening meeting because I don't have other obligations. I can fly down to Hobart to spend my day off with my nephew and or spend it helping a friend. I can walk the Overland Track for five days. I can sleep in on a Sunday.  And I am not under any illusions about how hard parenting can be sometimes. I have seen my own parents, and now most of my friends, at the end of their tethers, and struggling to keep it together at times. I take my hat off to you all. But don't envy me. You made your life choices, and there are perks for you too - cuddles in bed on a Sunday morning, 50 million facebook likes because your child just blew a bubble, and knowing that somebody small loves you a whole lot.

The perks - having adventures AND cuddles

Then there is the thing about leading a meaningful life. I have heard so many people say things to me like "my job was getting a bit dull, so I thought having kids would give me a purpose again" or "this parenting gig is the most rewarding role I have ever taken on". Sometimes I feel judged because there's an unspoken assumption that the only way to find meaning in life is through having children, and by extension, if you don't have children your life must be fairly meaningless. Occasionally I have bought into this view, and judged myself quite harshly as a result. But, when I think about the parents I really admire, they are the ones who are already engaged in lots of activities, and care about issues. Their children simply augment their lives rather than providing all their raison d'etre. Secondly, many people whose lives were particularly meaningful because they changed history through leading significant social or spiritual movements, were either childless or received criticism for abandoning their children and partner in preference for this spiritual or ethical cause. I recently read that the Buddha left for a 6 year pilgrimage soon after his first child was born. Sometimes I think there is so much to be done in the world, that we need a certain proportion of single, childless people to do the other, non-child-related meaningful stuff, unencumbered by family obligations.

So, luckily the wedding is going to be a very inclusive one, and outside of our immediate family there will be lots of people there who don't fit the conventional mould, many of whom are close friends of mine. And sometimes I feel so touched that my beautiful friends with children want to connect with silly old me, and I am reminded that we will always have our values and love for one another in common, even if we don't share being parents. But, if you find yourself feeling awkward about talking with me at the wedding or any other event, remember that I might have taken a different path, but I'm not from another planet, and I am able to engage in conversation on a number of topics, including other people's partners and offspring. I don't want to be treated with pity, envy or judgement. I would love, though, to find out what's really happening in your life, and what gives it meaning. And who knows what the future will hold. Perhaps I'll foster, adopt or step-parent some amazing little people one day, and then we can talk about that too!

In the life of a child

Noah and Auntie Leash

Just over a year ago I became an aunt and have been privileged to experience the joy that little Noah gives me when he smiles and the excitement of watching him achieve a new milestone. I've also become an adopted aunt to a few children over the years, and enjoy selecting meaningful gifts for them, receiving beautiful drawings in return, reading and telling stories, the games we play, and spontaneous cuddles. While I don't have any children of my own, it's important to me to be involved in the lives of the children in my life. As one wise person said:

"A hundred years from now, it will not matter what kind of car I drove, what kind of house I lived in, how much money I had in the bank...but the world may be a better place because I made a difference in the life of a child." - Author unknown

I remember some of the adults outside of my immediate family who made a real difference in my life when I was a child. Peter sent me postcards from all the countries he visited, and modeled living with integrity and passion. Colin quietly encouraged me to be adventurous and showed me that men can be kind and outdoorsy at the same time. Rowe announced to a group of us that even her bras were second hand and got me thinking about living simply. Mrs H was a teacher who treated all her students with respect even if they didn't get the high marks and showed me the power of believing in someone. Bruce was enthusiastic about camping trips and hands free phones  and taught me that being an adult can still be fun. Marg remembered our birthdays with thoughtful gifts and was genuinely interested in our lives. She taught me the power of unconditional love.

Aletia skipping with swirls, by Lily E

So, as the next generation goes about the business of growing up, I hope I can make even half the difference in some of their lives that others have made in mine. I guess time will tell. My wish is that I might always find the time to play, listen, encourage, and believe in. And that my life might be patterns and examples of integrity, depth, fun and kindness.