My Life
There are many parts in my life that makes my life so rich. My parents brought me up in a happy home where they modelled compromise, love, and how to have a fun time. My brothers are the rock that holds me together. My grandparents were my heroes growing up that ensured that all my family had the opportunities we needed to succeed. Music is, and will always be, the cornerstone of my life.
I am also a talented cricket, table tennis, tennis, and an Australian Football League (AFL) player, and although I was never the best at any of them, I have competed in these sports all my life. I love being with my mates on the sports field or playing at home with my brothers. I also am passionate about the Sydney Swans, whose blood culture has given me many great memories. Most of all, though, my mates keep me happy and as sane as possible. This is my story, which starts by exploring all these areas of my life that I am profoundly grateful that I can enjoy.
From The Very Beginning
Notes from the Memoir...
From the very beginning, my life has been filled with richness and depth. My parents gave me a happy home, modeling the importance of love, compromise, and fun. My brothers have been my constant rock, supporting me no matter what. My grandparents were true heroes, ensuring that our family had the opportunities we needed to succeed.
All these parts of my life have created a sense of abundance in everything I do. Music has always been a cornerstone of my life. From the earliest age, I was entranced by the sounds of the piano, an instrument that became a lifelong passion. Sports, too, have been a significant source of enjoyment and fulfillment. While I may not have been the best cricket, table tennis, tennis, or AFL player, I have always competed with enthusiasm, sharing many memories with mates on the field or playing at home with my brothers. The Sydney Swans is one sports team that holds a special place in my heart. Their blood culture embodies the kind of sportsmanship and camaraderie I aspire to in all areas of my life. The most important part of sports has always been the opportunity to connect with others, and to share in something larger than myself.
Of course, my mates have been a constant source of joy, laughter, and sanity. Whether we're on the sports field or just hanging out, I value their presence more than anything. Life is meant to be experienced with others, and I am grateful every day for the connections I have made.
My memoir explores all these parts of my life and more - a journey that takes readers on a tour of everything that has shaped me so far. Through it all, I remain profoundly grateful for the abundance life has provided me. I hope that readers will take away the importance of finding joy and richness in all areas of their own lives and embrace the many gifts that life has to offer.
A Happy Home
Mother Dearest and Farter brought me into the world, demonstrating their love and willingness to compromise to create a happy home for their family. They met at church, where Farter learned to sight-read by playing hymns. To Mother Dearest, he was the cleverest person in the world - and he truly was.
Despite their different backgrounds and interests, Mother Dearest and Farter shared a deep bond and values that brought them together. They worked hard to create a nurturing environment for their three boys, instilling in us the importance of compromise, love, and hard work. As I grew up, I witnessed firsthand the impact of their love and values on our family. It was clear that their commitment to each other and to us was unwavering, and I am forever grateful for the home they created for us.
Born on June 4, 1953, Mother Dearest is the kindest and most compassionate person I know. She always has a story to tell, often about her beautiful boys or her many adventures from yesteryear. Her home is always tidy, and she is an expert knitter, sewer, and seamstress.
Mother Dearest has had a successful career in teaching, and her enthusiasm for education extends to students from diverse backgrounds. She has taught home economics, was a careers advisor, and worked in vocational education. In her vocational education role, she organized school students to attend Technical and Further Education (TAFE). After her redundancy, she returned to teaching welfare, which frustrated her until she was finally allowed to retire.
In retirement, Mother Dearest focuses on two major passions. First, she looks after Hawkesbury Skills, a turn-of-the-century building she has been on the committee for decades. Originally used during the war for various things, the committee has transformed over the years from arranging the work for the dole program to organizing the Secret Garden, a community garden for disabled people. Today, Mother Dearest helps maintain the old building and rents it out to various local businesses. Second, she spends much of her time at state records doing family history research and presenting to family history groups around the state, promoting their family history business, Turtle Consolidated Services.
Mother Dearest was brought into a loving family, and her mother, Agnus Norma Storey-Edinburgh, was a pure soul. She spent most of her energy raising two beautiful boys, Roger and Edward, and two wonderful girls, Denise and Lorraine. Unfortunately, we lost one of the fine men in recent years to a sad heart attack. It took a lot of effort to look after Grandy, Victor Joel Storey, who was a confused man after his father left their family home, leaving him looking for answers for the rest of his life.
While there aren't many memories of Grandma, her hospitality was legendary, as she invited everyone into their family home with biscuits and cakes. Up until her death, she made sure Grandy was always looked after. After her passing, Grandy turned slightly sour, struggling to look after himself, and infamously yelled at Mother Dearest and Farter, which made me weary of him.
Overall, Mother Dearest has a heart of gold and has inspired many with her life of service, care, and passion. Her presence and unwavering commitment to her passions have blessed her family and community. She truly is a remarkable woman.
Farter, Laurence John Turtle, is a smart and interesting person. Born on July 22, 1953, he has a balanced and educated perspective on political affairs. His most impressive skill is his ability to summarize information precisely, which he used to help you with my English essays to ensure you always got better marks than I deserved.
Farter is also a perfectionist. He has shared stories from his youth about feeling dirty or not achieving his desired level of success in school. Despite these setbacks, he achieved great success as vice-captain and came second in the state for music—accomplishments he should be proud of. During his youth, Farter was an active member of the young Labour Party and was being groomed to be the next minister at their church. He was also academically gifted, earning high marks in school and ultimately gaining admission to law school. Farter had a few girlfriends before taking Poorpa's advice to ask out Mother Dearest. It was the best decision he ever made, and their love and partnership have stood the test of time.
Farter is a kind and attentive person who cares about the success of those around him. His skills and experiences have shaped him into the person he is today, and his self-discipline and attention to detail have helped him succeed in both his personal and professional life as a father, History and English teacher, music teacher, and family historian.
Mother Dearest and Farter showed the power of love and compromise as I grew up. Mother Dearest dreamt of living in the country, while Farter preferred city living. They met halfway and moved to the quiet town of Kurrajong, located about two hours northwest of Sydney in the foothills of the Blue Mountains. This picturesque village had rolling hills and a vibrant community where many family friends lived, ensuring that 'home' was never short of company.
Mother Dearest stayed home until she returned to work as a Home Economics teacher at a local high school, while Farter left his job as an English and History teacher at Hawkesbury High to work from home. He set up a piano studio and taught his three boys, nurturing their love of music. Farter's commitment to his family extended to their friends, many of whom also became part of the Games Night Family. They shared a supportive environment that emphasized the importance of both family and friendships.
The Games Night Family comprised families who grew up in Fairfield and moved to Hawkesbury. They would take turns hosting activities monthly, with adults and children enjoying themselves. The adults played adult games while the children played activities like hide and seek in the dark, eventually became mulberry fights as the second-generation Games Night Family got older. Though the group's composition changed over the years, the core remained stable. The importance of laughter and an enjoyable time together remained constant.
Looking back, I had a wonderful childhood. I eagerly anticipated those Friday nights when many families would have piano lessons with Farter while Mother Dearest entertained the adults upstairs. The Games Night Family was a highlight, and spending time with such a supportive group is a cherished memory. Mother Dearest and Farter modelled what true love was, and my family had a happy home.
He Ain't Heavy He's My Brothers
My older brother, Phillip John Turtle, Philby, was born on February 20, 1983. Twenty months older than me, he welcomed me into the family despite wanting a baby sister. Philby was a conscientious child who loved escaping by reading mystery books and demonstrated an early love of languages. He idolised me, and we spent most of our childhood together. Our bond was strong. While he was less coordinated than me and struggled with his gross motor skills, he excelled in languages. He can speak fluently Japanese, Mandarin, Vietnamese, and English. While grieving from a failed marriage, he finds himself as a teacher, cricket coach, and umpire. He is quiet but is full of love for his family, close friendship circle, and Harry Potter.
The family was complete when David Lawrence Turtle, Davy, joined the family on April 23, 1987. Mother Dearest wanted three beautiful boys, and that is what she got. Davy had his issues. His stomach was not working correctly when he was born, and he could not digest food. He smelt rank! Davy was also born with Elephantids, in which his big left toe Alfred, reached adult size as a baby. His left knee was significantly bigger than his right. This meant he had to buy two pairs of shoes, his left being two sizes bigger than the right. Once he had an operation across the longitude of his stomach and had surgery on his toe, he was ready to go. Davy has grown into a beautiful man who is a loving friend, father, and husband.
In my fondest childhood memories, my brothers and I were inseparable. We spent countless hours playing cricket and table tennis and exploring the country on many memorable holidays. Davy and I shared a room. Our bedtime ritual regularly consisted of a game where one of us would extend an arm from the top bunk, and the other would scramble to catch it before it retreated. Unfortunately, one night ended in disaster when Davy's grip slipped, and he came tumbling down, shattering his collarbone.
Despite our misadventures, we couldn't avoid our shared passion for sports. In the backyard Rugby league tussles, Philby was known for barreling down the field and sending us flying. Our friendly matches against the Cliftons were always hotly contested, though they had to endure the occasional whiff of sewerage because of a nearby sludge pit when they made their way up to their piano lessons. During one game of rugby league on the cricket, I made a feeble attempt to halt Philby's charge, but instead, I delivered a knock-out hit that left him in a neck brace for weeks. Sorry, bro!
But it wasn't just physical play that brought us together. We had a shared love for scoring and statistics, which we explored through our many games of cricket dice. As the bowler, we would roll two dice, and if the total was less than seven, the batter received no runs. If the sum was seven or above, however, the batter turned to roll the dice themselves, recording the number rolled as the runs they scored. Rolling a five meant the batter was out. We spent hours playing this game, constructing our fantasy leagues, and creating our favorite players. We fashioned entire competitions out of our love for cricket and statistics and thrived on recording and keeping score. As much as I loved the sport, I admit I got too carried away talking trash and often lost track of the score. This habit whilst scoring, got me into plenty of trouble.
Philby’s life has been a series of journeys, panning across different continents and cultures. He spent a year in Japan growing up, which was a year of significant trauma for me. I wish I had my big brother here with me, as I am sure he would have protected me. He spent a year in Kunming (China) as part of his double degree in International Relations and Education, which I believe is a great mix of disciplines. He spent two and a half years out at Uluru as a tour guide, where he made some great friends, enjoyed cooking, and entertained the guests with the help of his mate Cowboy. Finally, Philby spent six months travelling around Tasmania as a tour guide and sharing some of his gifts.
Philby then spent four years in Vietnam, where he shined. He enjoyed teaching at a school in Hanoi where students showed him much respect. He spent the evenings instructing various students at their homes and in the classroom, he created at his home. He fell in love, and we flew over for a memorable wedding where many of our family and closest friends shared a fantastic two weeks. He then brought his wife out to Australia, where she broke his heart.
Philby is still finding his feet in his career as he adjusts to teaching in Australia. He influences every community he becomes involved in. He was nominated for Citizen of the Year in Coleambally after only being in the community for two years but was mistreated at his placement in Yoogali. He currently lives in our home and spends most of his time teaching, umpiring cricket on television, watching cricket, and eating a lot of tasty food. He slowly gains confidence while healing from his failed marriage but desperately needs someone to talk through his grief. I hope he finds himself and learns to harness the gifts that he has been given.
Davy is an incredibly talented piano player, a wicketkeeper, a rugby league player, an AFL player, and anything he applies his mind to. He is a wonderful friend who has always had a large friendship circle growing up and who has a beautiful time together. Yes, they drink and gamble way too much, but they have remained loyal to each other, are all dedicated fathers, and are thriving in their chosen careers. Many continue to play cricket together and have had many memorable parties where they let loose. They used to meet up at RG Magees and wherever the party was, and although separated by distance, our family is never far apart.
Most of Davy’s mates met in Whistler before making their way down the West Coast of the United States, where they explored 'the College Scene.' Some of them then moved to Central America before Davy decided to spend a year in Toronto, Canada. Ten years later, he is still there.
With his love of AFL, Davy joined the Rebels, Toronto's AFL team. While playing AFL in Toronto, Davy discovered two of his most beloved companions. A young lady heard about this fantastic young Australian and asked to take him on a date. The rest is history. They now have a loving marriage and two beautiful boys. I did not have much time to get to know the boys, but we formed a loving bond when I spent time with Emmett. I hope they will again love their crazy uncle as I get to know them better. I want to show them how important it is to love your brothers because they can give you joy and a beautiful friendship. I hope their crazy uncle can prove how it is possible to have an enjoyable time, regardless of what hurdles life throws your way.
Unfortunately, the other fantastic companion lost his battle with cancer recently and can no longer share his happiness and joy with us as he did in his lifetime. Thank you, Josh, for being a fantastic friend and companion for my beautiful younger brother and generally a good bloke. RIP mate! You have no idea how much you are missed!
You shared so much joy with so many people. I did not get to know you well, but I will always treasure you finding the time to watch a Blue Jays game with us, even though you were working yourself off your feet trying to get your restaurant humming. Finding someone like you, who never had a bad word to say about anyone is hard. We will keep your memory alive and ensure that Matilda grows up knowing what a spectacular human being her dad was. You are no longer with us here, but your spirit will always be. I hope to be reacquainted with your beautiful soul in heaven someday.
My Grandparents Were My Childhood Heroes
Being teachers, Mother Dearest and Farter worked hard during school terms. As soon as all the work was done, we were off. We would pack our beautiful dog Smooch in the back of the Tarago and head up to Wagstaff, a small town on the Central Coast where my childhood heroes, my grandparents Poorpa and Nanna, lived. Our second home at Wagstaff was a happy place. Poorpa helped us catch our first fish off the jetty and taught us how to body surf at Kilcare Beach. We would be welcomed with vinegar, onions (with lots of sugar), and jelly.
Poorpa, Donald John Turtle, had been brought up through The Depression. His cheeky father, Silly Billy, an orphan (even though he did not know it), would entertain him, providing him with a lot of love and an early love of politics. I never met Poorpa’s mother, Great Nan, but Nanna told me, she was the most beautiful person in the World. Farter spent much time with his grandparents and his cousins growing up. Poorpa’s childhood was filled with lots of music and opportunity despite growing up in The Depression.
Nanna, Faith Trevethan-Turtle, was raised in an orphanage. She told stories of the night her mother was taken away from her. She witnessed her mother slit the throat of her Father while she was in her crib. Nanna's mother was taken to a 'nut home' for the rest of her life. Because her Naughty Father could not be trusted around children, Nanna was sent to an orphanage. She grew up in separate homes with her two loving sisters and spectacular brother. Because the warden felt sorry for her, she got special privileges, such as calling first dibs on the fruit. She did not start school until she was seven because she was so small. She was bullied by a girl called Joycey Tricker, who soon learned not to mess with this strong woman. Nanna would go on to become a seamstress but desperately wanted to be a nurse. Her Naughty Father was too scungy to buy her the pocket watch and uniform she needed to learn the trade. Her dreams were squashed but not her spirit.
Poorpa told me it was love at first sight when he met Nanna at Petersham Dance Hall. Nanna came with her Spectacular brother Ern and Poorpa with his cousin Dorothy. They swapped partners. Poorpa and Nanna learned to jitterbug, with Poorpa learning to throw her from shoulder to shoulder and through his legs. After that, Poorpa went West on a Harley with one of his mates, picking up whatever work he could find. He talked about shining people's shoes in towns like Nyngan and Walgett. But when he received a letter from the Great Nan saying that The Nanna was visiting her daily while he was away, he came hastily home.
Poorpa and Nanna got married, both aged twenty-three. They built a home together in Fairfield. Poorpa would give Nanna tasks during the day while Poorpa went to work. Poorpa worked in many roles, including a lift mechanic, and eventually became the mayor of Fairfield. While he had strong socialist values and was in the Labor Party, colleagues respected him as he would fight for what was right, regardless of what side of the political spectrum the perspective was. While Poorpa was in politics, the Great Gough Whitlam often spent many hours at their happy home, even as Prime Minister. Poorpa was so dedicated to the people he served that he was willing to take calls whenever needed. He was known to leave the family to solve the problem if it was urgent, even on Christmas Day.
Poorpa was known to party well into the night with his mates. He loved fishing, rugby league, jazz, and playing the clarinet. However, because he was so busy during the day, he only had time to practice the clarinet early in the morning. Poorpa told me stories of being so sore after a game of rugby league that he would be sore most of the following week, only feeling good enough when it was time for the next round. He would then do it again the week after, playing tough, hard footy.
Poorpa loved a bit of rough play. As was expected back in the day. He told me a few tricks. He said to me that often, he would rile up his second rower with a few jabs under the chin so that the second rower would biff on with the opposition's forward pack. When the umpire asked Poorpa what happened, he always pleaded his innocence.
Poorpa taught me how to kick a footy, organized for his friend in the United States to give me my first clarinet, and shared his love of jazz. He took me on a memorable trip to the Grafton Jazz Festival, where I got acquainted with a young Ses, his beautiful King Charles Spaniel. We caught catfish on the Richmond River and met some great musicians. Poorpa shared boundless joy in telling me stories about his king and queen, Louise Armstrong, and Ella Fitzgerald.
I loved spending time at Wagstaff, but they moved to a new home in Saint Huberts Island when we were a little older. I have even better memories there. I remember fishing (or crabbing) in the Brisbane Waters, swimming against the current in their small pool, and devouring Poorpa's favourite food. Not only would we arrive at vinegar, onions, and jelly, but we would usually have delicious prawns to consume. Poorpa thought that if we tried oysters, we would not like the taste and the texture. He could not have been more wrong. Unfortunately for him, we loved them, and his share was significantly less.
Although he loved oysters, Poorpa loved sharing with his grandchildren. Poorpa gave unconditional love to everyone he knew, especially his grandchildren on both sides of the family. This love could be felt in his presence. His big blue eyes shared the window to his beautiful soul. Although he loved the Labor Party, he was just as passionate about justice and supporting the disadvantaged. He never swayed from his integrity. Poorpa talked about 'keeping the bastards honest,' regardless of what side of the political pendulum they swung. To my hero, people were what mattered. People were getting what they needed. He would do anything in his power to ensure no one went without.
I am proud every time I go to Cabramatta, where I can see my hero's name on a plaque. I get excited about visiting Canley Vale to share some Pho with Philby, knowing what an influence Poorpa would have had in this multicultural society. His mate Gough Whitlam did more in his short stint as Prime Minister than any other Prime Minister in the history of our country, bringing into full swing free education and significant reforms such as ensuring that hemophiliacs can self-transfuse instead of having to go to the hospital every time they bump and bruise. I often wonder how much of these great ideas spawned from discussions over a few beers with my great Poorpa.
Nanna was the perfect companion and partner for Poorpa. From her background of living in an orphanage, her life was dedicated to raising her two beautiful children. She built the family home from the ground up, restoring all the furniture herself. She ensured that her children had a good education, upbringing, and a happy home; however initially began learning the piano for herself. Still, as her children's enthusiasm grew as they explored their musical talents, she ensured they were given every opportunity to succeed. This led to both pursuing careers as music teachers. While also encouraged by Poorpa's beautiful sister, much of the family has taken a musical route.
Music was an essential part of all of Farter's cousins' life. Both Poorpa and Nanna’s children expressed their musical talents in diverse ways. Farter was more of a perfectionist who would practice small chunks of music slowly until all the parts fitted together. Aunty Suzie would practice from start to finish and return to the beginning again to play the whole song until it was perfect. Farter had a dab into the violin as a second instrument, while Aunty Suzie was often seen transporting a cello larger than her petite frame.
Nanna ensured that both children competed in Eisteddfods to compete against other talented musicians. Here, Farter was head-hunted by one of the adjudicators, Marjorie Hessie asked him to learn from her as a mentor. Once cherry-picked, Nanna ensured that Farter was supported to travel to the Conservatorium to learn from one of the greatest Australian Composers of the era, where he mastered his art.
It is no surprise that music is still a big part of both Nanna’s children’s lives meet regularly to play duets with a few other local piano teachers who must be a big part of our family's life to this day. Nanna focused all her time, effort, and energy on ensuring her children lived in a loving home, had every opportunity available, and encouraged them to follow their dreams—luxuries she was neglected and was never given the opportunities to fulfil herself with his Maid of Honor by his side. Poorpa and Nanna were a great partnership. A marriage that lasted more than sixty years.
Best Family In The World
I have been lucky enough to have an amazing extended family who all get along and meet up regularly. Farter has one sister, Aunty Suzie, whose family I have grown increasingly close to as we have grown up, and Mother Dearest has one sister and two brothers. This side of the family’s get-togethers have always been full of joy and laughter.
Aunty Suzie is an energetic, dynamic little lady full of joy and good cheer. Her husband, Uncle Stephen, had a stroke recently and can sometimes be a little cranky, but I have a special bond with him. Their daughters Catherine and Heather have married exceptional men who fit into the family well and are exceptional fathers. Heather and Jon have brought the beautiful Violet, Hamish, and Gemma bringing new energy and spark to Christmas. Young Bodie brings a smile to his parents, Catherine and Steve, who will take on their parents’ personalities.
Mother dearest’s older sister, Aunty Denise, is a very pure person, just like her mother. She is a very touchy-feely person who needs lots of hugs. Her husband, Uncle Paul, is the funniest person I know. He is a small, bald Maltese man who has always provided me with a lot of laughs with his jokes and banter.
Their oldest son, Michael, is an authoritarian man who served in East Timor and came home with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. After a failed marriage, he married the love of his life, Wendy, a wonderful mother to their two amazing children, Rosie and Caleb. Rosie is my little girl, and I miss her a lot. Aunty Denise and Uncle Paul’s daughter, Pauline, is a kind and intelligent woman who continues to provide everyone with much love and joy. She met her soul mate, David, when we were kids, and they used to look after us when we were children. They have two amazing children, Cameron and Naomi, who have always been important to me. Cameron has married the beautiful Liv. They are going to be wonderful parents one day.
One of Mother Dearest's older brothers, Uncle Ed, passed away on Christmas day a few years ago. He was a jolly, happy man who was always full of joy. His wife, Aunty Lee, is a gentle lady who never talks badly about anyone. Their oldest son, Scotty, is a redhead who spent his earlier years travelling and finding himself. He found himself when he met his Thai wife, Tiraporn, whose beautiful daughter Ava is full of joy. Their youngest son, Chris, is one of the funniest men I have ever met and really should have taken up stand-up. He married Mel and is now showing what a great dad, he is with his daughter Evalyn.
Mother Dearest’s oldest brother, Uncle Roger, is a simple man who enjoys the best in life. He married Aunty Jane, who was a little harder to have a good relationship with but always showed me a lot of love. Unfortunately, their daughter Bronwyn passed away when she was just a baby, which was the end of Aunty Jane. Uncle Roger will call you every birthday and spend money he does not have on you. He will tell you the smallest details of his day but fill you in with everything happening in his life. He has a heart of gold and will let you know how proud he is of you and the family at every opportunity.
Christmas on both sides of the family is full of joy and good company. We meet up for birthdays, weddings, engagements, and some funerals. Uncle Roger made it clear to me many years ago that he is so proud of the family. He said, ‘Everyone just gets along. There is not one drop kick amongst us.’ The whole family is a gem to be around. They are hardworking, intelligent, and enjoy great food and lots of laughs.
Music of the Spheres
My palpitation for music started early as Farter was forced to give me my first lesson just after my sixth birthday. Early in my life, Farter had given up his prestigious career as an English and History Head Teacher to teach piano from the baby grand piano at home. I loved music early, which would stay for me for the rest of my life.
Dad’s rule was that if we did our piano practice in the morning, he would make lunches and wash up. So, I started with timed eight-minute sessions. As I used the freedom of my music to escape some of the more mundane and traumatic aspects of my life, this would turn into one, two, three, four, and sometimes more hours of practice at school and in the evenings. I loved it. The free feeling of playing my own and other people’s music. Mine and other people’s masterpieces.
Music was in the family. Dad’s Aunty Bettie Bunnie had taught him and his sister Aunty Suzie, who too became a music teacher. Aunty Bettie also taught Aunty Helen, who teaches music at Mclean on the New South Wales North Coast. Aunty Helen has been fortunate enough to be the duet partner of David Helfgott, the infamous musician whose movie Shine proved his traumatic and eccentric life personality. At one point in one of our stays up at Maclean, she offered to take me to meet David. Still, I thought second about it due to being uncertain how I would take a nudie run considering the trauma I had recently experienced.
I have always played the piano every time I walk past the it. Farter started me on the more advanced Piano Koala Capers that he reserved only for me instead of the more favoured Jane Bastien beginner’s book. I picked up the piano quickly and soon got a 10-dollar Guild scholarship for getting the highest marks in the country for my preliminary exam.
I played at a range of Eisteddfods, getting mixed results. It was likely that I would win, but usually, it was in the top three. I settled into the Australian Music Examinations Board (AMEB) system, whilst many of Farter’s other students did the more Popular-focused Guild exams. I was born with a mixture of classical, jazz, and popular music. I did not get passed sixth grade, as I was traumatized by a mere B+ in the sixth-grade exam because my previous results had been much more favourable. Looking back, I should have been happy with a B+, considering the trauma I was going through. But I am a perfectionist. I did play much harder songs, as many of my AMUS songs would have been categorized in the AMUS level standard.
Poorpa enthused me with a love of jazz. He loved listening to various jazz musicians, from Fats Waller to Ella Fitzgerald, Duke Ellington, Dizzy Gillespie, Benny Goodman, Billy Holliday, and his king Louise Armstrong. He shared Duke Ellington’s love of trains, as train rides were often the basis of many of his songs. He explained Louise Armstrong’s unfortunate life, where he had to learn the trumpet in prison due to some of the most regrettable events, mainly because he was Black. He took us on a memorable trip to the Grafton Jazz Festival. I got to rub heads with some leading Australian jazz musicians at an early age. I remember going to one of his favourite bands as a teen, where he tapped away madly to the beat, with his Parkinson’s-ridden body, and waved his walking stick wildly in the air. He ensured that I was educated in jazz routes, soul, and blues and had a healthy appreciation of Boogie Woogie and Ragtime.
I always played duets. Growing up, I played with Alan Amor, who is no longer with us. Later, Spider became my partner. I would go up every week to Spider’s house at Bowen Mountain, where we would religiously go through our songs five to six times, trying to perfect any minor imperfections. We practised hard but never got the reward we deserved at Eisteddfods, maybe because our touch and style were slightly contrasting. Spider is one of those quiet and unassuming people who are perfectly happy in themselves. He would never make an issue of the fact that he even plays the piano, let alone practised so damn hard on these duets with me.
I also played duets with my two brothers. One Eisteddfod Philby just stopped playing. He either forgot where he was up to or just lost his train of thought for a bit. I am known for giving him an immense death stare, but we soon resumed the song. Because he regathered his thoughts and continued where we left off, we were rewarded with a high commendation. I also played a memorable duet with Davy where we won the Eisteddfod playing ‘All You Need Is Love,’ one of The Beatles classics anyway. It was a flawless performance where I played the melody as I was at the peak of my game at the time.
In my teen years, I was mesmerized by the piano playing of my friend Mark Heath. He had a much darker style than me, which reflected his personality at the time. He would often come over to our house, and whilst we were all hanging out downstairs, he entertained himself by playing his freestyle music. He improvised and struggled with more structured pieces, but his music was beautiful. For his HSC, he performed a beautiful composition that ensured that he was awarded for playing his song at the Opera House as part of the Encore Showcase, a performance of all the best young musicians of the HSC for that year. Although he struggled with performance anxiety like me, a professional player played his beautiful composition to a warm reception. Mark came running onto the stage in the encore and showed his big and often misunderstood personality.
I first heard Mark’s composition at school one day when I first performed the best song I have ever written, the Weatherman. This is a song I wrote whilst September 11 was playing out on the TV screens. I believe it accurately portrays the mood and sentiments that were being felt at this touch-and-go moment in history. Everyone was impressed when I played my song, but when they heard Mark, they just said, ‘Mark’s shits on yours.’ I was frustrated at the time but could see the funny side. Mark’s composition aligns with any of the great romantic period songs with drama; he played it with such a feeling. He did so much more feel than when the professional played his music.
I also spent a lot of my time playing the clarinet. I had a clarinet that I received in the post from my grandparent’s friends in California. It was a 1920s clarinet with a pure tone. After the frustration of the typical squeaks, I got to learn a complex instrument, and my embouchure tightened as I practised more and more. I would catch the bus up to Bowen Mountain for lessons from a beautiful lady, Alison. I came second in the one Eisteddfod I played in and was starting to show improvement in my music theory at the time. I was good at the clarinet since it was my second instrument. It was like learning a second language.
I played in the School Band and Hawkesbury District Concert bands on a Friday night. Playing the clarinet was an excellent way for a young man to meet ladies. Talented, intelligent, and gifted young ladies. I used this opportunity to flirt with a young flutist, who now plays for the Sydney Symphony Orchestra and a beautiful young lady who supplied the painting I used as the front cover of my first book, The Consumer Journey. Despite spending most of the time following what the more senior clarinet players were doing, the school band and concert band sessions were full of joy. And well. I was getting distracted by a lot of flirting.
As I practised more and more, my repertoire grew. I played a few classical songs, some jazz classics, and many great pop and rock standards, including songs from musicals. I began exploring all the great songwriters and their tricks. I did a songwriting course at TAFE, where I learnt the structure of music and about the music industry. I always kept one week ahead, as I was learning from a piano teacher up in the mountains. I was starting to get my style.
At school, I often beat myself up for minor errors in exceedingly tricky songs, and stage anxiety took hold of me. I could not play in concerts. Even at Eisteddfods, I could win a section and be completely down on myself for not playing it flawlessly. At school, the compromise was that I would play at all the major events and functions instead of the concerts, as I thought no one was listening. I would play some of my songs and the repertoire I had built. I would play melodies as the official party walked in. I would give them all sorts of beautiful tunes as they walked in, including the Dark Vader song and ‘Here comes the bride.’ Whatever I thought, it would be condescending. This always got a little chuckle.
Now, the piano is more relaxing than anything. I do not have to think about what I am playing; my voice always warms up a little more. I have always struggled with my voice to the point where I was told that warming off milk would bring about a better tone. So, I did not drink milk for nearly fifteen years. Nothing improved. I am now happy with my voice and glad to play whatever comes to mind. Some bits of songs, improvising, and playing chord structures at will. I enjoy asking people to choose their three favourite chords and playing whatever comes to mind. It is about knowing the scale and chord patterns and letting your fingers take your mind wherever it is at any one point in time.
Hours on the Cricket Field
When Philby came home saying he wanted to play cricket, Mother Dearest and Farter were in shock. ‘What would you want to play that game for?’ They thought.
Regardless, Mother Dearest took Philby down to the registration day for North Richmond Cricket Club and signed him up. A few weeks later, I tasted the great game at Philby's birthday party, where I found out that I was surprisingly good. I joined Philby's teams that year with his coach, Joe Pearce, giving us all a good taste of what the game had to offer. I desperately wanted to be a wicketkeeper, but when they saw me bowl, being a wicketkeeper was no longer an option.
In my first cricket season, I was seven years old and playing under the tens. That year, I came second in the end-of-year statistics to my childhood hero, Carl Chesterman. I averaged eleven with the bat, which was not bad for a seven-year-old playing with a bunch of kids three years older.
In one game, I remember coming up against the superstars of the competition, those Richmond Boys. We played the game of our lives to have them nine wickets down, only to realize they had been saving their superstars for last. Number 10 and 11 blasted us everywhere and won them the game. Little did I know that one of those Richmond Boys, Punter, would become one of my best mates and most cherished teammates.
I spent all my representative cricket in the first or second slip beside Steven O’Keefe (SOK), who went on to play for Australia and has been one of the most consistent and well-respected players in the Big Bash league. From under ten's to under sixteen's, we played competitive cricket and achieved wonderful things as a team. I look back now and think about the excellent players that comprised that team. I am grateful that I played alongside such great players who genuinely were magnificent people. Unfortunately, I had a few selfish meltdowns that hampered my relationships with my teammates and the opportunities I received in representative cricket. Looking back, if I had better control over my emotions, things may have turned out a little better for me in my friendships. More opportunities would have come my way in cricket and later in life in general.
With any sport, the trips away bring the most incredible memories. I remember one of the fathers of our Representative Cricket Team telling the hippies up at Nimbin that the whole team was his children. The Nimbin hippies were impressed that one man could have so many children. It was also a memorable night the entire team was kicked out of Pizza Hut because we sang our song so loudly and boisterously. 'We are the boys from the bush and are back in town. Going to play cricket till the sun goes down. Going to take wickets if it takes all day. Come on down and watch us play.'
I underperformed in representative cricket, considering my talent. After my breakout season in under elevens, when I played one of the best innings in my life, I was asked to be one of the three players to represent Hawkesbury in a regional competition. I remember how excited I was as I cycled up and down the hill near my house, screaming out loud. But this opportunity never made for anything as I never got to play cricket at this level. I never got another chance like this for the rest of my life. I performed well at the club, never anything more.
Cricket became a big part of our family's psyche and routine. Although Philby lacked my talent, he was my greatest supporter. He came to every game and scored every ball. He was always there to ride every wave with me.
As I got older, I got utterly entrenched with the game. I formed some of the most incredible friendships with mates, and we continue to be friends up to this day. I brought my bat to school every day and played with my mates during most recesses and lunches. We played without pads, which made me an excellent leg-side player. I was not afraid of getting a bruise or two on my thigh. At this time, my two best mates, Az and Nath, were also obsessed with the game. We would play cricket on the weekend and talk about the game until Friday. Then we would do it all again.
I had a few good seasons in club cricket, where I thrived as captain. Although I was on the losing side, I scored half the team's runs one year. I was destroying bowling attacks at that point as I tried to dominate. More importantly, I was playing with my mates, and they looked up to me. I was polite and honest and would do anything for the team to win. I had a coach who believed in me. I virtually ran the training sessions. I was fit as I spent my spare time running or riding my bike. I was enjoying life, and my friends were enjoying life with me.
My family life was great. I had supportive parents who would take me to and from every game despite having to split their time between three boys. We often walked down to training if they could not make it, stopping to get slushies. We had the energy to burn, even on sweltering days. If my parents could not make it, I would catch the bus up the mountain to my coach's house, Steve Tadich or one of my other friend's parents would drive us.
We also fit into our busy lives with indoor cricket. This was always exciting, and I felt invincible indoors for a few years. I could field less than a meter away, which was hard to get past. I played a representative indoor for a bit, and we were beginning to match it with the adults. I could bring the best out of my teammates. Some of my mates had minimal talent, but I gave them a chance because I loved them. I loved being out on and off the field with them. I loved the game. I loved my mates. I loved life. And everyone loved being around me.
This transformed into senior cricket. I got to play with Philby and brought out the best of him. We opened the batting together. While he had a reputation for batting ‘as slow as a turtle,’ with his brother by his side, he scored close to a run a ball. Fields would spread when he would go out to bat. Intuitive even hit his first six. These were the best days. We played rugby on the turf fields while not out in the middle. I was known to tease opposition bowlers. Play games with their psyche. Grown men charged in, and I would laugh at them. I had complete control. I knew where they would bowl the ball, and I could hit them wherever pleased.
My most incredible memories of senior cricket were playing with a Little Master Bonnici. At school, he would run around everyone else with a soccer ball. He could sidestep twenty players and leave them bewildered. He was a complete master in complete control. On the weekends, he entertained us with his hilarious commentary and little pixie jumps every time we got a wicket. Bonnici was a joy to be around. They were good times. Full of joy, happiness, and excitement.
My passion and love for cricket waned in my late teens. Transitioning into seniors, I was starved of opportunities at my beloved North Richmond to play in the higher grades, so I moved to Windsor and Pitt Town for several years. I played my best cricket in my time at Windsor as I was dismantling attacks, mainly medium and slower-paced bowlers. Still, every inning drained me a lot of mental energy due to the frustration I had for the game.
I was playing Durham Shield, under nineteen's representative cricket, as early as fifteen years old. Here, I outplayed many players who became hardened first-grade club cricketers. If I had made the slightest mistake, however, I would beat myself up. I could have been more pleasant around those years and would angrily pace up and down. By the time I got to Pitt Town, the love was gone. There were glimpses of talent, and we won a few premierships, but I contributed little to these teams. I still enjoyed what happened after the games, but not so much on the field. I have a lot of regrets that I did not fulfill my talent. As I transitioned into senior cricket, I was so dirty that I was not given the captaincy, as this was given to many old heads.
When I returned to cricket after university, I had some of the best moments of my life. I won five premierships in seven seasons. I was, however, the twelfth man two years in a row in the grand finals at Pitt Town. The first year I returned to North Richmond, I joined the best team I had ever played in, including Az, Boots, Crossy, Waddo, Watkins, Buzzy, the Mann, Rosie, and Todd, the man who would become the best captain I ever played under. We won a great premiership the first season back in a team where, apart from Waddo and Mattie Rose, we were all within two or four years of each other. We played unbeatable cricket that year. We also had a damn good after-party. The Cross and I shaved our heads and had a game of Goon of Fortune where there was a slope and ensured I drank every drop of that flask. I then walked for hours with Az. Even though we differed in opinion the whole way home, and I drove home way above the limit, it was still a great memory.
I stuck with my team for several years and had a lot of great memories. I played my best innings in the grand final. That was the only time I played a match-winning role in the final. Although I am still dirty that I was not awarded man of the final, Frosty also played a match-winning role, so I respect that he also played a great match. That team was beautifully captained by a man who believed in all of us and found out how to get the best out of us. We had some great young players that year and some great older heads.
A few years after my last premiership, the Heaters brought the heat in the semi, and the Wide-Eyed Cain batted the most memorable innings of my life. His father, a great coach, if not the greatest, sat down with me in an intense discussion before going out to bat. I was surprised because I was going in at number eight, where the useless batter bat was. However, with great intensity, he assured me with confidence that I still had a significant role. I got out to bat, and I have never seen eyes as wide-eyed with concentration. He was already on one hundred and thirtyish, but I assured him his job continued. I did not last long, but The Wide-Eyed Cain went on to blast them for a memorable 220. It never felt like we would lose after that, but the Young Guns gave it a red-hot crack. When Craggles got that final big wicket, I felt a rush like never before. This would be my last premiership, and although there is no evidence in the photos that I was at the after-party, we partied long into the night. Although he was the weakest player on the team, the other Rose led us beautifully and demonstrated how much respect we had for the Young Guns in a memorable speech. I always have and will always have respect for that beautiful man. I regret sledging the Young Guns as much as I did, but at that time, I let my ego get in the way of just enjoying the game. They deserve more respect than that and have made it a lot further in the game than I ever did, even though I potentially had the most talent.
I have some great memories of cricket. My most fantastic personal recollections on the cricket field include an impressive single-handing batting display against Gosford Wyong at my favourite ground in Creek Shield, hitting nine fours in a row to win a match outright, including my first six, my highest score in which I hit a six to bring up my ton, with the Skipper going off in the background, smashing them everywhere on my return from Thailand with my best mate Az, as well as my memorable 49 in a second-grade final. My other great memories include my best mate getting five for an inning against Heaters and the Wide-Eyed Cain's great knocks, Punter's gritty ton, and the Skipper hitting the winning runs on the last ball for the Sixers. There are many memorable moments, but these are the highlights.
What I will remember most about the great game, however, is the memories you make in the sheds after the game, sitting down waiting to bat, talking about all the great memories you have had with your mates, and being out in the field on a hot day doing your best to keep everyone motivated. I took it way too far with the sledging, but I love being part of the team. Although I had talent, I thrived in my prime on the losing side and had little contribution to winning sides as I became a better team player. I prefer to be an ordinary player in a good team than the star player in a lousy team any day.
I never bowled in all the good sides I played because there were always better spin options. Although this gave me incredible frustration at the time because I was training so bloody hard and was consistently bowling in the nets, I am grateful that I became more of a team player. I became someone you do not want to play against but respected by my teammates. Although I once lost my love for the game, my mates helped me find it again. I will always be grateful for the memories.
Davidson Shield
As I was expected to be the next best thing, I joined the school cricket team with all the other year twelves in year seven. Of the six years I played school cricket, we were regional champions four times. We went on some amazing, memorable trips away. The first years were unsuccessful. At first, I was so little the opposition bullied me a bit. I thought this was disrespectful because any year seven player playing senior cricket is an amazing feat and should have been respected.
The second year, I was captained by one of my childhood heroes, Carl Chesterman, and we made it to the semi-finals, where Westfield knocked us off the perch in a close and well-fought match. We had done well to be regional champions and travel to Maitland for the finals. Chesto was a great batter and a wonderful bowler at the time, and I looked up to him immensely. We had an amazing bowling attack, including Nick Cain, Luke Shelton, Tim Malfroy, Chesto, and a Young Eldo in the mix.
When the senior players returned to their schooling duties, Brad Roberts took over the reins of captain, and I played a special inning. I, however, fell from grace by dropping a catch in the outfield, a catch that slipped right through my hands and hit me on my head. This was my first concussion. At that point, my mental health deteriorated, and I had regular outbursts on the field. This outburst was my first truly embarrassing one, as I never had one before that.
This was fueled by a night out where I snuck into the Cessnock High School disco, where Kat and her friends had snuck me in. It was that night that I had my first kiss. Honestly, I do not even remember what the girl looked like, which I am a bit ashamed of. I was the novelty of the night as I was a young, attractive man at that point. All the year twelve girls thought I was a lot older than I was, so I got a lot of attention. I also remember having three cans of Coke and a Red Bull, something I had not experienced before. No wonder I did not sleep that night.
The third year was the only time the Richmond Boy got the better of us. They had SOK, my teammate Cooky, and some other mates from my club cricket teams. They really should have done better, but they did not have the depth. I remember getting three wickets that game, including getting SOK out, but I bowled three wides in a row as I was trying too hard. We crumbled, chasing a total that we should have got. In between all this, we also beat the Richmond Boys in a school indoor cricket comp. Like the Pitt Town side, who always beat our superstar team in club cricket in the finals, the Colo Boys played better and had more spirit.
The next two years were magic, including memorable trips to Wagga Wagga, Inverell, and Bathurst. I had the chance to win a match in Wagga Wagga with a young Crossy but got bowled on a deteriorating pitch. Crossy’s mum reminds me of walking off with a big smile as if I had just won the match. I did not know how to control my emotions at that point. I was going through a lot at home at that point.
Inverell was awesome. In my womanizing prime, I got acquainted with the local ladies early on in our stay. The boys did not take this too lightly and came and raided our hotel. These country boys tried to tie me up and drive me down the road in their Ute. When we were introduced to the school, Walshaw purposely made a fool of himself in front of the whole school, as ‘tensions’ were the trend of the time. Inspired by Jackass, we were all playing practical jokes like this. I thought this was the funniest thing in the world. We did, however, win and progress to the finals again to play at Bathurst.
We did not play good cricket on the first day at Bathurst but made up for it by doing better than we did two years earlier by coming third in the state. I have great memories, however, of the night at the Gold Panners Lodge, where I again acquainted myself with the ladies and had a memorable game of touch football. The group of mates and parents on this trip were top-notch and would become good mates later in future cricketing ventures.
We never went on to win the state competition but were rewarded by the school principal for going damn close so many times. I think about how good we were, even though three or different generations of players for such a small public school. We matched it with the sports schools who hand-selected their players.
Two years after I left high school, Colo High School did win the Davidson Shield in a team that included Davy, Eldo, Cainy, and so many other boys that would later be the Northo first-grade team. I think about the profile of college sports in the US and the fact that no one at our school knew how damn well we were and what an amazing feat it was to be that good for so long. If we were that good in the US, we would have been on the TV, the whole town would have come out to watch us play, and many of us would have gotten scholarships into college. It was not like that, but we had great memories and had such a wonderful time.
Controlling Rallies on the Tennis Court
Tennis has never left me. I began lessons as a four-year-old with Mr. and Mrs. White. My brothers and I learnt in group lessons with various family and cricketing friends. We used to play little round robins and were progressively assessed on our skills. Looking back, I was playing with some talented players, including someone who was acknowledged as potentially the most talented junior golfer in Australian history before his tragic death. Tennis lessons were always competitive but lighthearted. My older sister from another mister, Rach, continues to remind me that I destroyed her confidence early on because I never let her win. Not once. I am sorry sis. I love you.
Because Davy wrote left-handed, his natural inclination was to play left-handed. Mr. White, however, was very traditional and believed that everyone should play right-handed, so Davy learnt to be right-handed predominant. As a result, he does not play a backhand to this day. Whatever side it is, he hits a forehand. Then he has some amazing shots that he cuts down and uses both hands, like a double-handed backhand, but he does it on both sides. This gives an amazing spin that is unhittable. That is why I naturally slice my backhand, trying to imitate this shot.
My brothers and I used to play competitions in the school holidays. Philby and Davy sometimes won but usually got participation awards. I often won. In one competition, I was winning the final five to one when I had my most memorable dummy spit. This trumped any tantrum John McEnroe or even Nick Kyrios would be seen doing on a tennis court. I threw my racket and ran off the street, where they threatened to call the police if I did not come off the road. They banned me from playing at any of their lessons or competitions until I was 13 or 14.
While I did not pick up a racket for years, I began playing with Mark Heath. He was an amazing piano player but was equally as good at tennis. He played in the first or second division in the incredibly competitive Richmond Competition. He had a good top spin backhand and forehand a more powerful serve than me. He was a bit more erratic than me, and I knew that if I kept in the rallies long, I could win them. We played once, twice, and sometimes three times a week. We either played up at Kurrajong School, the Kurmond School Court, or down his road at an old lady’s court. She would hide the key in the letter box. I loved my battles with Mark. He always won. But one day, I played the game of my life and beat him. We never played again.
When I went to HAC, I began the Richmond Competition. I began in Division Five and had some competitive games. I was the second player to a much better player who taught me a lot. I was getting a reputation for returning to the games, having good rallies, and never going away. We won that comp. When I returned from Thailand, I bought a racket, which improved the quality of my shots. My hunger grew. I increasingly went up the grades. When I made it to second grade, me, and my partner, Wilbow, had a bit of a run. Suddenly, we were the targets. Everyone had to find a way to beat us.
As the competition slowly dwindled, there were slowly fewer divisions. There were fewer skillful players. I went through a patch of not losing a game for three or four years as my skills increased. I went through several partners. I could not find anyone to commit to weekly games before finally finding my perfect doubles partner, Oggy.
Oggy and I played for years together. Although we formed some impressive rivals, I do not remember losing too many nights. Oggy and I were a formidable team with his long reach and put-away volleys at the net. Oggy was my favourite doubles partner of all time until he injured his knee playing football. He tore both meniscus in his knees, which meant that he needed an operation on both his knees. This temporarily stopped our run.
I went through a run-in single where I would lose the first match of the competition and then go undefeated thereafter. I was hard to beat over the distance and developed a formidable forehand. My backhand is a strange double-handed chop, modeled on Davy’s backhand. I try to control the rallies early with the forehand. I try to keep my running to a minimum and run the players side to side. Some nights are better than others, but I try to stay as much in the backhand court as possible, so I do not have to play too many backhands. I have learnt to work out the player’s weaknesses, and if I am losing, I try to find a way to change my game. Obviously, some players have more talent than me, especially some of the young players coming through. I love seeing a young player who really gives it a crack. I lose it if an adult beats me comprehensively, but if a young player is ‘good enough if he’s good enough,’ I love it.
During my time at HAC, I played tennis most days with John Bob and Wax if he felt up for hiding. John Bob always told me that he won many national and pan-national championships growing up playing table tennis. I thought he was bullshitting me until I went to his house and saw his cabinet composed of a frame of his hero Roger Federer and all his trophies and medals. John Bob is a big-hitting left-hander with a solid backhand. He always kept the rallies short because he knew the longer they went, the more rallies I won. I never beat John Bob but went close from time to time. As Wax got better, we had some great battles on that hard court. John Bob really enjoyed these battles. He said that if I applied myself, I could have played on the tour. Not a great player on the tour, but I could have pushed the top one thousand.
I have played a little bit of tennis here and there since. I have had a few lessons to try and get over the ball more. But since Oggy did his knee, I have struggled to keep my emotions together when playing on the court. I have lost a lot more games, and I am taking it far too seriously. Oggy ensured that I was intense and competitive but gave me the confidence to ensure that I did not lose it. I do not remember one outburst when playing with my great friend. I hope to return to the game and regain my love of it.
Turtle Table Tennis Table
Even before my brothers and I were big enough to stand, we would play table tennis with our trusty table tennis table. Setting it up in the carport of our first Robertson Street Home, we would need stools to be able to reach the table. I remember a young Davy falling time and time again off the stool until he was finally big enough to stand and play with his big brothers.
As soon as the school holidays would come around, we would set the old table tennis table up. The table was an old wooden thing that was, in fact, two tables. We had to put it together by screwing the multiple butterfly screws together to hold the rickety legs together. Because these battles were so fierce, by the end of it, we had to align the two parts to the table in particular angles because there were so many holes in the table from throwing and banging rackets on them.
The most memorable table tennis games were around Australian Open time in early January when the three brothers would try to emulate our favourite tennis players. We used to make our own Turtle Table Tennis Table (TTTT) Open draw that would be ferociously competed. Our pride was sky high when Australian players played well, especially the Woodies. Because all three brothers were ambidextrous to a degree, we all wanted to be Mark Woodford, especially the year he made the semi-finals. We would draw out of the hat to know who would get to play the great left-hander Woodford, who was prominently known for doubles. He gave us immense pride the year he had an exciting run in the singles Australian Open. I could not actually play a backhand left-handed like I do when I bat in cricket, but I still had a lot of control. My other brothers are more than adequate playing both right and left-handed without requiring the other hand for support.
When one of my brothers would want to play table tennis, they would ask AT for TT. I had a similar code for each of them when they agreed to a game, it meant that they would be engaging in a ferocious five-set match. Regardless of who won, we were all similar in ability that it would always go the length, regardless of whether we were playing right-handed or left-handed. The sets would often be close. The games would often go set for set because it was hard to maintain the intensity that the sets provided. Often the person who won was the one who was lucky enough to serve first in the first set. There was nothing between the three brothers unless I was in one of those moods.
Because we were always so competitive, the winner often had a table tennis racket thrown close to their forehead by the loser. We never did any severe damage to each other, though, but there were some close calls. There were a few holes in the wall, yes; and lots of broken rackets that our parents refused to fix because we had done it out of anger. We would have to save up to get table tennis rackets to replace the ones that we broke.
Table tennis has remained an important part of my life in most eras of my life. When I was at university at Campbelltown, a group of six or seven people were all roughly the same standard. This is always the best sport when you can compete at a level that others are at a similar level. It does not really matter who wins and losses if it just must be fought hard and competitively. At Campbelltown, we played as often as we could. It was fun!
This trend continued at HAC. Again, there were about six or seven of us that could either win or lose, depending on the dynamics of the day and the level of concentration one brought to the game. I used to get immense joy out of seeing the competitive Wax struggle to get a point off me at the beginning, but in true Wax style, he worked his ass off to be competitive.
Snail, a friendly sort of a guy, found a way for me to not even win a point. Snail was number one in the country in the computer game Halo. Even the top ten players in the country refused to play against him. He got offered a scholarship to play Halo full-time but chose to follow his studies instead. I could not get a ball past Snail, even at what I think was my table tennis prime.
I was playing so much table tennis at HAC that I made it to the finals of a competition where I won some money. But Snail’s hand-eye coordination was superior to anyone I had ever met, other than my childhood hero, Chesto, and was the best defensive table tennis player I have ever come across. I would play shot after shot, long rally after long rally until I eventually over or under-hit a shot. Snail, you could have let me win one point, mate. I am not actually that bad. You just made me look like it.
I like table tennis because it needs a lot of intensity, hand-eye coordination, and concentration. It fits my skill set, but like most things, I can compete to a level without being exceptional at it. I can compete, and win against most, but people with superior hand-eye coordination like Snail, Crossy, and Chesto, would trump me every time. I am working to accept that I am not perfect and that there will be people better than me at whatever I am trying to do. I am trying to accept that doing my best is enough and that I am enough.
Aussie Rules
I have always loved the AFL, ever since I was introduced to it in 1995, when the Sydney Swans had their first taste of success in the national game. Growing up in Sydney, it was known as ‘Gay FL’ as both my peers and I were raised on Rugby League. Although Rugby League has also been a big part of my life, I have tended to favor this faster, more expansive, and skillful game in my view. We had played Rugby League in the backyard, and apart from a few AFL cards I had collected, I had heard nothing or knew little of the game.
Growing up in a Rugby League-focused community, I desperately wanted to play in the league. My hero growing up, my Poorpa, had taught me how to kick the footy and I had loved following his Easts Roosters. Poorpa had followed them all his life since growing up in the Eastern Suburbs. The Roosters had been good to me growing up, making five grand finals in ten years with all-time great players such as Freddy Fittler, Luke Ricketson, and Craig Fitzgibbon, giving me many great memories.
I remember Poorpa giving me my first taste of Grand Final fever in 2000 when he bought us ‘obstructed view’ tickets at the new Olympic Stadium. He only bought us these tickets because they were cheaper, but there was nothing at all wrong with them. It was great seeing the skill up close but unfortunately, the Roosters lost due to a wonderful game from Broncos’ full-back Darren Lockyer. This was my first game watching Rugby League live since we were kids when I watched my first game. In 1991, I had been to my first and only game up to this point, when Penrith Panthers beat their rivals at the time, the North Sydney Bears. Greg Alexander got the best of his rival, Jason Taylor, in that game.
My point in bringing Rugby League up is that I had desperately wanted to play competition rugby league due to having a momentous day of playing second row in a school competition. We almost won the competition and formed a remarkable forward pack with some other players who were playing representative Rugby League at the time. They had seen something in me and desperately wanted me to play. I had several arguments with Mother Dearest; she did not want me to destroy my body before I was thirty years old. Her compromise was that I could play AFL because there were fewer injuries in this sport. Plus, this boy, Crossy, had been pestering her at cricket for months for me to join his team, The Hawkesbury Saints. He was the captain and had seen me kick the ball a bit in the school playground.
I knew nothing about the game, other than what I had learnt from a few Swans games I watched live and on the television. I had been following them since 1995 but did not really know much about the game. The other boys in the team seemed so tough and had grown up in much ‘rougher’ circumstances. The coach seemed to yell at us a lot, even if we did not seem to make many mistakes. I was surprised by how rough it was. They all looked like such ‘pansies’ running around in short shorts on TV. But they were so tough on the field. They really could lay a tackle and make it hurt. Really dig your head into the turf and make you feel like you had earned picking up the red Sherrin. You had such little time to get rid of the ball. It was easy to take a mark or get the ball, but you had to do something with it almost immediately. You had to get your head down, pick up that ball, and then decide in seconds what was the best way to dispose of it. It was great!
And running was important. I loved running at that point. I remember starting training with three laps. I would often lap the rest of the team. Sometimes twice. I could keep up with all of them except Crossy. I wanted to be like him. He was a great leader and I admired everything he did on the field. He was tough, and just got the job done.
The first season was a bit of a blur. It was under 15s and we made the finals. We beat some good teams, but some good teams beat us. We came third or fourth, which was a true reflection of where we were, better than most. But the top teams were a head above us. We had a great ruckman who was our star player along with Crossy. We had some tough guys. A few guys who could have a good game, and a few beautiful indigenous players who showed me some new skills. Our coach was tough on us but fair. He was good at getting us pumped up for a big game. This made it an exceptionally fine introduction to the game.
I remember the finals vividly. I got a head knock early, which often meant I would play a good game. But I turned into an asshole. We got a bit of momentum and had built a winnable lead and then the lights went out. It was a night game under the lights at Bensons Lane and someone had sabotaged the game. I remember yelling out multiple times ‘Plug your asses, boys!’ I am not sure why, but I did. But after the game resumed, we lost the momentum and they overrun us with a big last quarter. We were still in the game until Crossy was tackled from behind. This stole our momentum. It stole our spirit. Crossy’s head went down and ours with it. We lost the game.
That was the last game I played with Crossy because he went on to play representative footy, struggled with a back injury, and then a hamstring injury after that. He was destined to get drafted into the AFL despite all his injuries but lost his wonderful, beautiful, and inspiring dad, Steven who we all loved and looked up to. Crossy still plays a lot of footy and cricket out in the country, but when he lost the person that inspired him at that pivotal moment, he lost his drive to make it to the top level. At that point, I think he just decided to enjoy his sports and enjoy spending time with his mates.
I was lucky enough to enjoy some of that mateship up close later on the same side of the cricket pitch a few years later. I got to see some of his skills up close from the slips cordon as his mean bouncers would terrorize opposition players from a good length. Although Crossy was not drafted into the AFL, he was still one of the toughest sportsmen I have ever played with. His great ton to make us minor premiers in a third cricket competition will always be memorable.
Anyhow back to AFL, well sort of. Because I was going through a tough time at home, I struggled to commit to the next season. I left the game halfway through the season. The other person I had signed up with, Sam Beck, had asked me to come across and play rugby for HAC. His dad knew about the HAC culture and wanted me to be a part of it.
I would later discover the beauty of this culture, but I was not ready yet. Beck would drive us to train in his Paddock Basher Ute at extreme speeds in the places where he knew the police would not be, and slow down where he knew they would be. I could not get into this rugby thing. It seemed a bit gay to me. Putting fingers up their bum to lift them into the air to do lineouts. This was all too much for me. Plus, I was playing against men. They took immense pleasure in running straight at a skinny little 15-year-old and scoring every after try on my wing. This bowled me over every time I tried to make a tackle. It was hilarious for them but humiliating for me. Plus, there was a big drinking culture even back then. This was a bit much for a fifteen-year-old.
So, I committed to the next AFL season. It was under eighteens for the Western Jets. There was a great culture at the club, and they appreciated my enthusiasm, toughness, and fitness. I was developing into a man and had quite a stable routine of running at least six kilometers each day, doing a heavy session of weights, riding my bike in insane distances, and finishing the day with one hundred pushups and one hundred sit-ups. I was fit, to the point where I would play under eighteens in the mornings, then play reserve grade, and occasionally play on the bench for first grade. I played my first game for first grade and scored the one and only goal of my career. I was later knocked out and they could not stop the bleeding; yet, another concussion, which could not be good for my mental health. I never returned to playing another first-grade game ever.
In the under 18s, there were only five teams in the competition. Some games were epic road trips to Cronulla or Wollongong, while some were at Bensons Lane or against the Penrith Emus. Initially, the home games would often be a mix match of players and I would often play my best games. By the end of the season, however, the opposition had better things to do than to travel to Richmond and would not even make the effort to come down. Because I was a presence, I often overcrowded the forward line, so I was asked to primarily defend. I was also told to follow the ball up after I kicked it. I took this way too literally. In one play, I followed up four kicks from half-back and finished a dead eye kick into the forward fifty to a leading player.
Many of my teammates just did not have the skills to compete at this level and with the level of physicality of the other teams. Playing senior footy, I excelled at this level and was rewarded with a Best and Fairest. This was more of a sympathy award because they wanted to encourage me to come back and be the future of the club. It did the opposite. I was going to university so decided to leave AFL on a bang.
In one game, Davy filled in for us at the University of New South Wales and was kicked in the eye. I did not realize that he was even on the field or off it as I was focused on winning the game for my team. He was supposed to be playing a representative game the next day at the Olympic Stadium but had a ruptured blood vessel in the eye. Any movement was potentially fatal. And although he missed the precursor match to the Swans game against a Papua New Guinea Junior side, it was a buzz to see one of my heroes out on the ground, even though he was carrying the drinks. I was so proud of my little brother for everything that he was able to achieve in both his short Rugby League, cricket, and AFL career. He could have possibly been a pro at any of these sports if he did not value having fun and being there for his family and friends above all else.
The Bloods
I supported the Swans as soon as they showed any sort of promise. The year 1995 was when the great Ron Borassi brought some of my favorite players to the club like Tony Lockett and Paul Roos5. It was an exciting year to be in Sydney as the Swans rose from being no-hopers to making the grand finals. This was what really opened my mind to the great game.
The next 20 years have been nothing but success for the club as they have provided for us year in and year out. They have only missed the finals twice in my whole time of supporting them. They have provided me and my family with many wonderful memories and great times. The premierships in 2005 and 2012 will always be a highlight of my life.
I have vivid memories of Mother Dearest bawling her eyes out screaming ‘Leo Barry’ as he took one of the most memorable marks in AFL history in the dying seconds of 2005. Then with less than 40 seconds left, Nick Malceski snapped the clinching goal from a pack in Sydney's forward line to kick an amazing win in 2012. There were so many memories in those years when there was nothing separating the great Sydney and West Coast sides. These battles seemed to last forever.
The Swans have been so close on many other occasions. They are never far off. The culture of the Bloods has made supporting them so memorable. Their tough, relentless, skillful footy has kept me a loyal fan for over 20 years. Then to top it off, watching Buddy Franklin’s 1,000th goal in a bustling, exciting pub was possibly the greatest highlight of all. It’s up there with Plugger’s 1,300th when I was ‘woo hoeing’ around the neighbourhood for more than an hour as I climbed up and down the hills of Kurrajong after the game.
The first game that I saw live changed my life. I was injured and spent about an hour yelling and screaming at my mother and father because they would not let me play indoor cricket. They compromised and said that we could go into the Sydney Cricket Ground (SCG) to watch the Swans. We had been supporters for years to this point, so I excitedly went along. It was amazing seeing things up close; seeing Micky O’Lachlan and Wayne Swass less than a metre away, being able to talk to them if we wanted to and seeing the actual distance of what the 50-metre ark looked like in real life. It was remarkable.
The Swans were playing the Hawthorn Maggots. A loud drunk behind us made them know it every time a Hawthorn player picked up the ball. It was memorable. We won a close game, by about ten points, I think. After that, I was hooked. The next season we bought a Junior Membership for $50 and went to nearly every game.
I have watched nearly every game since I first started supporting the Bloods in 1995. It is rare that I do not watch a game on television, at least. I try to get to a game when I can. This year, my mum’s bridesmaid’s husband and daughter gave us their tickets every time they were unable to make it. It is amazing seeing this relentless game up close and personal and seeing my heroes in action. You feel every momentum shift, the ups, and the downs. The crowd makes you feel every mistake because at the highest level, the skills are elite and there are few errors. You can see the passion and the emotion on the faces when your team wins. And when the Swans lose, there is barely a word spoken on the train trip home. I am grateful for every moment I have spent watching the Swans over the years and look forward to continuing to feel the raw emotion that this great game elicits.
My Friends
It is amazing when the right people come into your life at the right time. In my second year of cricket, I met an unlikely friend. At that point, I had already made a name for myself in the game, but it was amazing that the least talented player in the team would become my best friend, Nath.
It took Nath approximately three seasons to score his first run at cricket. When he did, the whole team ruptured into a standing ovation. He had a stroke as a baby, which had an impact on him for the rest of his life. He was extremely uncoordinated, which made him left-sided oriented and barely having any coordination on his right side. It took him so much longer to learn things than everyone else, but he still had a lot of talent. He was a talented euphonium player. Any musician will know that a euphonium, a small tuba, is an exceedingly difficult instrument to play.
Growing up I was always at Nath’s house. After cricket, we would often play more cricket. As if more than three hours was not enough. My two brothers would often go with me, and we would have fierce battles. This often concluded with his then-crazy sister Hol not liking that she had gotten out and would chase us around ferociously with the cricket bat. One day, our fun was ended when Hol stroke Davy across the head with a bat.
As our musical talents progressed, we formed the Harrishells. A four-peace jazz/classical quartet with a strange mix. Two Euphoniums (Philby and Nath), a clarinet player (me) and the trumpeter, the one with the most talent (Hol). We were a talented bunch and practised hard for months, only for Hol to decide two days before the Eisteddfod that she did not like the songs we had learnt and requested that we learn two more songs before we perform at the Eisteddfod. Fearing an all-out war, we took on the fiery redhead’s request and briskly learnt two new songs.
We were basically improvising at the performance and almost upset the much more favoured band who had done a lot of travelling as a jazz band and had formed a remarkable three-piece. The adjudicator was impressed with the quality of the section stating it was the best section she had ever adjudicated. I think she knew how much talent each of the musicians, individually and collectively, possessed. Of these musicians, I think nearly all of them became professional musicians at one stage in their lives. It was only a classy rendition of Oh When the Saints Go Marching In that separated the groups.
Despite the talent differential, the love of cricket grew deeper for both me and Nath. My interest was focused more on cricket statistics and Poof on technique. While he lacked coordination, he never lacked dedication or commitment. Then at one game, he invited one of his lifelong friends along to an under thirteens game. Little did he know, this would bring three lifelong friends into the story.
Az had a quiet and calm demeanour. He was polite and introduced himself with a firm and confident handshake. This was a man who knew who he was and what he wanted in life. Pity my game did not live up to the expectations that had been discussed on the way to the game. I watched a ball miss the wicketkeeper’s end and run me out, dawdling at the bowler’s end. I did not even face a ball. It was my first and only diamond duck. On his first introduction to cricket, Az had seen a rare feat.
Soon Az signed up and was impressing us with his big turning wrong ‘uns. He told us all that he was a leg spinner, but the ball never went away from the batter but instead turned sharply in. So, in the first game, as the captain, I bowled him ten overs. He got a few wickets but went for a few runs. It did not matter. He loved it. It was impressive for a beginner. He showed such promise.
This love of cricket never left the three of us. We would come to the game every Saturday, practice recess and often lunch, and train twice, sometimes thrice a week. No one could understand our obsession or why we talked about cricket so much. We would often bowl without pads. By the end of our time at school, we were bowling fast as our bodies grew. But we kept batting without pads. Because he was used to facing off-spin, Az destroyed all sorts of off-spinners in the games.
By about fifteen or sixteen, we started playing a lot of golf to accompany our weekends playing cricket. I had been playing golf for a while with Jonesy, who was soon to form a formidable relationship with Nath, despite our friendship fading off. One day Jonesy invited Nath to a game at Grose Vale Golf Course, a course that was a family business of Az. We invited a childhood friend of mine, Glenn, with whom we all had a long history of playing cricket.
Although Nath had worked on his cricket technique by learning from the great Don Bradman over the years, his golf swing was horrendous. It took him numerous swings to be able to connect to the ball. It was the most tedious game of golf that was already in its third hour by the time we got to the seventh hole.
Glenn connected onto one and ferociously yelled out ‘fore’ to Nath, who had played ahead. Poof turned around late and collected the ball straight into his eye socket. Nath fell to the ground in agony, saying, ‘I’m dying, I’m dying.’ If it were not so horrendous, it would have been funny. We never finished that round of golf, and Nath never played again. His one game of golf was horrific enough, and his mother would not allow it either. She became even more protective after that. I think I kind of got the blame for it.
Anyhow, this did a little damage to the golfing obsession but nothing to our friendship. Az came out with my family on a holiday to Nyrang, a beautiful property between Orange and Molong. We had just turned eighteen and were able to drink. Az already had a taste for beer and a quiet appetite for women. I had recently been out to Orange to do my work experience and had come out to the guest house twice or thrice with my family. I was already good friends with Phillie, Julia, and Phillie’s best friend, Ally, the most stunning young woman I had ever encountered.
This was a trip to remember. Az and I stayed up late playing my repertoire of songs that I had worked out on the piano. We played Piano Man many times, accompanied by Az’s harmonica and our characteristic finish of slamming our heads on either end of the piano. We played some tennis that finished with our slump over the net. And we ventured into town with Davy, where we tried to get into our first pubs. This got old quickly because Davy was underage, so we returned a cheap bottle of Brandy. It is hard to say why it was such a magical trip away. It just was!
During our last few years of high school, we would look forward to our Friday nights when Nath, Az, and I would get together and go for our routine walk around Kurrajong Village to McMahons Park. We would talk about all the girls we were interested in and a lot about cricket. This transformed into going back to my house and jumping onto Myspace.
At my house, we would hack into Nath’s Myspace account and try and talk about as many inappropriate things to as many of his female friends as possible. On Monday, he had to apologise to everyone in his circle. We thought it was hilarious, but looking back, we were bullying him a bit. Poof would often lose interest and explore Philby’s porn stash that was hidden under his bed.
Other things we might do would include going into town to Hitler solute all the passing cars. We might wander around to Az’s house and watch Ally G or whatever music videos were popular then. It was usually videos for like bands Sum41. Nath’s dad, Rohan, would then kindly end our ventures at approximately 10:00 p.m. We would then look forward to playing cricket on Saturday, talk about cricket all week, and then do our Friday nights all over again.
Our group slowly expanded to include a few other schoolmates who Nath and Az were slowly hanging around more. I increasingly strayed away from the popular group who hung out on the Pigalle on the dam and Bergan’s group. I drifted in between groups as I could not decide which of the three groups I fit best in. I also spent time on the sports oval playing footy with the footy boys.
Before, I spent more time practising the piano. As spare periods became a thing in years eleven and twelve, I became a true floater. There were just too many different types of people who I enjoyed spending time with, and it was hard to choose. Plus, I had all the interests. I enjoyed an active social life, playing sports and hanging out with the nerds. Eventually, the groups merged outside of school into one big, unified, and harmonious group. There did not seem to be a popular group or a nerd group. They were, and still are, all good mates.
Our Friday nights merged into Friday and Saturday nights, when a small group emerged to either play poker, bet ten-cent pieces, go to various parties around the traps or head down to the club to play snooker. Poof, high on antidepressants, soon became the envy of everyone down at the club. Everyone wanted to be his friend. These days were full of good memories, none more than the infamous tackle of Nath that sent him unexpectantly flying across the room.
Throughout our uni years, we would all come home on the weekend. I would pick everybody up at their houses around Kurrajong and the surroundings around 9:30 p.m. Initially, Nath’s parents would not allow him to come out with us, so we would usually have quiet ones in. We often played drinking games. Az had formed an active social life on campus and began bringing some of his mates back home with him. They fit in, and our drinking games often became more intense. The first real time Vic and Nikki came out, we were playing a drinking game where I was the first to vomit, even though I was driving and was on the orange juices.
Although my and Az’s Friday nights were becoming more of a uni thing, we all still made the religious trip back to Richmond for our Saturday nights. Poof and I had begun hanging out and playing music with Steve, so we would all somehow get to RG’s. Davy’s mates would often be in the front room betting and getting drunk while Nath, Hol, and I would join up on the dance floor with Paddy and his mate. We had our little corner where we would bust out our moves until the rock music stopped around 11:00 p.m.
We had got to know many of the bands by this stage, as many of the group were studying music at the uni and would often entertain the musicians with our air guitar. Nath was known for his uncoordinated feet. Hol would be somehow down to the ground doing her thing. And I was just having an enjoyable time. Paddy and his mate would just groove away in the corner doing their thing. Az would be drinking somewhere. And who knew where Steve would be? He would be somewhere trying his best to get laid.
Regardless of where we were, we would do our thing until the dance tunes ended at about 1:00 a.m. and then go out the back to see which of our mates were out the back. We would mingle for a bit before it was time to leave RG’s around 4:00 a.m. It was customary to get a kabab before finding our way home. I often stayed sober with a few red cordials and drive everyone home.
Many years ago, Steve introduced us to Tom and Holly. Holly had been Steve’s best friend since the end of high school, so we started all going out together. Initially, this was great. We went to pub meals, had road trips, and had lots of parties at Steve’s house. These were the good times when we all got along.
But one day, Steve introduced us to his beautiful new girlfriend, Chris, who he went on to marry. Steve had hoped that Tom and Holly would merge into a harmonious friendship group with Chrisula’s work friends, however, Tom and Holly isolated themselves from the workmates, and this was the beginning of the end of our big harmonious group.
On a trip up to Brisbane, Tom got a bit inappropriate with Steve, which was the final straw in the relationship. I got caught up in the middle and was blamed for it all. I, however, remained friends, but Poof, Holly, and Tom sort of separated. I was the only one who remained good friends with Steve. To this day, I must spend time with them on separate occasions. It is a bit sad, really.
Everyone sort of has their own life now and their own families. Initially, Nath and Az routinely came up to Tom and Holly’s to watch the rugby league on a Friday night. Nath and Tom have a magical memory for rugby league and can remember players, teams, and sides way back in their early years. The season's highlight was always the state of origin nights, which would either be enjoyed at Tom and Holly’s beautiful stone Grose Vale cottage or at the Brewery Pub, where we enjoyed making fun of Tom’s work colleague Troy.
On wintery nights, these footy nights often spurred into bonfire nights when we spent most of the night picking on Az whilst feasting on my delicious one-pot wonders. It is usually Nath and Clare’s job to get drinks. Az usually gets the entrees and will delight us with delicious olives and sometimes a homemade damper. My job is to slave away on a one-pot wonder. And Holly delights us with her delicious, decadent, often vegetarian desserts. These nights are always enjoyable, especially with the accompaniment of girlfriends and wives as they become available.
The location of our explorations is often the beautiful setting that we are so lucky to call our mate’s home. It is a beautiful location where we have had many Friday night football adventures, state of origin nights, bonfires, and parties, including Tom and Holly’s wonderful celebration of their wedding, when they eloped and got married at their favourite destination, Byron Bay. As Tom has increasingly made the property more beautiful over the years with his beautiful stonework, they have extended the house to be a happy family home for their two beautiful boys. They have made the older cottage, where we used to watch the football, into a gorgeous Bed ‘N’ Breakfast. They have extended a second cottage off the property as one of their investments.
As I have made increasingly frequent visits to see Tom, Holly, their beautiful boys, and, more often, Holly’s beautiful dad since her mother sadly passed, I have made it my second home. I am enjoying seeing young Cyrus and Byron grow into beautiful and talented boys. They are the most important thing to me, as I will sadly never extend the trauma of my schizoaffective genes to another generation.
I am trying to get to as many football games as possible, spoiling them with Pokémon cards and sharing as many precious moments down at the Club’s arcade as often as possible. I see Cyrus as the fun heartbreaker who will be the centre of attention and every girl will fall in love with. Byron is the kind and more sensitive young man every mother or father wants their daughter to marry. Cyrus is the one with raw talent who will win games for you. Like his dad, Byron is the workhorse, who will be your best and fairest. I see a little bit of me in both. To me, they are just two beautiful boys who I look forward to spending time with as often as I can. I hope to get to know them well and guide their compassionate little hearts on a journey into an amazing future.
I do not get the time to see Steve’s children grow up nearly as much, but when I do, I see the beautiful, talented, and kind young children that both his parents are. I hope I can become increasingly part of their lives as we begin to share our musical gifts with the world. Steve married his angel, Chrisula, years ago now, and it is a joy seeing them together and demonstrating to their children what true love is.
We have all gone our separate ways a bit now, but occasionally we all still catch up. These times are magic. Nath’s wedding to his gorgeous Clare will always be a memorable day when my best mates got so drunk that we almost did not give ourselves enough time to get ready for the wedding. I made a gorgeous ‘flower girl.’ They look forward to starting a happy home in their newly purchased family home in Glossodia. I cannot wait to see another generation come into this world so I can spoil their children and have as good a relationship as I do with Tom and Holly’s boys.
Az has recently got married in Kirribis to his beautiful wife Anna. I am slightly disappointed that I did not get to see my great mate get married, but that is all behind us now, and I hope that they can arrange the right visa so that we can see their marriage shine in Australia. I look forward to Az taking his bride into a new home soon as he profits from all his hard work slaving away on his mushroom farm. I look forward to many years ahead of enjoying cricket together, whether playing together as mates again or in a coaching capacity.
I really cannot wait to see what all our futures hold. We are all here together now in a wonderful position to really enjoy what life has to offer. With my traumas out of the way, I hope I can begin to be more present with these great mates who have made my life so rich. There is nothing stopping us now!
Cold Kebabs, A Hens Night, and a Case of Beer
Some of the most incredible memories you have in your life involve a little alcohol, sometimes a lot, and a bit of time away. A few year-end trips have a particular memory trace—all bit a few less brain cells.
The first was my first footy trip with the Western Jets. This was both memorable as well as a non-memorable on the way back. Our destination was Newcastle. On the road trip, we got tipsy and then drunk. Beer cans would come down one side of the bus and end up being emptied on the other side of the bus just as quickly. I was taught the art of putting a straw to the side of the mouthpiece to ensure that you could gulp down the beer as if it was water.
We got to Newcastle in a semi-disordered state, and that is how it would stay for the rest of the two nights and three days up there. We were asked to be quiet and pretend we’re not drunk so we could at least get into the hotel. We thought it was funny whispering, ‘We’ll be quiet, boss, we’ll be quiet.’
The next few days were a blur, as good memories usually are. All I remember is being told the rules—you must always be with a Jets player, no ‘poofs,’ and I do not even remember the other rules. If we broke any laws, we had to report to the Kangaroo Court in the morning to plead our innocence.
We then broke away. We were entertained with endless drinking games. The main game was that you always had to keep your drinks covered because if a poker chip was placed in your glass, you had to skull it.
The following nights I spent my chances trying to get lucky and spending time with the amazing men that were the Western Jets. We spent Saturday afternoon drinking beers from a fellow club in Newcastle as we egged on a former Jet. The night was a blur despite getting a young lady’s number. I called her later. I found out it was her work number and receiving a call from me was highly embarrassing for her. We never talked again.
The trip home was a lot more sober than the trip up. Three days of heavy drinking was an arduous task I would never do again. I went close, but never like this. We arrived back at RG Magees at about 4:00 p.m. feeling worse for wear and a bit sorry for ourselves. As we returned, the same guy that had begun the journey with us playing the Shoot the Moose arcade game in the pokies room was still there playing the bloody game. He had been there for three days straight, waiting for his Jets mates to return.
The other great trip away was Wazza’s bucks party down in Kiama. I am not sure how we got down there, but our first adventure was to play a round of golf at a fancy golf club just out of town. Because it was pouring rain, we decided to stay inside and get on the tarps. I started early, got a little tipsy and then a little drunk. Davy, who I had been lucky enough to play a bit of cricket with that year, put on the tab early, a case of beer to whoever would pass out first. It was a sure bet, as I was already close to the edge. He thought.
The morning soon turned afternoon, and I was on top of the world. I was tipsy the whole time, maintaining a healthy level of laughter. I was the life of the party the entire time. At least, I thought I was. As the afternoon came, we ordered something to eat. While eating, they took my phone and found out who was the last person I had called. I met a lovely young lady at the Fiddler, the first girl I had ever had the guts to ask out. She and her friend had driven me home from Rooty Hill KFC a few days earlier, where we had caught up for our first date. I had been talking to her a bit, so she was on top of my most recent phone call list.
The boys called this girl. She later told me that she wanted nothing to do with me because she could hear me nervously laughing in the background as they made fun of me on the phone and made me out to be a complete asshole. I was the butt of the jokes when I was part of the Pitt Town Boys. I never got a bowl. They usually batted me down the order. And they put me, twelfth man, two years in a row in the grand finals, even though I was coming home every week to play and had scored a few handy runs when I did get a chance. I was not a great fielder then, probably as I was still adjusting to living on medication and was extremely tired from spending time at the uni. So, I lost interest in the game whilst playing at Pitt Town. A few of them were top blokes, but some of them were pigs. Especially the third-grade captain the year we won, even though he killed it with the bat that year.
This was not going to stop my night. I kept having a few beers and pulled out my customary dance moves. The girls loved my ‘stagger,’ an activity where I hold my legs together and wobble from side to side, grooving to the music. They also loved my customary ‘whoop, whoop,’ where I roll around on my back in a circle, well, sort of a circle. This is inspired by an episode of The Simpsons where Homer demonstrates this incredible, pitiful skill.
There was also a beautiful waitress whom the boys said I could not get the number of. So, I went on to prove them wrong. I walked up to her and got her number. My trick was, and always has been, to tell the girl that the boys have said, ‘I have no chance of getting your number. Just give me any number so I can say I have your number.’ The boys never knew any better. It probably was not even her actual number. I never tried anyway.
So, the night progressed. There were a lot of nice girls around who were extremely friendly. A few had made a couple of moves on me and my friends. They seemed friendly enough.
Then I felt a bit tired and was about to go home when Cato, my captain, said, ‘You want a bowl? Get me a kebab, and I will give you a bowl on the weekend.’
I jumped at the opportunity, as it had been a few years since I had had a bowl, and I ran down to get a kebab.
But on the way, I saw Timmy and Beck jumping into a bus, a different Beck than the one mentioned earlier. ‘Hey,’ they said. ‘Jump in.’
So, without thinking about it, I jumped on this bus. So many friendly girls were there, and a few creepy guys joined in for the ride. We seemed to drive for ages and ages before one of the girls grabbed my hand and said, ‘Please, come with me. Some of these guys creep me out. Can you protect me?’
Thinking nothing of it, I followed the girl into the house. There were bottles of alcohol and dildos everywhere. ‘Where are we?’ I asked Timmy and Beck. ‘Where do you think we are?’ Timmy replied. ‘We are at a Hen’s Night.’
Beck and Tim were trying to get lucky with the bride-to-be. ‘Give her one last send off.’
‘Are you guys not married?’ I thought. But the thought never crossed my mind again. I am at a hen’s night with some ‘friendly’ girls.
Some of the girls sat me down and gave me a straw. Then, they said, ‘You can have as much vodka as you like.’ Then, they handed me a dildo and got me poking them in the face with it, them saying, ‘You go, boy!’ Timmy and Beck thought it was hilarious. Asexual me, at the time, thought nothing of it.
But like that, everyone seemed entertained, and I was left to entertain myself with a bottle of vodka that I slowly drank through a straw. Who knew where Timmy and Beck were, but I did not care. I was happy enough to entertain myself, slowly sipping on the alcohol.
Before long, Timmy and Beck came back a bit disappointed. They failed to woo the bride-to-be and said, ‘Let’s go home.’
We had a great walk home. It was about 3:00 a.m. We had no idea how to return to the pub where we were staying. However, it was still a memorable chat about everything—wives, work, and as usual, cricket. I got to know these boys, the best first-grade players at the time. Despite all my talent, I was a twelfth man in third grade then. I was playing for a club where I did not fit in. But these boys made me feel like I fit in and talking to players that had achieved so much more than I had ever achieved felt good.
After four or five kilometres, we returned to the pub at about 4:00 or 5:00 a.m. I placed the half-eaten kebab under Cato’s pillow and quietly whispered, ‘I have your kebab, skip. I have your kebab.’ He rose from his slumber, screaming, ‘You are never getting a bowl. You owe me $50.’ I thought I did not get a bowl anyway, so no harm had been lost. I had a good night.
I then crept over to Davy’s bed and whispered in his ear, ‘You owe me a case of beer. You have passed out long before me. He yawned and said, ‘Fair one, mate, you win.’
So, I did not get a bowl, but I had been to a Hen’s night. Few guys can say that. I also got my case of beer. Davy bought me a case of Hollandia’s, a cheap Dutch beer. I could not even drink the damn thing; they were so yeasty.
I was happy that year that I filled in twice to play first grade, where Davy was wicketkeeping. I played cricket with him for the only time in my life. That was the only reason I went to Pitt Town in the first place. I got told many times that I was useless, was the butt of every joke, and was, at times, bullied. But I got two memorable games with my beautiful little brother. I also got to play with players as good as Timmy and Beck. And although I was the twelfth man both times, I got two memorable premierships.
My Big Regret
Momentum did not take on the power in my first season back to cricket. I enjoyed playing, but coaching was not the best experience of my life. I had lost a lot of love for the game and had a lot of anger. However, I brought back some of the enthusiasm of my university and rekindled it with one of my great loves.
I was acquainted with a young Baby Beamer whose talent soared above the rest. There were others, but memories always fade unless made strong, often by less memorable events. There were two children with autism in my first season, which made it a challenge that rekindled not a love of cricket but more anger. With no skills in special education, my tolerance could have been better. I would send one of the boys to do laps. His just got angry, and I lost patience with the other boy, which I now regret. We did not win many games, but we did run up against a relatively good side whom I would soon become acquainted with as more than friends but family.
The season escalated at the last training session, where I thought it would be fun to have a water bomb fight, one of my favourite things to do as a child. But a fight broke out. One of the boys started throwing uppercuts at some of the other boys because he could not tie one of the water bombs himself. I went to break up the fight, and that boy was off. I ushered the other boys over to find their parents in the club, and I went to sit down with the troubled youth.
He was only eight or nine, but his confidence was already shot. I found him on the cricket pitch and quietly sat down with him. He said, 'I am a loser!’
I responded, 'No, you are not. You are a lovely boy. You cannot go around throwing punches at your friends. It is not what you have done in the past that matters but what you do the next time the same feelings come inside you again, how you control your frustration and anger.'
He broke down, and I gave him a little hug.
The following year, I was given a team of fine young individuals. Still, the parents had explicitly asked that the autistic boy be excluded from the team. They feared him after he broke loose at the last training session. I had to tell the boy's mother, who was already down of luck, of the team's wishes.
Looking back, I greatly regret this decision. Now that I have worked in disabilities, I know there would be a million reasons why an autistic boy might lose it like that: sensory issues, neurological issues. The possibilities are endless. I wish I had stood up for the majority and made him feel part of the team. I could have changed the trajectory of his life as team sports are possibly the best part of a child's upbringing and the best form of early intervention for anyone with a disability. Again, I greatly regret making this decision. He trusted me, and I let him down.
The Cricket Family
Baby Beamer was joined with his mates, a group of fine young cricketers and, most of all, fine young children. They were eight or nine, and Baby Beamer was slightly older than the rest. They seemed to get on like a house on fire almost immediately. Many had played on an undefeated team the year prior, but their parents were looking for someone to take them to the next level.
I remember overhearing Punter whisper to his wife, ‘He looks a bit scraggly,’ as I was introduced to the team.
We met at a Meet the Captains afternoon. I remember overhearing them talk amongst themselves, saying, ‘I’m not sure about this guy.’
Some had known me from junior cricket and coming through senior cricket as a youngin and knew I had a lot to offer, but many had come across from other clubs like those Richmond Boys. I remember hearing Beamer confidently say, ‘Wait ‘til you see him bring them together. Wait to see how fun he will make it for the boys.’
I remember being overwhelmed by the talent. I had coached a young Kobey and Logues the previous year as four-year-olds even though I had no idea they were cousins. Kobey’s left-hand batting technique was perfect, even back then, as a four-year-old. Logues had won most of the games, but when it came to the run at the end, he was lazy and just walked. Young Wilson could land the ball on a dime even back then. Zacky was swinging them both ways. And well, a young Tull was bloody useless. He bowled like his dad, and they were going at right angles.
Their work ethic was remarkable, especially for a young Tull. He started mowing a wide pitch, and as he stopped spraying them at right angles and got a bit of control, he would narrow the pitch. I could not keep the ball on the wicket when I got to his house after training one afternoon in the first season. He had designed the most fantastic tank I have ever seen and, by the end of the season, was bowling darts—arrows as straight as a laser.
The following three or four seasons were a blur. The boys would work their asses off at training, often playing a replica game on the oval. They all valued their wickets, especially a young Eth who hated getting out. They all did. That is what made these battles so intriguing. No one wanted to get out and give their mates a bat. They were facing some of the best bowling, possibly anywhere in the state.
The dads would all be there at every training. They would all knock off from work early to spend their afternoon chatting with their mates. They talked about all sorts of things, including work, family, renovations, model aeroplanes, but mainly cricket and their beautiful boys. They were obsessed with the game and gave the boys great pointers as needed. They were becoming great mates, as were the boys.
As the boys got older, the training focused more on net sessions to work on their techniques and hone their bowling actions. Most of them, ten out of twelve, were also representative players, so they were getting plenty of time to work on the rest. I would always finish with a few fielding drills to keep their catching, ground fielding, and throwing sharp, but it would always finish with lefties vs. righties.
We were fortunate to have as many left-handers as right-handers, which is rare in any cricket. Lefties vs righties was a game that was a battle to the death. They would often end with tears from at least one player. But in the end, they would leave the game as mates, as if there had been no competition. They would walk off laughing, smiling, and looking forward to the weekend when they could be with their mates again. Of course, the reality is that there would be many backyard battles between Tuesday and Saturday, but you catch the drift. They loved being together, and I loved being around them. Like mutual respect where there was just love between all of us.
About a third of the season in, I thought it would be a clever idea for the dads to get together and have a season of indoors together to keep the interest sharp in the off-season. Initially, some moaned and groaned and said, ‘I don’t think the old body is ready for it.’ I pushed them through the arduous task, and every Monday, we would go down to Richmond Indoor Centre for our game.
Once the niggles were out, we played some fantastic indoor cricket. We did not lose too many games. Greggy got his left arm darts swinging both ways. Punter and I picked up many wickets bowling our shitty little offies. And Beamer got better every week. We had the exceptionally talented Wax filling in, who gave us a bit of class, but there was a lot of class in the swing bowling of old Al, Brenno, and the rest of the ‘men.’ The boys would sit along the side and ‘Yee haw’ every wicket so loud that the Grumpy Old Adjudicator soon ended that.
Regarding the final game, Wax brought in his talented brother and father to boost our stocks. They had driven the whole two and a half hours from Oberon. I was furious as I would not bump Beamer from the side, who had rocked up every game for the entire season. He did not have the talent of the other two ‘fill-ins,’ but that was not the point. He was one of the boys. So, Wax threatened not to play if his brother and father could not. So, I said, ‘We will play one short.’ Mates are more important than winning any day.
He did play, had a great game, as usual, and caught a screamer to win us the game. A relatively comfortable win in the end. Beating a hot young side, many of whom went on to play superior grade levels after that. This showed the level we were playing at and the quality of players like Punter, Brenno, and Wax, even though Wax played minimal cricket after that.
I am unsure if we played four or five seasons together or if it was just three, but that is not the point. By the end of the last season, we were a family. Punter had taken over the coaching duties, but as he and the boys were moving up to Queensland before the end of the season, he asked his trusty mate to take over the boys. I still slept in most of the season and missed the morning games, but in the last game, before the boys moved up to Queensland, we played our rivals, Freemans Reach. We had beaten them in the final for the last three or four years and had some skillful players, especially young Brocky, who I have a quiet respect for, despite him still asking for that damn slushy for the last fifteen years.
The game did not go as we planned. It was my first game back, and we lost it. The first game we had lost in nearly four years. Punter thought it was hilarious because he had gone undefeated the whole time, he had coached the team, and in the one game I took over, we lost. Anyhow, I did open with his boys, and they did take a bloody long time to get into their innings. So, was not entirely to blame.
The rest of the season went as planned, and we got to the final again, against those bloody Freemo Boys. Our army was set up across the Woodlands Oval as all the parents, grandparents, fathers, brothers, mothers, and sisters were there. It was a sea of gazebos for as far as the eyes could see, like a sea. You get the point.
We were without our superstars, Zacky and Kobey, but we had plenty of other stock to fill the void as did Freemo. They batted as deep as we did. And they were well coached also. Logues took a few quick wickets and we had them struggling at five for barely anything. But then, something we were not used to in our four years of playing together as a team, a young Kyle dominated us. Another kid I had a lot of respect for. He was cocky but fair.
This took the game away. But as usual, we showed a lot of fights. First, Basto kept us in with a good knock before he fell into a trap. He was blasting them everywhere until Brocky moved every one of his players to the boundary. Basto tried to hit a six and mistimed it, landing straight into the hands of deep mid-wicket.
The rest of the game was a nail-biter. The Wilson’s kept us into the game until both held out to some good cricket. We fell two-run shorts, and Freemo got their deserved premiership after so many years of being the second best. They deserved it for all the hard work they did to get there each year. And we did damn good fighting right to the end. It was one of the best junior games of cricket that I have ever seen. That night was hard to swallow, but I was proud of my boys, and all the support that the parents had given them throughout the years. It was an end to an era, but friendships will last forever.
We did lose Punter and the boys to Queensland and one of the good ones to Heaven. Pete had moved up to Bellingen so Riley could be in a warmer environment for his Renaud’s Disease. Pete had often asked for advice from me when one of his boys was going off the rails. I constantly reminded him, ‘Pete, they are not you, mate. They do not have the same motivation as you.’
Pete loved to talk about horticulture, and I have never met anyone so passionate. He used to be a World Champion Model Aeroplane rider. He had gone as far as he could in so many pursuits. But one day, when he was out fishing with his beloved Riley, one of his special boys who he never stopped raving about, he slipped and hit his head on a rock. Unfortunately, he was never revived.
I went with a few mates to his funeral, where Punter droves down from Queensland. All the parents were there, but this was no place for children. This was the last time we were all together. It was so sad that we had so many great memories; the last one we all had together was saying goodbye to one of our mates. Rest in Peace, Pete. I love you, mate, and all the joy you brought into our lives. You were one of the good ones, and your boys will grow up to be wonderful men because they had such a fantastic role model and friend. I miss you every day and would do anything to listen to one of your long-winded stories again. You bowled puss, mate, but you had enough heart to make up for it.
Mentorship
I have consistently demonstrated sound leadership skills. As I have developed as a human being, this leadership has developed naturally in several mentorship roles in a voluntary capacity on the cricket field, in community work, and at the global level.
I returned to playing on the cricket field after coaching for many years. I had successfully coached many of the young players, many of whom looked up to me at the time. After playing many roles in second grade, I dropped back the grades and found myself captaining a fourth-grade side. On this side, I brought some of my mates back, including Psycho and Stephan, up-and-coming young players, Archie, Freddie, Ramone, Goedde, and a few talented young AFL players. I had coached many in both club and rep cricketers and slowly brought many of these players to the club.
Archie and Freddie are brothers. Freddie is the talented younger brother who had always played above his age and excelled in representative cricket then. He was a confident, sometimes cocky kid who was mature above his years. A fun-loving kid whom I loved to coach. His older brother Archie did not have the talent nor the work ethic of his younger brother but is a laid-back kid, still with plenty of talent. He is highly charismatic and was coming into an age where he was growing into his body, and his personality was shining through. I loved these boys, and at the time, they admired me. I opened the batting with Arch, and Freddie filled in wherever there was a spot.
Ramone is my little mate. I coached him from an early age in representative cricket and slowly got him over to North Richmond. His dad, Pete, is one of my greatest allies in the world, and we spend time exploring the city together. I am a regular in the Dallas household, which is my second family. Playing with Ramone was a lifelong dream, and I have since watched him become a quality cricketer. I had highly memorable innings batting with Ramone on Richmond Oval, where we turned it on with a faster-than-a-run-a-ball one hundred and forty-run partnership. This was one of the highlights of my cricketing career. I often put Ramone in front of me to dull down the bowling so that I could take teams apart.
Ramone is now a regular for the Eastern Suburbs first-grade side and got offered a scholarship to play cricket in the county league over in England. Pete and I live our dreams through Ramone, as he can bowl impressively sharp. He has been clocked at 139 kilometres per hour, which is as quick as anyone. If I were taller or had more ability, I would bowl four to six bouncers per over at my batters. This is what we encourage Ramone to do. He does not consistently bowl that many bouncers but bowls a fantastic bumper. He owes remarkable success to his thoughtful dad, who took him down daily to the nets for over ten years. He has a bung shoulder now and a terrible eyesight for his efforts. Ramone is, however, staying put for now because he is focusing on becoming a philosophy student at the university. He wants to constantly improve himself and learn about the great thinkers that shape our thinking.
I played my best season ever as captain and enjoyed the extra responsibility. The senior players led from the top, with Stephan scoring more runs than me, including a few magical hundreds, even though I topped the averages with an average of over 66. By halfway through the season, I had only gotten out once, run out in the first game when I was on 60, and they tried to regrade me all season. Stephan and Psycho got most of our wickets. We mixed the youngins around at the other end.
My season was stopped in a round where a bouncer clocked me in the eye socket. I went out to open the batting because we had fielded the entire day in 45-degree heat, and no one else wanted to bat. As a captain, you do things for the team sometimes. The ploy was to bowl short at my head, and even after I was hit, they continued bowling beamers (i.e., bowling deliberately at my head) for another three overs. I ended out stopping the game and walking up to the other captain. Unfortunately, this halted my form and the team’s momentum going into the second half of the season.
With poor momentum in the semis and me missing six weeks, we had gone from the top of the table to second. I rested our star youngins in the game before the semis because they had their grand finale the next day. My plan backfired, and we slipped from second to third. Unfortunately, the semi-finals were washed out we could not compete to play for the final.
Regardless, we got a reputation for playing tough cricket, and it was an excellent steppingstone for the younger players, who are all playing much higher-level cricket than their coach and mentor ever achieved. I am proud of them and look forward to seeing how far they can take their cricketing prowess. I hope I taught them about clean-hitting and tough, competitive cricket.
The proudest area of my life is seeing my young friend, Ethan, turn into a fine young man. When I met him, I volunteered as a co-facilitator for the RAGE program for young boys with anger management problems. He was completing the course for the fourth time because his mother, Gail, struggled to cope with his anger issues. It was impacting their relationship. At the end of the course, Gail asked if I could mentor Ethan so that he had a male role model, as his father was rarely in the picture back then.
Ethan had attached himself to me within a week of taking the course. I had decided to take him to the Hawkesbury Show to volunteer to sell corn cobs. Initially, Ethan was quiet, but watching me sell the corn cobs was all the encouragement he required. Initially, he was frustrated that the shift was going so slowly, but as his enthusiasm improved, he was surprised when the four-hour shift was over. ‘Corn cobs, anyone for corn cobs, come and grab your corn cobs,’ he was announcing to the world. This quiet kid was coming out of his shell.
Ethan is a pure genius. Because he was bullied at school, he did not go for three to four years. The one day he did go was the test to determine where everyone fit into the grand scale of things. He got 100% despite not completing any of the schoolwork. He could quickly pick up anything. I was so excited to see what his future holds.
As the years passed, I began spending more time with Ethan. He is now one of my best friends, and I spend more time with him than anyone else. He has an excellent job as a salesman, selling various storage solutions. Some months he tops the sales quota at his company, and I am proud that he is increasingly applying himself tohis job.
Recently, he moved in with us when the floods were on, which meant that he did not have to rely on his mother to take him everywhere, a trip that was usually an hour round trip. He has since moved into a motel in Richmond due to mold issues from the floods. This has allowed him to meet and maintain great friendships with fantastic young men around town. He regularly goes into the city and just has a damn enjoyable time.
He is highly focused on health and educates me every time I see him on dietary, nutritional, and exercise solutions that I am trying to implement into my daily life. He is a tall, handsome young kid who will make a fantastic father once he finds the right woman he can care for and who will take care of him. I cannot express how proud I am of him. I always look forward to seeing him. I am so grateful to have him, his beautiful mother and their two beautiful dogs, Bella andRocket, in my life. They are truly one of the most significant parts of my life, and I love them very much.
I also have a mentee on the other side of the planet, in Kenya. I mentored Grace in the Global Mental Health Peer Network Mentorship program. This is the responsibility of all honorary members. I have been able to mentor others, but there is only so much time to dedicate to many people.
I have not done as much for Grace as I would like to. I tried to research the mental health and tech world in Nairobi when she first came on board. Still, communication difficulties have sometimes made it difficult. I have tried to explain to her the importance of keeping databases so that she can maintain engagement in programs. I wanted to help her financially during tough times, but this did not work out. She has been through a domestic abuse relationship. And she sometimes struggles to have enough medication to sustain her attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). Grace is a psychologist and has her own business on mental wellness. I hope I can get over to Kenya in the coming years to meet her in person and form a fantastic relationship for years to come.