On a Mission from Melbourne

I’ve written this piece about my son, David and have published it in another blog (Mary’s Omnibus) which is mainly dedicated to grandchildren. I think it also belongs here. David’s children live in Sydney, he lives in Melbourne. Hard as it has been for him over the past five years, both financially and physically, he has dedicated himself to keep the bond strong between himself and his children. I think that David is strong role model, not only for his children, but for other separated dads to be proud of.


Within walking distance of Bondi Beachhouse YHA, is Bondi Beach. Lush plants and tree lined streets surround us and refreshing sea breezes make it an idyllic holiday spot for my son David and me. But we’re not in holiday mode; we are on a mission from Melbourne. For several weekends each year it’s our little world; David’s, his children, Dezzy and Rachel, and mine. Our home away from home is comfortable, has spectacular views and most vital for somebody whose creaky old bones prefer the comfort of an indoor loo to stumbling down the passageway in the middle of the night, it has en suites. We’ve had the same room since we arrived on the YHA doorstep four years ago. We snooze on our separate bunk beds (I’m told I snore), keep our drinks cold in the bar fridge and make cups of soup or coffee using the room’s kettle. Last but very much not least, there is the very necessary bathroom. It’s home.

But it isn’t the building or its surrounds that matters, or even the free surfboards and snorkelling gear on offer that counts; it’s the constant that the place represents. Lilla works behind the check-in counter and gives our Pearlie girls access to computer games. David sets up some boppy music on his mobile phone, and when she’s not kayaking or leading a fun run, Sam the day manager joins Dave and the Pearlies for a twirl around the foyer. Yuki, when she’s not swimming with sharks or dolphins makes the place shine. Corrinne, who is Yuki’s colleague, says ‘bonjour’ to the girls and sometimes joins them at the common room table to have a chat. Steve the handyman keeps the place going; he’s friendly and staunchly loyal to the place. Steve takes the girls’ questions seriously and responds in kind. Once upon a time there was James, but he went back to England; Brad has gone off to Ireland with his girl Orla, and Andrew the travel bug comes and goes depending on his finances. It’s people who have made our place a home.

When our girls and their mother shifted back to her home town, the Melbourne mob got together for a brainstorming session. The options open to David as we saw it, was that he either communicates with his children long-distance or takes the more expensive option and travels to Sydney every fortnight. David chose both. I said that in that case I would come along at least once a month and we all discussed finances and the practicality of renting a unit for the weekend or a hotel room that would take the four of us. My sister who has been a bit of a traveller in her time suggested a Youth Hostel. As its name implies, Youth Hostels are marketed to young travellers with firm, tanned bodies and an optimistic outlook on life, but Sue assured me that the YHA will also take in worn-out old cynics as long as they don’t influence the young optimists.


The Friday night before each visit, Dave and I pack a couple of t-shirts each, spare trousers or jeans and a change of underwear. That takes up a tiny corner of each of the two suitcases we bring along. We fill the spaces up with board games, toys and books. I’ve been known to bring along an electric hand mixer to bake birthday cakes. Last year I baked Dezzy’s cake on the hostel’s commercial oven two days before her birthday. Sam always has little gifts for the girls and makes sure they feel special; and last year, Corrinne, conducted dozens of visitors in a cheery happy birthday sing-song for Dezzy.

Dave and I set our alarms for quarter past four. I haul my aching bones out of bed at three thirty and make some coffee; Dave bounces out of his room looking perkier than he has a right to at 4.15 am; he’s fully dressed and ready, lugging his suitcase behind him. We head for the car and Melbourne airport; chatting quietly, talking strategies and anticipating the fun time ahead. In Sydney we hire a car for the weekend, pick the girls up then do the weekend shop for one breakfast, two packed lunches and two dinners. We have a routine. It’s not exciting but it gives the impression of normalcy which is the aim. David brings the girls down from their upstairs flat. Their faces glow. We hurtle towards each other, arms outstretched and hug; words spill out on both sides as we try for a month’s worth of catch-up. They look different each time. It’s not only that they’ve grown a bit since the last time I saw them that makes me sad, but also that something indefinable I see in their faces that speaks of life experiences we’ve not been involved with.
On Saturday afternoon Dave and I lie on our bunks, chatting with the girls in a desultory way; I’ve cooked, they’ve played and we’re all exhausted. Then we get our second wind and all go back to the common room for dinner. Afterwards, Dezzy and I play ‘Hangman’ or ‘I Spy’, and Rachel who hasn’t learned to read yet, participates in her own inimitable way. It’s been a long day. On Sunday we’ll go for a drive, or see a movie or do some browsing.

Before we know it we’re back at the airport waiting for our flight home; as usual it’s all gone faster than we’ve expected, faster than we’ve wanted it to. Dave and I don’t talk much; we’re deeply into our own thoughts about the visit; storing away little images to take out and treasure late at night. But mostly what I’m doing is thinking how thankful I am that David is part of a supportive family network. The girls visit us in the school holidays; we come and see them regularly. We talk; we never stop communicating. I’m grateful that we have between us all managed to normalise an abnormal situation as far as it’s possible to do so. What I’m thinking is that it’s a miracle.

I can pick a separated dad out a mile off these days. He and his children are usually at McDonald’s; it’s family friendly there and neutral territory. The children and the dad face each other across a table littered with chip and burger wrappers. The dad has that haunted look of somebody on a blind date; the formal and stilted conversations probably run along the same lines. The kids look as if they’d rather be elsewhere, but they gamely hang in there. He is their weekend dad.

Trooper, Mark Donaldson

I would love to hear from anybody who has a big or even a small personal story to tell me about themselves or about other men that they know who would fit into the male role model category. If you've read something in the paper that you think would suit this blog, please send me the link.


Below is a story of a very big hero and male role model, Trooper Mark Donaldson. The information came from The Australian newspaper, 17th January, 2010, writeen by Mark Dodd.

'SAS trooper Mark Donaldson exposed himself so much to enemy fire that when Australia's last VC winner heard about his award he assumed it would be posthumous.

'Over two hours in southeastern Afghanistan last September 2, Trooper Donaldson, 29, repeatedly fought alone in open ground raked by accurate and heavy Taliban machine-gun fire to allow his wounded comrades to be dragged to safety.

'Deliberate exposure to draw enemy fire away from the wounded would have been enough for a Victoria Cross recommendation, but Trooper Donaldson then sprinted 80m over the same killing ground to save the life of a seriously wounded Afghan interpreter.
In the words of the award citation, Trooper Donaldson - whose story Kevin Rudd said yesterday would be known to generations of Australian schoolchildren - reacted spontaneously to regain the initiative following an ambush that inflicted the worst casualties suffered by Australia since the Vietnam War.'

Trooper Mark Donaldson was made Young Australian of the Year on Australia Day, 26th January 2010. If you want to read the rest of the story, here is the link:

http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/nation/vc-winner-drew-fire-to-save-his-mates/story-e6frg6nf-1111118586445

Anthony Ianetta

This information comes from the Daily Telegraph, an Australian Newspaper. It reported today that: ‘When Anthony Iannetta shielded his little sister from the impact of a tree he most likely knew he was about to die.’ Anthony was 18 and his sister Elissa 15 years old. Anthony and his sister had cadged a ride after their original one had fallen through. They were turned out to be victims in the horrific event.

Elissa ‘remembers that [Anthony] shoved her head in between his legs to try and protect her. As they roared around the corner, he gripped the handle above the back seat door - he must have known what was going to happen. All he had time to do was to grab hold of her and lean over to protect her and himself.’
This story is mainly about an irresponsible and inexperienced young driver who drove a high-powered six cylinder XR6 Falcon. It ‘skidded out of control at an estimated 140km/h.’ I would have preferred this blog to be about positive stories about male role models, I guess that occasionally I can let an inspirational one slip through.

Boys Are Us

First post.

I have two sons, two granddaughters and one grandson, so it’s in my best interests to make sure that the world is a fairer place for both genders. Human nature being what it is, things are not perfect, possibly never will be, but girls are doing okay these days.
Mothers are aware of what their responsibilities are to their daughters and have been raising strong and confident girls well before Helen Reddy sang ‘I am woman hear me roar’. On the other hand, unless a woman has grown up with brothers, she is not likely to understand sons or what to do with them. The end result is to feminise boys.

Women in the workforce and the professions have paved the way for young girls and provided them with strong role models. But somewhere along the line and in a way that I don’t quite get, it hasn’t made the genders equal, it’s just shifted the gender balance. Whenever women win, it seems to have a detrimental effect on men.

One example can be seen in today’s literature. Women writers and some male writers have produced strong female protagonists with not as brave or not as clever male sidekicks. Good for girls, but disastrous for boys. Even where a male role model exists someone wants to take it away. Disney has got rid of Pooh Bear’s mate of 90 years, Christopher Robin, and replaced a ‘him’ with a ‘her’! A tomboy girl wearing a backwards cap and overalls has taken over the character based on A A Milne’s son.
There must be a way that female equality can be achieved without at the same time depriving boys of their identity. Hopefully this is what this blog will be about: addressing and redressing the imbalance. I have another blog, Mary’s Omnibus, and other writing commitments (plus I am slow), but I intend to add to it as often as I can. Do be patient and drop in occasionally.
If anybody has some information regarding this topic that they would like me to look into, and write about they can email me at marys.omnibus@gmail.com