Seriously, is it just me?

So here’s the thing. I’m standing in the supermarket queue this afternoon and a woman approaches me.  I know her by sight; her daughter was in S&H’s class last year and they played cricket together this year.  I have seen her numerous times, at the school, at cricket, hell even in this very supermarket.  She has never spoken to me, nor I to her.  I’m not part of that “mother’s group”.

She says to me, “Are you S&H’s mother?” to which I tentatively respond in the affirmative. In that split second, all manner of disastrous scenarios play out in my head.  Why is she talking to me now, after two years of ignoring me? It has to be something bad.  Oh God, please no.  Has S&H been mean to her daughter?  I don’t even know her daughter’s name FFS.  And why now?  Could she not approach me at school?  Am I going to be forced to defend my son and try and calm a hysterical woman while standing in the Ten Items or Less line?  I immediately adopt a defensive stance, physically and mentally.

“Oh”, she says, “I’m (blah), (blah blah’s) mum.  We are starting up a contact list for the grade, you know, so that we can stay in touch over the summer?  We were wondering if you wanted to join?”

WTF.  You ignore me for two years, don’t even make eye contact in the hallways when you are walking with your kid, you never speak to me, even when you sit next to me at cricket…and now YOU WANT TO KNOW IF I WANT TO BE ON YOUR FUCKING CONTACT LIST???? SO WE CAN “STAY IN TOUCH” OVER SUMMER????

Naturally, I declined.

An Open Letter to All Fuckwits

“That is just such crap,” I slurred.  “How dare you be so fraudulently flirtatious, cowardly and dysfunctional?  I am not interested in emotional fuckwittage.  Goodbye”.  (Helen Fielding, Bridget Jones’s diary)

Dear Mr Fuckwit

First up, I should explain why I am addressing you as “Mr”.  Obviously, in this situation, you are a man.  Now don’t get me wrong.  I like men.  I like working with them and having them as friends.  My father was a man and my son will be a man one day.  Hell, I even married a man.  So it’s nothing personal against you as a man.  I know that women can be fuckwits too.  But in my experience, and particularly my most recent experiences, you are a man.  So deal with it, princess.

You have been a part of my life in the past and you have taken on many forms.  Mostly, you have been my boyfriend.  You were a medical student that I dated for five years, before you told me you were gay.  To this day, I don’t know if you have ever come out to your family.  You were a college student, much younger than me but kind of bad and exciting.  So bad and exciting you thought that shagging another girl in my bed was not a big deal.  You were an older man, who seemed to have it all together; who told me it was over on the telephone.  I have to admit, in that last incarnation, I was relieved when you broke up with me.  By this time, I had worked out you were a fuckwit.

These days, I see you occasionally.  Sometimes you crop up at work, playing bullshit games and trying to point score against me.  You haven’t worked out yet that I actually don’t care about looking better than you (mainly because I know I am).  Sometimes, when I least expect it, you turn up in the supermarket, standing in the queue for ten items or less with a trolley full of stuff.  Or you cut in front of me in a car park.  Or the coffee queue.  You “defriended” me on Facebook because I challenged your world view.  You look different each time.  But every time, if I confront you, or your behaviour, you try and either ignore me, or make out that it’s my fault.  And that’s what makes you a fuckwit.

That’s ok.  I can deal with your fuckwittage when I don’t know you, or have little to do with you.  What I don’t fathom is how you are back in my life in such a big way this week, not directly affecting me, but those who are close to me and whom I hold dear.  I thought we were done, I really did.  And now, you are back.

I have a theory about you.  Let me see how this fits.  Generally, you’re not too confident in yourself.  Maybe you think you haven’t reached your full potential, that you are living a “second best” life.  This isn’t your fault, of course.  It’s probably your family’s fault.  Or your bitch ex-girlfriend or wife’s.  Anyway, you do feel that you have been dealt a less than fair hand in this life, and you deserve more.  Not that you are going to do much about that.  That’s way too hard.  Get a higher education?  Waste of time.  Go for a promotion?  No way, the boss has it in for you.  Maybe challenge yourself to do something new, meet new people, make new contacts?  No, you’re right, that’s too much like hard work.  So what can you do to feel better about yourself??  Let me see…what have you been doing this last little while….?

Well, how about you look around for a new girlfriend.  Not like your ex though, this one has to be completely different.  I know, how about you hook yourself a well-educated, articulate, capable, good looking, generous and caring woman?  Shouldn’t be too hard, let’s face it, there’s plenty about in the 30+ singles market.  And if she’s younger than you…well, that’ll impress your mates.

I know what you’re thinking.  Surely if a woman has all of this going for her, she’s not going to give you a second look, is she?  Well you and I both know that isn’t true, is it?  Especially when you tap into what I like to refer to as the “oestrogen factor”.  Let me remind you.

The “oestrogen factor” is what levels women out, irrespective of education, social background, looks, whatever.  It refers to the fact that most of us girls have some capacity to care for those in need; probably a variation on the mothering instinct.  So when we are faced with you, a little under confident, charming, attentive, seemingly unsure and perhaps a little damaged by life…well, we get taken over by the “oestrogen factor”.  We want to nurture you, look after you, be with you and help you get through life and reach your full potential.  Because you deserve that, don’t you?

Well, actually, you don’t.  Because once you have us hooked, you are going to use us, not to improve your prospects, achieve more and build a great life with us.  You are going to use us to make yourself feel good.  And you do that by making us feel like shit.

It might take a while.  At first, you make yourself appear just vulnerable enough to garner our sympathy.  Not completely dysfunctional or damaged, that would drive us away.  But, we get the impression that you have been hurt (by aforementioned family/ex-girlfriend or wife) and that’s affected you.  Maybe you have some health issues (real or imagined) and you like to appear to minimise those, while actually maximising them for additional sympathy.  You might not have a lot of money, or your own house (insert story about wicked ex-girlfriend/wife who took you to the cleaners here).  You have been a victim of circumstance, dealt a rough hand in life and wow, you can’t believe you have been so lucky to land a girl like me.  That’s it.  We, the well-educated, smart, articulate and capable women are hooked.  By the oestrogen factor. Oh, and your bullshit.

So, now you have us.  And we aren’t going anywhere because we are in this for the long haul.  I mean, you seem so nice.  And caring.  And (cruellest of all), you adore my kids. Well, it’s not like you are allowed to see yours.  We can totally make this work.

So why then, did you start surfing internet dating sites and arranging to meet other women?  Why did you turn from being laid back, a little shy, to a screaming, shouting animal when I said or did something with which you didn’t agree, or when things didn't go your way?  Why, all of a sudden, did my opinion, thoughts or wishes take second place to yours all the time? 

Oh yes, I see.  It’s because once you had me, you totally HAD me.  And you love the feeling that you can “do what you want” either behind my back, or to my face.  Maybe you justify it by telling yourself I am unreasonable, or demanding.  Or maybe shouting at me makes you feel powerful, in control.  Because I don’t shout back.  I am shocked.  And betrayed.  And very, very sad.

For a while, you’ll apologise for the break outs in your behaviour.  You didn’t know what came over you, you’ll say.  You are so sorry, it will never happen again, you promise.  You’ll buy us something nice, or be extra attentive and caring.  And we’ll get sucked in all over again.  Because we are like that.  We don’t want to believe that you are a fuckwit.  We want to believe that our hearts and our heads were right.  But somewhere, in the back of our minds, we know something’s not right.  Because here’s another thing about us: we may be subject to the “oestrogen factor”, but we are NOT stupid.

So, we confront you.  Maybe we caught you red handed in a deception (it’s not that hard, we are smarter than you, remember?)  Maybe we decided that we had been shouted at enough.  Maybe your selfishness, dysfunction and fuckwittage have finally become the usual (your normal) behaviour, not the occasional outbreak.  How do you respond?

Of course.  How could I be so silly?  It’s all my fault.

I’m difficult.  I’m overbearing.  I talk too much.  I’m unreasonable.  I’m (ahem) “hard work”.  I want too much from you.  What the fuck?  All those things that you once told me you liked, even loved, about me, are now my faults?  AND THEY ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR FUCKWIT BEHAVIOUR??

Oh no.  We’re not going to cop that.  Because we know that we haven’t changed.  You have.  Or maybe you just felt that you didn’t have to pretend anymore.  And because you won’t acknowledge or take responsibility for your behaviour, you reveal yourself as you truly are.  A total and complete fuckwit.

Goodbye.

Things I know this Week, aka When the World Hands You Lemons, sometimes You just have to Suck Them...

Its been a long week and I am really tired. But my friend Kelli has written about events in the Northern suburbs in the last few days and I wanted to contribute to her thoughts. If I'm lucky, she might even link to this as God knows, I have no idea how to link to her blog...

Some brief statistics that I am aware of:

• 38% of the Tasmanian population receives some kind of welfare benefit;
• Tasmania has the lowest post year 10 retention in the country;
• Tasmania has a higher rate of teenage pregnancy than alot of third world (so called "under developed") countries;
• Tasmania has the highest rate of teenage smoking in the country;
• Tasmania incarcerates the highest proportion of its Aboriginal population than any other jurisdiction in the country.

Each of these factors in and of itself are worrying. Put them together and you have a very concerning social profile that is emerging in our beautiful state, with no apparent sign of any of these factors being publicly or politically recognised and/or addressed.

Kelli has written of her own personal experience in the suburb of Ravenswood. I have limited personal experience; however my son attended day care there on occasion and I know people who live there who are positive and active members of the local and broader community. However, through my work I am also aware that:

• Ravenswood is a created suburb, initally for low income families but now predominantly characterised by families and individuals who are unemployed and in receipt of welfare benefits;
• Attempts by local and state government to promote a sense of community in this suburb have backfired, to the extent that locals of Ravenswood have an almost fanatical loyalty to the "status quo" of the area, and resent newcomers as well as those who seek to influence the existing social fabric of the area;
• The social profile of suburbs like Ravenswood represents a microcosm of the broader social deprivation and underachievement that Tasmania is experiencing;
• The social composition of suburbs such as Ravenswood disproportionally represents the unemployed, the socially excluded, educationally deprived and anti social problems in this State. We are talking about the third generation in many cases of people who have not completed a basic level of schooling, who have never held a job and whose deprived childhood experiences mean that they are less than competent parents.

What happened this week in Ravenswood was shocking and tragic. Two people have lost their lives under violent circumstances and we still do not know the full story.

However, its not altogether surprising when you consider the environment that has been created and allowed to thrive in suburbs such as Ravenswood. We are talking about a community populated largely by those for whom anti social behaviours are the norm, for whom conflict resolution is a physical rather than verbal exercise, and, bearing in mind the pervading history and current experiences of substance abuse, neglect, derivation, trauma and dysfuction, the absence of any sort of empathy or compassion for others. An almost sociopathic disregard for anyone other than self.

I am not wholly in agreement with Kelli when she says that Housing and Tasmania Police have blood on their hands this week. I do however agree that the Tasmania Government (past and present, of both major political pursuasions) is responsible for what has occurred. The lack of effective social services infrastructure in this  State is not only embarrassing, it is socially negligent. Whilst it may be costly for the government to provide social services, it is a social and moral obligation to the people of this state. And whilst this need continues to be ignored as a major political and social imperative, the people of this state will pay with their futures and their lives.

Unschooled or just well educated?

Unschooled: Pronunciation: /ʌnˈskuːld/
adjective not educated or trained: she was unschooled in the niceties of royal behaviour.  (Oxford English dictionary online)

I have recently been introduced to the notion of “unschooling” through a blog link posted by my FB and real life friend, Kelli.  I had never encountered this concept before, and I read the blog with growing interest.  So of course, I am now the 15 minute expert ☺

The woman who wrote the blog uses the term “unschooling” to describe the process through which she teaches her children.  It’s not home schooling or (as far as I can ascertain) an alternative to what I would call formal education.  It’s described as a process through which her children learn through life.  The example that was given involved the baking of a cake and the experience the youngest child had assisting with this.

Now I can totally get behind this concept.  But I have to say, I have a real problem with labelling this “unschooling”.  For a start, refer the definition above.  To be “unschooled” is to be “not educated or trained”, and I don’t believe this process is about that.  I think in fact, the labelling sells this process far, far short.

I’m going to digress for a moment to reflect more on the process, which has its own (inappropriate in my view) name and presumably, a set of (however loose) rules and procedures.  It’s learning through life.  OK.  Not sure how that can be separated from life itself really.  Or, from the perspective of a parent, every day with your child.  So, with that in mind, here was the day today with LSH and S&H.  After a routine morning we went into the city for lunch, which happened to be at our favourite curry house.  Discussion (led by S&H) over lunch about various curries, spices and names of Indian food.  Also some discussion about the hijab of the restaurant proprietor and her two daughters.  After that, I went to donate blood and S&H accompanied me.  In the waiting area he picked up a National Geographic magazine and we talked about solar flares and armadillos.  When it was my turn to donate, cue discussions between S&H and the (male) nurse about blood, plasma, the process of drawing blood and the ways in which blood products are used.  Coffee at my new fave place was accompanied by a cupcake garnished with honeycomb; guess what we talked about.  You get the picture.

My point here is that active parenting is, I believe, a process of teaching that never stops.  Of course not every moment needs to be regarded as a “formal” learning opportunity; but I believe that effective parenting is all about teaching your child about the world and its different aspects and nuances, from general knowledge and skills, to behaviour, to societal norms and expectations.

Is this "unschooling"?  Or is it, contrary to the implications of the label, valuable experiential education?

When Love isn't Enough

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
  They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
  And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
  By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
  And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
  It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
  And don't have any kids yourself.     (Philip Larkin, This Be the Verse)

It was one of those days today at work.

I was part of a process that was lengthy, frustrating, annnoying, sad, and at times, seemingly pointless. I was involved in a meeting with three teenage girls.

That premise enough was sufficient to bring on a mini migraine. Teenagers are annoying at the best of times. But these three challenged me, made me angry, garnered my sympathy and ultimately, left me feeling so sad about how some young people are treated in our so called developed and progressive society.

As this is a work related diatribe, I need to be mindful of confidentiality of individuals and proceedings. So I will keep it as general as I can.

All the girls were charged with an offence. Not major stuff, basically wrong place, wrong time scenarios. Each girl presented as defiant, argumentative, resentful and non cooperative at various stages of the meeting. At one stage, I actually wanted to scream. I wanted to shout at them and tell them to smarten up, get their acts together. But I didn't. Instead, I started to look at who they brought with them to the meeting.

Two girls brought their mothers. The way they spoke to their mothers was, putting it bluntly, disgusting. Neither girl actually looked at her mother unless she absolutely had to. They swore at their mothers and repeatedly told them to shut up. And the mothers looked at me, as if to say, "See what I endure" and took it. They allowed their daughters to disrespect them in front of me, a stranger. This made me look closer.

As the meeting wore on (ultimately going for three longgggggg hours), some of the greater truths emerged. The girl who has not lived at home for nearly a year, despite only just being a teenager. Her mother freely admits she does not know where her daughter lives or where she is at any time. When she talks about her daughter, she refers to her as "she" or "her". It's like she can't bring herself to say her daughter's name. He daughter looks at her with undisguised hatred and contempt. Her mother can barely look at her.

The mother who says the "right things" at first, who appears to have tried everything. Maybe she has. But as the meeting wears on, her frustration becomes more evident. She starts to say things, seemingly designed specifically to elicit a negative response from her daughter. After one particularly ludicrous suggestion, which reduces her daughter to frustrated tears, swearing and leaving the room, she smirks. And continues to smirk for the rest of the meeting. It's like she is saying, "See? See what I have to put up with?" I want to tell her that I see. I see what her daughter has to deal with. And I see why her daughter would prefer not to be at home.

And the mouthy one. The girl who came in oozing bad attitude, who spoke when she wasn't spoken to, who radiated a "F$&@ you" attitude to all in the room. Damn, I disliked her intensely for the first hour. And then, she started to cry. When she should have been shouting and swearing. When it all got too hard, she cried. Because she's a kid. And that's what they do. They cry, and they want someone to help them, to care about them, to tell them it'll be ok.

That's what these girls don't have. At some point, it got too hard, for them and their parents. I don't know when that was, or what happened. But these girls are at the start of their lives. To be corny, their futures are ahead of them. They have had less than a third of my life on this planet. And they know they are alone. They know, deep down, under the defiance and the bravado, that they can't do it alone. But they are going to have to. Unless their parents change. And start being parents. Because love has to be enough. Sometimes, it has to be everything.