This time a week ago, moments after the Hawks game we solaced ourselves with cheesecake made by Justine.
My youngest was philosophical.
‘We will come back and win it next year.’
He scrolled through the history of his club to argue the probability of his club not only coming back once, but coming back to be team of the decade.
‘It’s all in the past stats Mum.’
I had been worried he would weep and not speak to anyone for a week, but this was not the case. For usually he tends to become highly emotional when his team is not doing well. So much so he has been ‘sin binned’ a few times for unsportmanlike watching.
That’s the power and passion.
Somehow making and losing a grand final was not a complete disaster, after all his team were in the final.
Somebody on my facebook page likened the relationship to football clubs like that of one to lovers – and perhaps sent to test us and break us.
I thought about loyalty and how some people stick with their club through thick and thin, and do not desert to find a winner.
Many were happy the Swans had beaten the Hawks. They were busy with victory celebrations.
Some congratulated the Swans, but deep down felt the Hawks had lost the game through inaccurate kicking!
Some of us professed our Undying love, a few wanted to jump ship, not wanting that kind of pain again.
Still others said ‘it’s only a game not the end of life as we know it.’
‘What a game,’ said my son. Glad that we had been valiant, and staged a comeback when all was lost, problem was so did the Swans.
Today the family will be watching the Hawks, their team, play the Swans – it’s Australian Rules Finals Time.
We live in League/Soccer Land but we have found a few locals who also support the Hawks. Our mate at the local fishing store and Justine.
Justine is coming to watch the game with us today, so she can be with people who appreciate footy.
No doubt my hubby’s family will ring him during the break of the first half. They do extra bonding at footy time.
Lots of facebooking will be going on, and the Hawks online people will share their views during the game. This is great for people living outside of Victoria, the home of AFL.
There’s a family footing tipping competition. Tipping against Hawthorn is not something most people in the family would consider, luckily this year they have made the finals and were top of the ladder. I am not so into the tipping part, but I do like to watch the finals.
Youngest however is a total fanatic, and to him it is not just a game, but the fate of the universe. He is the perfect watching companion for his Dad in most ways, although he still has to learn how to deal with what he sees as ‘poor umpiring decisions,’ and the moments where we get behind in the score for too long.
I am hoping the Hawks do well! It will make the family’s day, but most of all it will be something my youngest will treasure for a life time.
This photo is of the day I handed my bound PhD in for the library. I am glad we took a photograph of that special occassion. I try to retrieve memories of the day and all I remember is a circle of happiness in the pit of my stomach and the realisation I would not have to study whenever the children slept or were distracted with whatever positive videos, toys or books I could find. There was such relief to have made it over the line – and to have passed! Sleepless nights, a few house and flat moves, three children, wellness, illness – and the journey of the thesis itself. It is all such a blur. I notice the children are sucking on lolly pops, we must have bought them to calm them down. I seem to remember it being a hot day.
I will keep working on it, but this is my first response to the prompt.
For a long time our grandparents were distant figures, spoken of in whispers, who my Dad had fallen out with. He gruffly accepted Christmas presents from them for us, but they were seldom spoken of. So the announcement that they were coming to visit led to a flow of questions that threatened to roll our parents over and send them half way around the world.
We wanted to know ‘what time,’ ‘what shall we call them?’ and as for me ‘what to wear?’
‘ why are they visiting?’
I can’t remember what Dad said, but I recall Mum cooking roast and tidying the house till it was the most spotless I ever remember it and just saying ‘Just be polite, best manners.’ We had a clothes line machine that hung up in the house and stretched from one end to the other of a room, usually the lounge. It was up a lot in winter to save us using the dryer and we would run under the clothes and pretend they were a jungle. My Mum used to tell me to ‘always dress your best for going out, you never know who is going to see you. You might just get offered a job.’ I would pull faces and think she was mad. Every day is not a job interview.
When our grandparents arrived our grandmother was the talkative one. They gave us gifts, fake jade tikis from Air New Zealand, a Spanish dancing doll for me and other trinkets for the boys. They were English but had recently retired to New Zealand.
Granddad wanted us to call him Wal and Grandmum, Pat, but we wanted to name them, Nana and Poppy like most kids in our street called their grandparents. We settled on granddad and Grandmum. The first meeting had us all sitting up to attention at the table whilst Mum and Dad served up a meat and three vegetable meal for us all. I realise now I remember the meal well because we often didn’t eat well back when I was little. We were putting on our best show. More questions were brewing in my head.
The visit went by with each of us being introduced in turn to our grandparents. I felt the strain but Granddad seemed refined, scholarly and gentle. It was obvious to see where my Dad got his intellect from. I wonder how he could do without his Dad for so long. Grandmum seemed full of words, but I really can’t recall what she said. She was like a ball of feathers and fluff, but I was to find out she was quite artistic.
After this visit, letters flowed from my grandmum and she would tell me how granddad was. They were always decorated with pictures made from leaves and plants. And when I was fourteen years old, after years of letters and birthday cards with one or two dollars in them, I went to New Zealand with my Dad and spent a couple of weeks with my grandparents.
My memories of my granddad then are much stronger. He wore a plaid hat, and took us to see a Maori lady who he learnt the language from. She took us to a Maori meeting house. This was my first trip away from Australia since moving there as a baby. I am not sure why I was the chosen grandchild to visit. Perhaps it was because I wrote back to every letter from my grandmother and became the voice of my family to them.
Granddad loved his pet dogs and his garden. Sometimes my grandmum would send me pictures of him with the dogs or busy at work in his beloved garden. I enjoyed being in New Zealand meeting with them. We went to the beach house and walked along the sand with their racing dogs and one of my uncles who lived with them.
I noticed them gently chiding my Dad and that Granddad liked to make wine (my Dad doesn’t drink) and they asked my Dad if he would try some, to which he politely said ‘no.’ I wrote postcards home.
My grandparents know how much I liked to write, and they gave me a very special present after this New Zealand trip. It was a red typewriter to write books one day.When I went home I began to type letters to them, and send them poetry. The next time I saw my grandad, he looked over some of my poetry that I excitedly grabbed from my room to show him, and said I had real talent. I was filled with so much happiness after that comment and it added to my determination to be a writer.
Whatever happened between him and my Dad and led to such strained relations I will always remember Granddad fondly for this gentle encouragement that was to drive me to never give up writing and one day write a piece about a red typewriter. I think it must have taken courage for our grandparents and parents to patch up their troubles, so that for a little while we had grandparents.
The last time I spoke to them, I was in New Zealand and hoped to take my husband to meet them for the first time. However, my Granddad said we couldn’t come because my grandmum was ill. I was to find out later she had alzheimers and he didn’t want us to see her that way. He always protected and supported his wife, even if it meant a rift with my Dad.
I was to find out the reasons for this rift, but that is another story and it doesn’t detract from the closer relationship we were to have with our grandparents for just a bit of our lives. I will always remember my Granddad as being one of the first champions for my journey to want to be a full time writer.
June Paisa Perkins 