Certain things trigger memories. Memories can be both good and bad. Like all human beings I have memories lying dormant inside a memory bank that resides in my head. Mostly they lie unopened but they spring into life when triggered. Its like they are always on a constant loop inside my mind just waiting. There can be something on TV. Sometimes it is a song. Sometimes someone says something. Whatever – a trigger always seems to be sprung easily and memory comes flooding out. I would explain that my life is littered with regrets. Most that I would like to forget. Only some are bitter sweet and are worth remembering. There is a certain Road in Ferntree Gully that triggers feelings of regret. I cannot help feeling bad. I am reminded of how I treated our eldest son when I was teaching him to drive. Tom had asked me to help him learn to drive. I had taken him to a large car park where we could practice parking and maneuvering. This worked out satisfactorily. He then asked me to let him drive home and as he seemed to have the hang of it I said yes. We drove up backstreets to keep away from traffic and off the main roads. Finally we came to the turnoff that led to the road that took us to our house. This particular road was narrow. Halfway along there were small traffic bollards in place to slow the pace of cars. Tom hit one with the right hand front Tyre as we went through. I winced and Tom could see I was upset. I had made a groaning noise. I actually groaned out loud. Tom apologised. He smiled regretfully as he said it. Instantly I knew I had done the wrong thing and I regretted my actions. I had critisised my son for a minor misdemeanor. There had been no damage done yet I had acted as if my property had been damaged. I was giving a higher priority to my possessions than to the feelings of my son. I had made him feel bad. I was showing that I had more concern for my possessions than him. The irony was I normally raged against certain relatives who also had these failings. I had grown up surrounded by people who had felt that property and possessions were the most important thing in the world. I did not want to pass this culture on to my children. Yet here I was exhibiting it. This incident went into my memory bank to wait until triggered and would always come out to haunt me and remind me of my failings. My next two children paid for their own driving lessons. Maybe Tom had warned them. To to my knowledge Tom has never attracted the attention of the Traffic Police. As an adult he certainly gives more importance to his children than to his possessions. The words My Toolbox or the mention of the word toolbox are triggers in a similar way. Whenever I see a toolbox or hear the word I am reminded of our second son. When our second son was nearly two years old and not yet talking the television suddenly went off. This was a crisis. I went to the back of the TV and started to tease out the aerial wire. Before I had finished James had arrived back and was offering me his own tool box. He had received a toy tool box as a Christmas present and although he could not talk he knew what I had said. He knew his toy was indeed a tool box and he was offering it to me. He was showing what a wonderful generous heart he had. He was genuinely offering his help. And he was doing this silently. He has not changed in 30 years of life. He is generous and helpful to a fault to whoever he knows. He still normally offers his generosity in silence. The sight of The Simpsons on TV are a trigger that remind me of our third son. Our children grew up watching The Simpsons. We first watched them when they were a fill in on The Tracey Ulman Show. When our children were babies it was I who decided that they should have dummies. My wife was a no nonsense type of women who initially saw dummies as a crutch that children did not need. I knew that suckling was important and that dummies did have some effect. None of our children became addicted to dummies and all voluntarily gave them up when they were old enough to reason the situation. James said he would give up the dummy cold turkey on Christmas Eve and he did. Alexander said he would experiment with giving up but would promise nothing. Alexander did experiment and we thought his dummy was a thing of the past. But one night watching The Simpsons the plot focused on Maggie. Now Maggie does not do much except suck on her dummy. After watching Maggie suck on her dummy Alexander left the lounge room and went to his room He re appeared sucking on his dummy. He even sounded just like Maggie. He had been reminded of the pleasure of sucking on his dummy and thought he would experience it again. He indulged to the full in sucking. We could even hear him. The TV had reminded him of the pleasure of sucking a dummy. Alexander still has the same attitude. He can reason his own problems and likes to think through issues in his own life. The Simpsons have been another trigger. When the children were teenagers I felt that it was important that they were acquainted with classical Indian Music. I prepared a tape of Ravi Shankar to play in the car. I played it expecting the normal complaints of - why do we have to listen to this - why cant we play a tape of ours? Instead they listened for several seconds in silence. They then broke into excited conversation. They all recognised the music. They even knew the name Ravi Shankar. They then proceeded to remind each other of the plot of The Simpsons episode where the Concert for Bangla Desh is parodied. Whenever The Simpsons appear on TV in the presence of my children they cannot help but remind me that they knew about Ravi Shankar before I could take it upon myself to educate them. Their memories are triggered and they cannot help but remind me of how they had it over me for once. This reminisce is accompanied by a lot of good natured schadenfreude chortling.
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How We Met I first met my children the day they were born. The moment they were born to be exact. The relationship and feeling I have for all 3 was created at that time and has not been changed. They in turn have not changed and have stayed the same. The character and personality that was revealed that day has stayed in place. All three children were planned. All were anticipated with love. No gender was known in advance. All 3 births were different experiences. There were absolutely no similarities. The first was the most physically demanding. The labour was about 5 hours and seemed to be more difficult than it should have been but we didn't know this until it was over and the cleaning up was commenced. Lots of pain and not much movement. Drugs were administered but did not work. I had announced at least 1 hour before birth that I could see its head – and indeed I could see a head with hair. After a lot of further exhausting painful effort the Doctor finally held up the forceps in a threatening manner and this did the trick. The forceps looked both medieval and veterinary and did look frightening. Whatever - they did the trick and Tom was extruded shortly after without the help of the forceps. But Tom was born drugged and asleep. As soon as he came out he was whisked away to a corner in the room and tubes were inserted in his mouth and down his throat. After a short time however we could hear him breathing even if he sounded like a dentists suction tube. This was a relief. Normal breathing was soon achieved. The Doctor checked him over before he commenced the tiresome and lengthy duty of sewing Jenny up. After Jenny was sewn up Tom was handed to us. He still had his eyes closed. We both held him close to our faces. He opened his eyes. Looking straight at us. Seemingly in recognition. HELLO. Hello we both said in unison. Jenny asked for a cup of tea – the first she had had in 8 months. She had gone off tea while pregnant. Tom still looks at us in the same recognising way. The next birth was on a Saturday morning. Jenny had feelings she wasn't sure of so she phoned the hospital they said to come in. She had show. There was no urgency. No hurry. However the moment we walked into the ward area she had a massive contraction and we were shown into the birthing room. We were welcomed by what appeared to be a 19 year old girl. What had happened on the previous Wednesday was that Jenny’s Doctor had been killed in a car accident. We had not been told anything apart that he was dead. I did not exactly ask if the girl was here on work study or what school she went to but she could see my concern and she laughingly explained that she was a Doctor – the Hospital Registrar and she was here to supervise the birth. And she was wonderful. She took charge straight away. Jenny went into deep contractions close together and The Doctor announced that the birth was imminent. She just had to break the waters. Which she did and indeed the waters came gushing out like a fountain. She then told Jenny to stop pushing as the baby was coming too quickly. She said she wanted to get the head right. She inserted her hand into Jenny and held James down while keeping Jenny calm. She then extracted her hand and said OK push and James immediately came out. He almost shot out. It was like he was coming out of underwater. As he came out he put his hands in the air as if to cheer that he had made it out. He started crying immediately. He was placed on Jenny’s chest while the umbilical chord was cut and he immediately tried to suckle. He had dark hair. Lots of it. He was happy to be alive. He has not changed. The third came slowly but surely. The due date arrived. Jenny wasn't sure. Were they contractions she was having? Should we go to the hospital or should we wait. We went to the Hospital and waited there. Jenny said it felt different. It must be a girl. It wasn't a big thing. We did not mind either way. We talked as we waited. Suddenly things speeded up. Jenny said it was too quick. She felt she was not prepared. And there was no Doctor present. He was away on an urgent case. There were 2 midwives and they reassured her that all was well and they would handle it. And they did. Their technique was to urge breathing deeply with every contraction. Jenny tried but requested gas and took it in hungrily. They reassured her that everything was OK. The baby was pointing the right way. They had their listening devices and they could tell the baby was not stressed. Their listening devices looked over 100 years old and looked like they were made of Bakelite. But they knew what they were doing. They kept placing these apparatuses on Jenny’s stomach and listening on the other end. Everything was OK they both said. Just keep breathing and don't do any pushing as yet. Jenny said that she could not help pushing. She was worried she might want to go to the toilet. Not possible said the midwives. Don t worry about it. Just don't push. Jenny said she couldn't not push. OK Push they said. She pushed with relief. And Alexander was born shortly after without too much trouble. He came out like he was still in the foetal position. The first thing I saw was his testicles. There was no mistaking him for a girl. I told Jenny and she was pleased. Another boy. Alex cried for a short while but then seemed to relax and went to sleep lying on Jenny’s chest. His one characteristic different to his brothers was that when still in his bassinet he would throw all his blankets and sheets off before he woke up from deep sleep. As if he was coming up from a deep dive. He retains the ability to have deep sleep. I WAS THERE I was there the day the world changed. Because there once was a day when the world changed. This day actually occurred. It really did. We live in a world that appears to be fixed. And in most ways it is. Our world does not often change and sometimes no matter how much we want it to change it never does. In many ways we don’t want the world to change and go to great lengths to prevent change. If you go through life expecting that the world will never change when the momentous change occurs it is hard to know what to make of it. In my case the world did change and would never be the same again. I found it both exhilarating and a letdown. Pleasing and disappointing. Both traumatic and healing. Soothing and disquieting. All of these and more. The day itself was almost perfect weather wise. The first week in October. Not a cloud in the sky. A cool fine day. There was a slight breeze. If you stood still you could feel the cool breeze across your face. I have always found this pleasurable and remember it to this day. I am reminded always when I experience this sensation. Tom and I left home early. I was fulfilling a long held promise to him. It had been touch and go whether I could keep my promise to Tom but after a lot of stress and effort I was able to arrange it. We took the normal route to our destination and had no traffic problems. Neither of us are superstitious so we did not see this as portentous. But in hindsight you could read something into it. On arrival I fulfilled another long held promise in that I allowed Tom to buy a magazine that I had always denied him previously because I considered its purchase a waste of money. But I was pleased to see him read the magazine and get a lot of enjoyment from doing this. I had never seen my son take so much interest and concentration as he did in carefully reading every word in this magazine. We sometimes get pleasure in ways we never expect and I remember the pleasure I experienced in watching him added to the enjoyment of the day. He was ten years old and I could see the joy he took in reading. We had to wait a long time for the ceremonies to begin. But we waited patiently. Finally proceedings started. The world actually changed over the course of the next two and a half hours. This sounds trite but at the end of proceedings the world had changed forever. The actual event still seems like a dream. And like all dreams I only remember fragments. Some things have been indelibly imprinted on my brain and others have been wiped forever from my memory. I remember small unimportant things and I do not remember other things that have later been deemed important. In reality I only have vague memories of most of the day. I have no sense that two and a half momentous hours passed. I cannot remember either Tom or myself uttering a sound. Certainly neither of us can remember any involvement or reaction to what was happening. That is until the end. Towards the end I wanted the last 5 minutes to go on forever but of course it went in seconds. I did not dare make a sound until the actual end. Then I made myself known to everyone. Or tried to. The world had changed. I was there when it happened. What a thrill that my son and I could share in Collingwood's triumph. Postscript: I tried to duplicate this experience with my other two sons. Each one was taken to a Grand Final but Collingwood reverted to type and lost both games. One by a close margin and one by a large margin. Both sons understood and forgave me. Neville Gibb
May 2017 |
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