Yesterday on ABC News 24 David Marr was talking about Bill Henson’s photography and the very intelligent school principal who allowed her students to pose for him nude. Marr said the witch hunt against Henson was belatedly proved to be without foundation. When focussed on the school principal, it completely disregarded the effective checks & balances this astute person had put in place.
That evening I fronted up at my local Thai restaurant in Tempe to collect a take away meal for two. The very focussed lady who has recently opened this venue deserves whole heartedly to succeed; Tempe is starved [bad pun] of entrepreneurial ventures. I know the lovely young mum running the pub; the gay bloke in the framing shop, and the couple in the upholstery shop, not to mention the more pedestrian newsagent and grocery.
Tempe, just to set the scene, is named by Banks from Cook’s ship when the crew sailed down the Cooks River from Botany Bay; the place struck Banks as idyllic and mythical. Originally an Irish working class transport repair depot, it soon became populated by Greeks, whom I have to remind that this is Sydney’s only Greek named suburb. I’m tempted to order the five greek letters from a US online fraternity supplier.
The young couple with their two girls who have bought next door to my place think I’m an original inhabitant, so alluring is the urge to kick off the shoes and settle your toes in the garden soil. But Sydney, like any big city, has a habit of re-inventing itself every couple of decades. The ring of inner-city suburbs has become a dormitory belt for two parent households, both working fulltime to pay the hefty mortgage. Again, let me express my gratitude for the people of entrepreneurial vision who have ventured their capitol to make a go of it. The Thai lady in this beautifully appointed restaurant is employing about a dozen people. May success follow her footsteps. I certainly told her how tasty the food was; and, after all, food well made is a sacrament. Forget religion in a public building once a week, this is where it’s at.
Now for the title of this blog: years ago I read the Celestine Prophesy. A lot of hush hush, self important mumbo jumbo, I thought mostly. Here and there though, I found a grain of truth. Such as, a child must be raised by an adult totally and constantly focussed on her/him. I was sitting on a stool in the shop front, waiting for my order to be cooked; next to me stood a young mum, bristling with impatience, beside her was her young daughter, who was passing the time, as children are wont, skipping across the ceramic sloping wheelchair exit that dipped between the floor levels on either side. She was making a lot of noise, but as I pointed out to her mum it was an interesting interior feature, the child was celebrating it. The mum’s response was to take her daughter’s arm and abruptly tell her to be quiet. I pulled out one of the adjacent chairs for the child to sit on.
Clearly, the mother had allowed her day’s weight of worries and cares to completely dominate her mental screen; meanwhile here is her child, ignored as a nuisance. In such situations I find myself relating to the child; I also can see the mother regarding me as a possibly sex offender. Is he grooming my child? This of course disregards the issue of access that an offender would have to overcome; a mum would have to allow the perp access to facilitate the abuse. Meanwhile, I have no interest in knowing the family any better. I’m looking at a child disregarded by her self-important parental unit; all I see is a young spirit wanting to explore the universe, dancing in the cosmic tidal energies. The child is mother of the man.