Dec 28

There is no doubt that parenting is by far one of the best jobs you’ll ever have.

Sure, there are plenty of books around that tell you how to do it. If you’re unlucky you’ll have family around who think they know better than you and won’t be afraid to tell you. There are barriers and obstacles, dangers and traps, every single step of the way.

Let me tell you, as a man on the brink of grandparenthood, it’s been one heck of a trip and not one bit of it would I change.

From the moment of discovering that Caitlin was on her way, this has by far been the best adventure of my life. To be present, really present, in the lives of Caitlin and Tomas has brought me such joy and happiness.

I was there when they opened their eyes, I was there when they took their first step, hurt themselves, rode a bicycle without the trainers, thrilled at their first concert, watched their first movie, gazed at their grandparents in awe.

I was there when they threw up in the car, had a toileting accident, screamed in agony in a public place, didn’t succeed at a task.

I’ve been the brunt of their frustration, I’ve been the fixer of feelings, the hugger and carer. I have gathered them in my arms to console them, and hug them and tell them I love them.

As the next chapter of life begins for Caitlin and Glen, I look back at the thrill of it all. I am so glad to have been able to be a part of her life.

It’s at this point, that I feel obliged to reflect about what I would do differently. And there are plenty of things I wished I could do over. However, the best thing I ever did was to be there as they grew up. Sure, it was tough to work part-time, never to have quite enough money, lonely and stressful. Alas, even with that, I’m so glad that I made that decision to be their care-giver. In all of life, raising kids is the best.

Grasp the chance with both hands, get in there and get dirty. Thrill at the pure joy of the unfathomable love that comes unexpectedly when a bundle of joy is passed to you the first time.

Tears streamed down my face as I looked at both my children for the first time.

We started a journey together, and I’m delighted to have been part of it. The best way to be a parent is to be there as much as you can. Take time off work, reduce your hours, do school drop offs and pick-ups, watch them dance, watch them sing, watch them act and play. Just be there, always with a warm word, a hug, a kiss and a glint of pride in your eye.

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Sep 27

My posts of late have been videos about the marriage equality ‘vote’ here in Australia.

It really is a tough time for me right now.  I’ll never forgive the parliament of Australia, my government, for putting me through this ‘debate’.  It is completely unnecessary.

For me, this mess comes at a time when I’m trying to study, my daughter is preparing for her marriage, the mother of my children is at the sticky end of her long battle with cancer, I’m settling into a new house, my son is settling in a new life at uni, my husband is in full-on activist mode, the dog next door barks all day long, my savings are dwindling, my emotional well-being is at an all-time low.

So, pardon me while I take a big mind-fart and say fuck you.  Not you, the person over your shoulder who thinks I shouldn’t be allowed to get married for reasons that only they understand.

At this time my resilience is really low.  It’s easy to become hyper-sensitive to every little slight that floats across a social media feed.  I can feel the tension in the community.  We are all feeling it to some degree.

In all of this, I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

The colours of the rainbow so pretty in the sky, are also on the faces of people going by, I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do, they’re really saying I love you.

That’s my song.

Here’s a rendition that had tears running down my cheeks.

I will not stop fighting for my own personal human rights, and I will fight for the rights of those in the GLBTIQ community.  We are all human.

The world is wonderful.  I am a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars, I have a right to be here.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be.

And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

(no, I haven’t rediscovered god.  I don’t conceive a god at all, I’m at peace with that, relax)

The world is wonderful.

I don’t do this alone.  Michael is beside me.  Caitlin and Tomas are there.  My family is right behind me.  My friends are supportive.

The reason the world is wonderful is because of love.  All these people love me for who I am.

Thank you.

You make the world wonderful.

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Jul 23

It’s 11p.m. on a Saturday night, and as I’ve done so many times over the years, I’m sitting in front of a computer thinking about going to sleep.

For many years I sat here because I had two young children and I was unable to leave the house.  Tonight is different.  My two now grown up children have left home.  Tomas leaving just this last Wednesday.  Tonight we party.   As I sit here in my own space, a room just for me and my computer, I have the sound of a party happening behind me.  There is the hum of voices and I can hear Caitlin and Tomas talking eagerly with their friends.  Every now and then there’s a crescendo as the stories are told and the voices get excited before everyone breaks off into laughter.  It is truly a wonderful sound of happiness, friendship and unsaid love between friends.  Tonight’s a special night.  For tomorrow the house will be empty.  I will no longer need to live in a 3 bedroom house with room for Caitlin and Tomas.  So, Michael and I will live in a smaller house.

My mind goes back to when my parents left the family home.  The home where we all grew up, all 11 of us.  So many memories of this great house in McIntyre Street.  My parents sold up and moved to Queensland.  I was the last to leave home and remember the intense feeling of sadness as that phase of my life passed.

And here I am again, at the threshold of the start of a new phase.  A free man, without the worry of who is home for dinner and what I need to do.  Of whether or not I need to be aware of who needs to be out the front door in the morning. Of whether or not there is enough cheese, bread or milk in the fridge.

Tonight Caitlin and Tomas have their friends here.  There are people here who have been friends since the early 2000’s.  They have visited us so many times.  They have been to so many parties here in this house.  This place is as much a part of their lives as it has been ours.

They’ve gathered in a circle, about 20 young people.  Their eyes twinkle, their faces are alive with happiness.  They seem to all be talking at the same time.  All around is delight and joy.

The TV is showing photos of our lives in the house and the guests laugh as their younger selves make an appearance.

There’s birthday parties, celebrations and photos of everyday life.  Our home is chocker block full of memories.

Every birthday was had right here, at home.  Friends would come and we’d celebrate.  We would decorate the house for a mermaid theme, or a scary party.  We’ve had a space theme, Star Wars and a Knights theme.

The parties end with all of us standing outside with sparklers and delighting in the sparks flying off in all directions.

We’ve been happy here, we’ve laughed and cried together.  We’ve yelled and been angry.  We’ve broken things and fixed them.  We’ve measured our height on the door post and posted our artwork  to the walls.

Mostly what we have is great memories.  This has been our home.

Like the sparklers dimming and fading, now is the time for us to fade too.

We’re going to light up the world in different ways, and every now and then, we’ll come together to shine.

That’s what our family does.

 

 

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Dec 30

“Through the years, we all will be together, if the fate allows”

Christmas wrapped up for another year, and this Christmas again marks a change in the ever evolving tradition for me.

Christmas night as Michael (Did I say how much I love him?) and I walked along Beacon Cove after our Christmas Day he asked the question, “What is your earliest memory”.  A question provoked as he recalled his return to Australia to the nearby Station Pier, he told me of his memory of standing on the deck of the Galileo.  He was young.

The question is a good one that spun around in my head.  Michael always manages to find questions to ask that generate a cascading effect.  Earlier in the day he asked me if this Christmas was different, noting the change from this year to last year.  He asked me how I felt about that.

Here’s my answers.

My childhood Christmas memories are of my family coming together on that one day to celebrate.  I remember the excitement of Christmas morning.  I would wake, often before sunrise, and find my Santa sack, a pillowcase put at the end of my bed the night before.  I always tried to be as quiet as I possible could be, not wanting to wake anyone else!  I would have been sharing my room with my younger brother and a couple of older brothers.

santastockingThe pillowcase would be jammed pack full of goodies. It always had a Santa stocking in it.  The stocking, very similar to the one pictured, would have some lollies along with cheap plastic toys, such as a whistle or a water pistol.  This is a tradition that I continued on with my own children until recently.  I do have a memory of feeling the sack in the dark and it being big and bulky, I’d give it a tug and pull out whatever I could without making too much noise.  I can’t recall a single gift from it, apart from the stocking.

The next part of the day is the distribution of presents from under the tree.  There was much anticipation for me.  Our Christmas tree was always a real pine tree and often placed between a couple of the lounge room couches.  I would be sure to have the best seat in the house.  I would actually pick the seat the night before and when the announcement for presents was made  I would be the first in the room and sitting as close to the action as possible.

I would have to wait for my older brothers to come home with their new families, my nephews and nieces.  Dad would come into the lounge room and there would be a lot of chatter.  He would start to distribute the gifts by calling the name of who it was for followed by who was giving it.  “Gregory from Mum and Dad”.  There were always a great big stack of gifts to give.

tape playerThere are two presents that stand out in my memory.  One was a cassette recorder.  The other a Dolphin Torch.

The cassette recorder was probably one of the best gifts I ever received.  It would have been in the late 1970’s and fed directly into my desire to be on the radio.  I was able to pretend I was a real radio DJ with it!  One of the first songs I ever recorded off the radio was Flash N the Pan’s Hey St. Peter.  I remember that it broke, possibly a day after I got it, and I had to wait until the shops opened again so we could replace it.

The dolphin torch was something that I asked for.  I needed it for camping, big, bulky and waterproof.  The real reason I remember it however, was that it marked a change in my thinking on Christmas.  I guess I was may 15 or 16, and that year the only gift I got from Mum and Dad was the torch.  I felt a great deal of unhappiness about that!  The Christmases of Plenty had passed.

As the family started to expand we all bought gifts for the new additions.  We also bought gifts for each other.  So, that’s 11 children, two parents and an ever-expanding growth of grand children and partners.  There would be laughter, squeals of delight, the rustling of paper and a big mess everywhere.  This tradition went on for many many years, all the way into the ’90s.  That’s at least 20 years.

I’ll come back to this point in time, the mid 70s.  Let me just explain this video of the presents under the tree.  I took this in 1990.  I’m 27 years old, my first wife (ok, my only wife) is the first adult through the door, she’s preceded by some of my nieces, a steady stream of children and adults come into the room.  Finally in what seems like a TARDIS space we’re all in their and my Dad begins the handing out of the presents.  You can see my Mum and Dad under the tree, bums up in the air, handing out the gifts.

This isn’t all of us either!  By 1990, some of my older nephews and nieces, along with my brothers, didn’t come to this part of the day.  We’d already started changing the long-held tradition and celebrating Christmas in our own way with our new families.  This is one of the final times that we gathered in the family home at 9 McIntyre Street, Hamilton.  My parents moved to Queensland and that changed Christmas forever.

Back to the 1970’s.  Once the presents were over and done with we would then be getting ready for lunch.  The size of our family meant we didn’t go anywhere.  People came to us.  As the years rolled on and we had my brothers wives and there children, we also had additional grandparents, uncles and aunts.  We often had two sittings, and somehow my mother prepared both meals.  At a guess we’d have about 30 for each meal, lunch and dinner.

Specific memories are a little faded, and all sorts of celebrations roll into one, I imagine that it was all very traditional.  Two things about the food stand out, White Christmas Slice  and Christmas Pudding.

christmas pudding steamerThe Christmas pudding was made by my mother’s mum, Grandma.  I have a fleeting recollection of it hanging in a calico bag from the kitchen ceiling, months before Christmas.  It was boiled in a special aluminium steamer pot and served with lashings of cream.  I recall my Dad’s mother, Nana, being responsible for putting the sixpence in the slices.  Yes, sixpence, even years after the move to decimal currency, she managed to use sixpence.

That was my Christmas day, full of family, laughter and good times.

Christmas is now much different.  When Mum and Dad moved to Queensland that was the end of our family get togethers.  By then I had children and we spent Christmas visiting my in-laws.  That was nothing like my childhood Christmas.  They were full of stress and anxiety.  I got out of them as soon as I could when I separated, then I would spend Christmas day with my sister, Angela, much more relaxed.

This year, Christmas was lunch in the city with some good friends, followed by Christmas dinner with my children, Caitlin and Tomas, future son-in-law, their mother and my husband.  For the first time Caitlin wasn’t here on Christmas morning, Angela and her family were in Queensland and I took a train ride to the city to have lunch in a restaurant.

Things change, my memories fade.  All I’m left with are a few snippets and glimpses of how things once were.  Christmas will continue to change.

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Sep 04

The SBS program, Living with the Enemy episode on marriage equality was a 50 minute show shot over 10 days.

CMTAMNGP

That means a lot has been left out as the production team go to great efforts to keep the story moving forward and connecting all the dots.  Tough calls are made on what’s in and what’s out.

I don’t have a problem with that, I’m very comfortable with how things landed, the show was extremely well put together and there simply isn’t room for everything.

It was interesting that David’s brother acknowledges that he is still attracted to men, despite now being married to a woman.  The bit missing is my own journey of being gay in my teens and early 20’s, then pretending to be straight, getting married to Jennie at 26, having two children and then finding that didn’t work and back to being true to myself.

I played the game.  I got married, had children and tried to be a heterosexual.  It’s really hard work and as I said in the show, it took me all the way to 35 to sort myself out.  I can only hope that David’s brother has found happiness in his life.  Denial is a very powerful force that can really mess you up.  I know.  But just because that is my experience doesn’t mean that everyone else will travel the same road.

My two children are an important part of my life.  We have always lived together and they did give a speech at the wedding.  It was wonderful and brought me to tears.

Hello everyone.  I’m Tomas

And I’m Caitlin.

For those of you unaware, we are Greg’s beloved children.

We can’t quite express how overjoyed we are to be at this point, sharing in this moment with Dad and Michael.

Ever since we were young, my sister and I have understood and supported our father’s sexuality, joined him in his fight for equality.

And I speak for the both of us when I say we have never been happier or prouder of him than we are today.

Though it may not be quite what you had hoped, being neither on Australian soil, nor by Australian law, we’re glad to have been here for the next big step of your relationship.

Witnessing the love that you share.

And looking forward to whatever else may come in the future.

Be it another wedding in Australia

Adoption

Or one of us finally moving out.

No matter what, we have greatly enjoyed being part of this journey, and take great pride in being part of the march that is to come, through blood, sweat and tears.

Congratulations to you both.

It’s signed:

Congratulations on a beautiful ceremony.

With much love, Tomas and Caitlin.

It was fantastic to have both of my children with me on this very important, significant life event.

 

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Jul 14

Ian Thorpe used an interview to come out to the world.

For years there has been much speculation about his sexuality. I’ve always thought that he can be whatever he wants.  It’s not for me to decide or speculate about the sexuality of another.  I’ve seen a very small snippet of the interview and have read plenty on the internet about it.

Everyone is jumping on the bandwagon – so, me too!

In the 80’s it was impossible for me to come out.  I was in a relationship with a man back then and I kept it so very well hidden.  We had to.

On many occasions I lied outright to hide my sexuality.   I went on to get married and have two kids.  I don’t regret any of my life at all.  It’s been a tough slog, and looking back I don’t know just how I managed to get to be 50 without killing myself, having a mental illness or addicted to alcohol or some other drug.

My life wasn’t a misery either, mind you.  Sure, I had a lot of pressures, a lot of stress but in amongst that I was a devoted husband to my first spouse and a loving father.

It seems that with all that pressure, the release valve was anger.  Tomas and Caitlin reminded me of this just the last week.

We have just returned from a fabulous holiday in Queensland.  One of the things we did was the theme parks.  I was reminded, when we holidayed here many years ago, how angry I got when Tomas didn’t want to take a ride with me, he was frightened of it.  Instead of taking the gentle approach I erupted, did some yelling, made everyone feel horrible and stormed off.  All a bit silly now.  At the time it was an outlet for my denial and frustrations and those closest to me got hurt.

I’m not looking to seek understanding or forgiveness, but I want to highlight just how toxic it is to not be who you are.  In my world I recall every homophobic slur and insult hurled my way.  Nobody could possibly know I was gay, I didn’t fit the stereo type.

im_gay_so_whatI recall being in Grade 4 and being teased because I had decided to do a school project on flowers.  I had cut out pictures of flowers and pasted them into a scrap-book and written an explanation under each image.  For this I earned the label poofter.  In Form 2 I was again labelled with that classification because I said my favourite song was “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” by Julie Covington.  The song was at the top of the charts, so there must have been a lot of poofters around enjoying it too.  In Form 4 I was taunted in the change room, accused of being the only one who liked to look at my classmates penises.  I was petrified and never looked at anyone in the locker room.  Mind you the boy who said it was running around the room with this fingers stretching his penis out trying to impress everyone with its size; and I’m the one being harassed.

Imaging growing up with my dad and having him fling around homophobic taunts and the impact that had on me.  My older brothers using gay slurs all the time.  It was terrifying and little wonder that a child of the 70’s and 80’s would go to great lengths to hide their sexuality.

I have to say, writing this and re-reading it.  It has been bad.  Really bad.  My life up until my 40’s was a mess.  It really shouldn’t be this way for anyone at all.  The internal battle that raged within me is way more than a quiet, shy country lad should ever have to endure.

I can only imagine the inner turmoil  that Thorpe had.  I don’t know his reasons for keeping his sexuality under wraps or why he has picked this moment to come out.  Nor do I really care.  It’s not my business and of little interest to me.  I do know that I can empathise with him and I can only hope that his feels better now.  People around Thorpe need to support and encourage him.

I have already written several blogs about how the media continues to use the gay angle to drive traffic and get noticed.  The major newspapers have been falling over themselves trying to be the first with the news.  One newspaper I saw said in big letters “I AM GAY”, I was rather amused to see men walking around with this tucked under their arm.

The media is still treating gay people as a play thing.  On the radio, the TV and in the press Thorpe is all around, along with everyone having a say.  You know, it really shouldn’t be newsworthy.  In a 90 minute interview was this all he said?

So let me move slightly now to talk about Brian Taylor, a football commentator.  On a TV show he called one of the footballers a ‘big poofter’.

If you want to know why sportsman don’t come out, there it is in two easy words for you.  Even in jest, the impact of being vilified and made fun of is no fun for anyone.  Taylor has sort of said sorry.  I’ve read comments on several sites that suggest we gay people are too sensitive, that we need to toughen up.  Someone even used the “sticks and stones” line.    Essentially what is being said is that if you can’t take being picked on or the language upsets you, it’s your own fault,not that of the person who was just having a laugh.

What’s not seen however, is the impact it has and it doesn’t matter if that impact was in the 70’s or now.  It’s the same.  Roll it together, I got picked on at school, at home, in the church, I read stories of gay men being jailed.  Everyone made poofter jokes and it had a huge impact on me.

I needed someone like Ian Thorpe to be a role model for me.  Even now, in his 30’s he is to be admired.  It takes courage to tell the world your secret.

The act of coming out is both a release and a new stress.  I didn’t have the luxury of saying it to the world, but I know that the uncertainty of telling those you love this very personal intimate piece of information is a challenge.  The question is will they still be friends after I tell them?

I do just want to also touch on the fact that he is being accused of lying and hiding his sexuality so that he could make some money.  That he also got paid to tell his story.  Good for him.  If I could make a few dollars from telling my story, I’d do it too.  The entertainment industry makes a stack of money off the back of Thorpe – I can’t see why you’d denying him the right to have share of that money.  I don’t know how he makes his money these days, but I’d be keen to understand why any sports person in the media spot light should do it for free.

Good on Ian Thorpe.  At his own choosing in his own moment he said what he needed to say.  I can only hope that it brings him some peace of mind.

 

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Jun 01

Sometimes I think I live in a cocoon and I feel oblivious to what’s happening around me. I’ve always been good at railing against the world, in my 20’s I  fought city people for the rights of rural people.  City folk still have little comprehension of what its like over the Westgate bridge (and yes, I know some of you come from other directions)  In my 30’s I fought against the evils of religion, and in my 40’s I fought for the rights of gay people.

All these things are very dear to my heart and perhaps core to my being.

Being ‘homosexual’ I’m very aware of how awkward my sexuality makes me feel at times.  Last night a good friend had to remind me that I was in a safe place and it was OK to dance with Michael.  That was pretty amazing.  I think we were the only same-sex couple in the room, it happens a lot.  I am always self-conscious and careful about my actions and can feel quite uncomfortable when Michael wants to touch me or kiss me.

That fear is always there, I’ve heard the word ‘faggot’ more times than I care to recall.  Every time it scares the fuck out of me.  Australia is a pretty safe place and I can keep myself safe by not outwardly showing my sexuality, not touching my husband, not kissing him, not telling him how much I love him out loud.  I can suppress that.  I should, shouldn’t I?  I mean if I hold hands while walking down the St Kilda foreshore on a Sunday night and a bunch of guys follow along behind laughing, and I catch words like ‘homo’ and ‘faggot’ all I have to do is pretend not to be gay and I’ll be ok.

On the outside, if you see Michael and I getting around we just look like a couple of normal, regular blokes.  If you see me alone, you wouldn’t have any idea that I’m gay.  I don’t have any of the stereo-type traits.  Aren’t I lucky.

I am what appears to be to everyone else, a white, middle class Australian.  I fit in.  Mostly.

I continue the fight for equality however, because I’m still not fully fitting in.  I really just want what everyone else wants.  To be happy in my relationship and to express myself in a way that feels innate without living in fear.

Some of you have just read this and are supportive.  Thank you.  Please help me to continue to bring happiness and joy to all, we all have a right to live in an Australia, in a world, free of intolerance and abuse.

There’s another group of Australians that are constantly under threat.

Women.

Last year a work colleague was killed by her husband.  I don’t know the full story, a man killed a woman.  They were in a relationship.  It happens a lot more than we care to think about.

My daughter won’t walk home alone in the dark.

An American man goes on a killing spree because he’s a virgin at 22 and he’s going to make women ‘pay’.

Geoff Shaw in the Victorian state parliament wants to wind back abortion laws.

It feels a lot like misogyny.  It feels a lot like white male privilege.

Really, it doesn’t feel like that, it is misogyny based on white male privilege.

In her excellent article Clementine Ford said:

Why is it that one woman murdered every week in Australia by her partner or ex-partner is not considered a manifestation of the ongoing, ritualised hate crime that specifically targets women? Why must we be further insulted by having our anger explained away as irrational and misplaced? We know what pure, unadulterated misogyny is because we have felt its wrath; yet we’re once again being told our instincts are wrong by people for whom such hatred can never be anything more than theoretical.

Women should be angry and they should be outraged and they should fight back.  But wait – this isn’t just their problem.  It’s my problem.  It’s our problem and its your problem.

I am not a woman and I have no idea what it means to be a woman.  The thought however that women don’t feel safe means is unacceptable.

When I had a recent discussion with family about a taxi company running women only taxis, driven by women for women, some of the men folk thought this was a good idea.  It would keep them safe.  Keep them safe from men who might harm them.  Seriously?  This is our response to male violence?

One woman is murdered every week in Australia by her partner or ex-partner.

One a week.

Yep, violence happens against men too.

“where men were typically assaulted by a stranger, women most often experienced physical assault in the context of domestic violence.”

I’d like to stop all violent behaviour.  I don’t get the need to use violence to get something you want, and like it or not, it’s men who are doing the hitting.  (I should also point out that just because you want something doesn’t mean you get it – sometimes the answer is no and you simply have to respect that answer).

Victoria Police Minister Kim Wells is on to it.

Mr Wells backed the creation of more task forces targeting crimes such as family violence and organised crime, but disputed that this would result in fewer frontline police.

“When people say there’s going to be less police out on the frontline, that’s completely and utterly wrong,” he said.

“This is about putting more police out on the frontline dealing with crimes such as family violence.”

Dealing with…family violence.  Dealing with it?  Come on, it needs more than just dealing with.  Establishing a police task force is  great initiative, but it’s too little too late.  By the time the police are involved it’s already too late.  Ken Lay, Victoria’s Chief Commissioner of Police is on to it too:

Their multiple studies found that 1 in 3 women worldwide had been either physically or sexually assaulted. Linger on that statistic. It’s appalling. Violence against women everywhere is very, very common.

He goes on to say:

Now consider this: when we focus on the victim, there is an implicit suggestion that male violence is just something we should all put up with—that it’s some immovable cloud that hangs over society. Well, I don’t think so.

We’re never going to extinguish all violence. We can’t create a utopia. And I’m not suggesting that parents don’t talk to their children about safety. What I’m saying is that the emphasis on the victim is disproportionate and that’s damaging because men aren’t having hard conversations with each other.

Let me get this straight.  Violence is perpetrated  by men.  Men are causing harm to women because (some) men have a sense of entitlement to take what they want and expect women to provide it.  The top cop in the state says “Violence against women is very common” and “when we focus on the victim”.  We should have no doubt here, men are killing, hitting, bashing, causing harm, however you want to describe it.  One woman a week is dying because of a man.

Women live in fear.  Women have to put up with appalling behaviour of men because men have the privilege and they think they can get away with it, they think it is ok, society gives them approval.  We blame the victim.

Ever heard this sort of talk?

“she’s playing hard to get”

“she was begging for it”

“she started out saying it was ok and I couldn’t stop”

“she’s a bitch”

“she shouldn’t dress like that”

“what does she expect wearing that?”

I find it odd.  I don’t know if it’s because I’m gay, a SNAG (sensitive new age guy), a victim of childhood abuse or still reeling from the shock of my work mate’s violent death.  I think it’s more likely that I just see something in the world that’s not right and it’s gotta stop.

It doesn’t matter whether it’s an appalling statistic of death or someone like Geoff Shaw trying to wind back abortion laws, these are out-and-out attacks on the liberty of women in our society.  The attacks are based purely on their gender.  We are part of this society and we really shouldn’t stand back and watch it happen unchallenged.  This is not something that women alone need to deal with.  It’s something everyone needs to deal with. Its something that men need to address.

A few tweets, a few likes on Facebook or even writing a blog isn’t enough.  Places like my work are doing something positive to make a difference.  I’ll support the excellent work of Family Life.  Early intervention I think is the key.  Whether it’s through innovative programs or simply dads talking to their sons, we all have a role to play.  I’ll do more than write a blog post and re-tweet some words of others.

Just like not being gay makes it hard for people to understand how I feel or what they can do to help, so it is with the way women feel.  I just don’t know what that is like.  I do know that there is a real problem and I want to be part of the solution.  I do know that there are people, women and men, doing fantastic work and they need support.  My support, and your support.

It needs action, I don’t know what that means just now.  I do know that in my words, my conversations with others, I will not denigrate women, I will not explain behaviour based on gender.  Violence is unacceptable.

It needs to stop.

bayside

 

White Ribbon Australia’s campaign to stop violence against women

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Dec 31

Not normally one for pondering the year that has been, I find myself doing just that.  Although, I’m pondering a lot more than just the last 12 months.

In the short-term I find myself in a state of bewilderment.   You see, I work with a small team of people at work and one of them was killed just before Christmas.  Her husband has been charged with homicide, and I just can’t find a spot in my mind where that makes sense.  The impact has been enormous and I’ve struggled to make sense of it.  At the same time I’ve had to give support, space and understanding to others, something that I’ve done quite willingly.  I can feel that part of me that needs to be busy in a crisis.  I work where I do because the people I work with do great work in a range of areas, including family violence.  I’ve seen reports, heard the stories and know that violence happens.  I don’t understand it.  I don’t understand why some men think this is a way to solve a problem.  I want this to stop.  When it touches you so close to home it becomes real, not just something you read about or see on the TV.

The last couple of years has also been sad with other deaths, my sister, my mother and earlier this year my father.  It’s been a tough time.  The thoughts of them intrude frequently as I remember, recall and see them in my mind. I have the photos, videos and memories of these people.  Despite everything, they are treasured memories.

The death of my parents in particular has been a relief too.  My greatest fear was being rejected by my parents.  Now without that worry I really do finally feel free.  How bad is that I wonder.  A 50-year-old gay man still fearful of what his dad thinks.  I’ll tell you what he thinks, he thinks that I’m a woolly woofter.

When it comes to the emotions of life, common sense has little to do with it.  In all likelihood my sexuality would probably not have been a concern to them at all.  Possibly they would be too polite to actually say anything about it.  Reality says two things – I’ll never know what they thought, and it no longer matters.

So, I have a new-found freedom.  This new-found freedom helped me one night in Bali to look into the eyes of my beautiful man and ask him to marry me.  He, with a tear in his eye, said yes.  Who’s the woolly woofter now?

He comes with a pre-arranged family, parents who accept and love him for who he is, a brother, sister-in-law, a niece and nephew, aunty, cousins and friends who just don’t give a single low-flying duck about his sexuality, oh, and they also love him. I’ve been accepted into the fold and have the deep sense of the family madness that comes with that.  I have to say, that’s wonderful.  Oh, they’re not really mad either, my lot has the madness refined to a much better level of insanity.

The last two years have also been an incredible deep personal journey for me too.  I’ve grown so much on the inside, mentally.  For years my brain has been a muddle.  I fully expect that to continue.  However, some of it has become unmuddled.  This release has seen me lose well over 30 kgs., and go from sitting on my arse to actually running, I did a 8 kilometre run this morning.  It’s also seen me grow into a new work role that quite frankly surprised me, I managed to achieve a Diploma in IT and quell the side of my personality that was up for a fight, mentally that is, not physically, although my mind rarely rests.  I guess that a dose of muddle comes with that.  I have started to talk to people, to connect face to face instead of by email.  That’s simply amazing for me, a man who wouldn’t approach you personally unless I absolutely had to.

It’s important to go back over more than the last two years to make sense of the journey that gets me to this point.  I don’t know how long it’s taken to get here.  I do know that the trip has been bad.  I’ve been married, for the wrong reasons, I’ve used my mind to shield and bury my sexuality.  You know, in denial.  I’ve used that same mind to keep people at a distance, to be argumentative and unwelcoming.  There’s a lot in that to undo.  I will always be in the undoing mode.  I want to understand me, I want to question and hopefully find the answers.  For the first time in years I really do feel free.

I’ve also moved positions on marriage.  I’ve gone from being married to Jennie, despite all, this was a great relationship.  When we broke up I didn’t want to get married ever again.  I’ve moved to fighting for the right to get married in Australia to now actually wanting to get married.  That alone is a big trip!

I still have battles to fight.  I can’t get married to Michael in Australia.  Some religious people still get up my nose.  There are still people who struggle to make ends meet.

In all of this world, we still have large sections of it that are opposed to my personal, private relationship with Michael.  It’s said to be harmful, wrong and the end of civilisation.  To me it just feels like love.  I know that what Michael and I have is not a threat to anyone, neither of us want to convert anyone to the ‘gay lifestyle’ (other than Hugh Jackman and a couple of other hunky types…).  In Russia the persecution of gay people is on the increase.  In Uganda homosexuality has been criminalised with prison time.  Evangelical Americans continue to spread misinformation about us (and therefore me) and continue to demonise and demoralise people for no good reason other than their interpretation of the bible that I reject outright.

People starve, people die from preventable disease.  Women are killed at the hands of men, children are abused by religious.  Gay people are vilified, racism continues, misogynists exist.  From this angle the world seems depressing and closed.

In my world, I have love.  I have acceptance.  I see my Tomas and Caitlin grown and developing into their own lives.  I feel my partner at my side, partners in life.  I have a great sense of family, which, I’ve discovered I can hand-pick.

I feel that it’s only right that in an act of defiance that I should say to the Australian Government, Fuck You!  If you won’t let me get married, then I will just nick off somewhere else and do it.

I love Michael, he loves me.  We are engaged.  The next step is to be married.  It’s what we do as a society.  Marriage brings with it a public commitment and recognition of the relationship we have to each other.  It says more than just a couple living together in a de-facto relationship.  It carries more weight to say, “Please meet Michael, my husband” and not “Please meet Michael, my partner”.

Sure, it’s not for everyone, but I now know that it’s for me.

Those of you that have been part of my journey, thank-you.  Buckle up, there’s more to do.

If I can go from one short fat lazy Australian to a 50-year-old, fit, slim bloke, then there is nothing we can’t do.   No matter where this ends up, you take care of yourself, never stop asking questions and always be willing to change.

So, I leave my ponderings now, I wish the world a happy New Year and I wish you well.

5 years between photos

5 years between photos

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Sep 12

Somewhere along the way my Dad died.  I knew he died.  It was completely unexpected, well, except that he was 84.

Brian Storer

Brian John Storer
13 December 1928 to 30 July 2013

It was 14 months between my mother dying and Dad dying.  The two deaths were so very different.  Mum’s was drawn out and painful to witness, it went on for months and the final 24 hours were horrifying beyond my expectations. Some day I’ll publish the blog I wrote about that, but it’s still pretty raw.  Dad on the other hand went at the end of a normal day.  Like so many others.  We have a photo of him, just hours before he died, he is alert and happy.  When his death came he literally sat down and simply died.  Oh for all of us to have it so easy.  He died his own way, on his own terms, no fuss, not bloody quacks, no hospital stay.  He was a stubborn man who didn’t need anyone else to help him.

I didn’t ever really connect with my dad.  To me in my growing up years he was an angry violent drunk.  He was vindictive and mean.  I guess I loved him anyway, but I feared him and wanted to be spared from his anger.  I didn’t want to be near him when he was drunk as he would often use me (or other siblings) for a cheap laugh or a joke. He thought it was funny to get drunk, wrestle me to the floor and proceed to tickle me.  It was horrifying and scary for at any moment he could erupt into a ball of anger.  I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the belt or him trying to ‘knock my bloody block off’.

These memories last long into adulthood and it was years before I realised that I was outside his control and I no longer had to fear his anger.  It’s clear that he left a big scar on my psyche.

Do I have any fond memories of him?  I don’t think I have any great moments from childhood that spring to mind. I grew into adult hood and watched as he grew into old age.  He and Mum won Tattslotto and after years of struggling on ‘compo’ after a train accident that left him unable to work this was a fantastic thing to happen.

We sort of settled into an adult relationship.  He loved seeing my kids, he always took a keen interest in them and what they were up to.  Over the years he certainly mellowed.

Then the whole issue of my sexuality came up for me.  Dad was a devout catholic, he really believed in the stuff about jesus.  I did too, for a long time.  It was perhaps the only thing that kept us together. My fear of him rejecting me because I was gay was at the top of my mind.  I didn’t want him, or Mum to find out.  I kept it hidden in plain view.  Both of them met Michael as we always travelled together.  We never really spoke directly about who Michael was and I was always anxious that they might ask me.  I knew that if they did I would tell them that he was my partner and that I was gay.  I mostly keep to myself but when you ask a direct question I’ll give you a direct answer.  My parents would ask my other siblings about me, but never did they speak with me about it.

Is it a crying shame?  Maybe, I don’t know.  And now I’ll never know.

That’s OK.

Yes, there is some regret there, but I understand why I kept this away from them.  I didn’t want to be rejected and I didn’t want either of them thinking that somehow they’d failed me.  I didn’t want them thinking that I needed saving from the fires of hell, or when they worked out that there was no saving that somehow I was bound for the fires of hell.

And that’s what I think they thought about gay people. I can just about recall every nasty thing my dad ever said about gay people.  The ‘woolly woofters’ which I think is rhyming slang for bloody poofters.  I’m not sure.

I’ve shed a few tears about his passing.  I know that there is a spot somewhere in my heart for the love of my Dad.  I feel the sense of loss, a part of my life that has finished.  I feel the pang of that separation, even if it isn’t as powerful as I would have liked it to be. Then there’s a bit of envy as I interact with my siblings.  My brother Craig talking about calling Dad when their football teams played (Hawthorn and Richmond) or my sister Janine telling me about taking him out to lunch just days before he died.  My brother Larry telling me about the things he did for Dad.  My sister Angela visiting him with her children and developing a relationship with all of them.  Including him in their everyday life. I didn’t have that.  I stopped myself from having that sort of relationship with him.  Part of me didn’t want it because my childhood was marred with unpleasantness that I never got over.  Part of me was protecting myself against his rage and his rejection.

Did he know?  Yes, I think so.  I think both my parents knew I was gay, but we never spoke about it, it was a subject that none of us ever wanted to talk about. I can romanticise about my relationship with my dad.  It’s easy to do that.  I did have a relationship with him, it’s just not as I’d hoped for.  I think it’s mostly my fault for not addressing those issues with my folks, despite my straightforward and honest approach with people, the courage and bravery left me when it came to speaking with my folks.  And that’s ok.

It’s not easy to say to people that I didn’t like my dad too much.  Because I didn’t.  I’d do anything for him, but I didn’t like him.  Whether or not the strain of that relationship was felt by him I don’t know.

Have I done the right thing?  Yes.  I handled the relationship in a way that meant I never had to put either of us into a confrontation that would send my stress levels through the roof.  I did a bit of self-preservation.  I may regret that we never had that conversation, but I don’t think so.

I’m at peace with where we left things. Despite all of this, I did spend time with Dad, short amounts of it.  I’d visit and sit with him for a while, watch some TV, talk politics and about the latest news, catch up on stories from home. Then I’d leave.  Sometimes I’d call him.  I set up a computer for him, Dad was mostly blind so the computer needed to read to him, it brought him many hours of both pleasure and frustration!  I felt safest around him when others of his children where present. I was there when Mum died, I made sure that he got what he needed by way of his religious beliefs.  I stood next to him as she died and prayed with him.  I understood just what his religion meant to him and I think I helped him at the time.  I made sure we conducted Mum’s funeral in the true traditional catholic way.  For what it’s worth I also made sure that his final service was very catholic.

Now both my parents have died.  At times I have felt a great sense of loss.  It’s a little overwhelming.

My Dad called me Son.  He is the only person in all the world who called me that.  He may have forgotten my name, there were so many of us!  No, no, that’s a joke.  I called him Pop or Dad, he is the only person in the world who I used those titles with.  The name Son was what separated each of us from everyone else in the world.  Pop may not have had the knowledge on how to show his love for us, but the weight of a single word when addressed directly to you is sufficient to carry the full set of emotions and love.  It is a special bond, a link that only a father and son can share.

Until my own father died, I didn’t realise that I use Son a lot when I speak with Tomas, I call Caitlin Princess.  I’m not aware of whether or not our parents had special names for their daughters.

The value of family can never be under estimated.  The spontaneous hugs from Caitlin when I’m distressed or Tomas standing next to me at the graveside, hand on my shoulder, Michael my fiancé a hairs length away from me at all times, ready to embrace me when the grief strikes, these are the important moments when we pull together to take care of each other.

This is the love of my family that I value.

Mum has gone, Dad has gone, there is no one to call me Son.  The special connection to my birth has gone, the two people whose love for me was never in question have gone.

I feel alone.  I know I’m not, but the world has changed for me.

For me, I need to write this down.  The exploration of my feelings and the grief, the resentment, the anger and the love are a swirling mess of thoughts and emotions.  It helps me to write about it.  I’ve spent 4 weeks in Bali writing this blog.  My finger now hovers over the publish button.

I want to share this.

Everyone dies.  Maybe your dad already has.  Maybe it is yet to come.  Mine died, quickly.

If I’d had some warning, what would I have done differently?

Nothing.

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Apr 25

I’ve been married.  To a woman.  We had two children.  We had a great life together.  Our wedding day was one of the most outstanding days of my life.  Jennie and I had many good years together.

Recently I’ve been going through my old stuff.  We both corresponded with each other in the late eighties by writing letters.  I actually put pen to paper and Jennie did the same.  We lived in different cities.  Her in Melbourne, me in Hamilton.

We made phone calls, regularly.  Most phones in the late 80’s were connected to a wall via a cable.  So you didn’t really carry them about.  Jennie would call me at work, so I couldn’t escape to another room or step outside, I had to take the call at my desk, wide open to the public.

Then we’d call at night.  Jennie worked nights so sometimes I could call her at work.  We’d tie the phone up for awhile, that would make my mother mad.  My dad complained about the bill a lot.  (Strange, I complain about the bill now too).

And yeah, even when we were married I was gay.  There were a lot of strange things going on in my head at the time and it took many years to put all that right.  But as my friends and family would tell you Jennie and I were clearly in love.  And we were clearly in love.  The early days of our relationship were fantastic.  I had a deep love her.

That’s really important.  It is that love that lead me to marry her.  I foolishly thought it would last forever, but things don’t always work out the way you expect.

I’ve moved on now.  My life has changed, but Jennie is still in it, and I do whatever I can to make sure she is OK.  I’m determined to make sure that she’s taken care of because somewhere I still have feelings for her.  Sure, they’re mixed up at times, but let’s face it, our marriage was important and we shared something very meaningful.  We also share the parentage of two children.

On April 21st 1990 we got married.  The Australian Government sanctioned our marriage, I have the certificate to prove it.

certificate of marriage

As I said, I’ve moved on.  Michael is in my life now.  I love him.  I want to spend the rest of my life with him.  We keep in touch during the day, we regularly say “I love you” to each other.  We share just about every aspect of our lives together.  I foolishly think it will last forever!  What can I say.  He makes me melt.  It’s true that we don’t have children together, we do live with two (and sometimes 3) adult children.  Our relationship is important.  What we share is something very meaningful.

Just three years ago on April 21st 2010 we got registered.  The Australian Government didn’t sanction our relationship.  The state of Victoria did, I have the registration slip to prove it.

25283_418558365148_505910_n

There is no difference in the way I feel now.  I’m in love. I know what that feels like.

New Zealand, France and other places allow people just like me to get married.  I seem to be living in a backwater.  People come to me wide-eye and make positive comments about New Zealand and want to know if I’m going there to get married.

Well no.  I’m Australian.  If I want to get married again I want to do it here.  I don’t want to go to New Zealand, nice as it is I’m sure.  The Australian Government wouldn’t even acknowledge my marriage.

Say what you like about marriage.  You can believe it to be whatever you want.  To me it’s about love.  To me it’s about a public commitment to another person.  Who cares what the sex of that person is?

I know what love is, I know what marriage is, I have been married to the woman I loved.  I now want to be married to the man I love.

From where I stand my Government is preventing me from doing it.  There is no good reason to deny me and my partner the right to call each other husband.

We are not second class citizens.  We are Australian men, in love and living together as a couple.

The only people in the marriage are the couple.  The rest of it is no one’s  business.

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