It's an odd thing travelling First Class on Britain's trains. For a start, hardly anyone else does it, so you'd be virtually guaranteed a seat even if you didn't reserve one. The rest of the train can be completely packed - and has been on all the train journeys I've taken so far - and First Class remains more than half-empty, its passengers sitting in splendid isolation at the front of the train.
What I find most interesting is the attitude of those travelling Second Class (or whatever it's called these days). It's as if there's a barrier between First and Second which almost no-one is willing to breach when holding a Second Class ticket. They can be standing in the aisles in Second - and frequently are - but it's as if First doesn't exist, or has been rendered invisible for the duration of the journey.
When I lived in England I would never have dreamed of going First Class on the train. First class was for other people - not that we knew any, or expected to. Those other people were posh people, rich people, probably upper class people.
Being middle middle class myself, I don't think I ever met anyone who went First Class. We all crammed into Second like sardines, and if we didn't win the mad dash to get on the train first and grab a seat we'd be standing up for the duration of the journey or sitting on our suitcases next to the doors and trying not to get bowled over as people got on or off. No question of transferring to First though. Crikey! The very thought!
I think the fact that I've lived in New Zealand for nearly 20 years - where the class system is virtually non-existent - means that I have finally overcome my inbuilt (inbred?) inability to consider travelling First. But old habits die hard, and even now it does feel a bit odd.
Bringing mum down from Birmingham to Cambridge on the train yesterday was an illuminating experience. "We're in First Class" I loudly proclaimed to any and all railway officials who came within earshot - as if this would somehow bestow special powers or privilege on us - which perhaps it did. Or maybe all British Rail employees are as kind as the ones we encountered - or possibly it was mum's influence that inspired them all to be incredibly helpful and thoughtful.
Mum was a bit horrified that I'd bought us First Class tickets. I could almost hear the unspoken commentary. "We don't travel First Class! It's not for the likes of us!" But Oh My God how much better it is to travel First with a reserved seat. No need to panic about having to fight for somewhere to park ourselves for the duration, we just make our way down to the front of the train. Once there the kindly station attendant helps me to leap mum across the yawning gap between platform and train (it's HUGE in Birmingham) and there we are - seats with our names on, and nothing to worry about.
I found it fascinating to watch the other passengers stuck just outside our door in the entrance to Second Class. Out of the hundred or so people jammed into Second, only two decided to upgrade to First. With much apologetic mumbling two people ventured into First and sat down. "Gosh the train's so full.... I hope it's not too expensive to upgrade.... I'll pay...."
It was as if one is only allowed into First if there's absolutely no possibility of a seat in Second - and then only on sufferance - because of course they are most definitely not supposed to be there - not being the Right Kind Of People.
You'd think that more people would do it. It's so infinitely better in First - simply because of the space and guarantee of a seat. But they just don't. One other enterprising person was brave enough to stow their suitcase on the luggage shelves in our carriage - and would pop in now and again to get stuff out or put stuff away - but everyone else just stuck it out in Second - beyond those magical automatic doors.
For some reason no-one came to check our tickets - maybe it was the bad weather, or maybe they don't always have a ticket checker on this particular train - which meant that the two brave souls in First with their Second Class tickets didn't even have to pay extra to sit there. Happy Christmas!
I wonder if those two people will learn from the experience and do it again next time they travel by train. They say once you try First you never go back to Second - and because you're allowed to upgrade on the train if there's room in First - with the added bonus possibility of not always actually having to pay - I can't see any reason why they wouldn't.
Except for the fact that We Don't Travel First.
I wonder if my loud proclamations on the station platform at Birmingham were my subconscious talking. I wonder if, even now, I feel the need to explain why I've risen above my station (pun intended) and moved from my place in Second, up into somebody else's First Class seat. I may be the equivalent of upper middle class in classless NZ (if that makes any sense), but in England, maybe I'll always be middle middle, and therefore never truly be entitled to travel First.
Technorati tags: train travel, first class, second class, Britain, British class system, human behaviour, holiday, Birmingham New Street station, WebWeaver's World, webweaver.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
On the British class system and travelling First Class
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Keith Olbermann's Special Comment on Proposition 8
Technorati tags: Keith Olbermann, Olbermann, Proposition 8, Prop 8, California, gay rights, gay marriage, gay, YouTube, WebWeaver's World, webweaver.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Phew! Charlie's OK!
I have a bunch of favourite websites I visit on a regular basis - Daily Kos for American lefty politics, Guardian Unlimited for world news, Public Address for erudite Kiwi discussions - and for fun I occasionally pop over to the very wonderful Dooce, who cracks me up on a regular basis.
It was Dooce who introduced me to my "awwwwwwww" factor favorite website - The Daily Coyote. It's the story of Shreve Stockton, her cat Eli, and the wild coyote Charlie, who was orphaned at the age of 10 days after both his parents were shot for killing sheep. Shreve adopted Charlie, and has been taking photos of him every day since then.
Charlie was born in April '07, and in September '07 Shreve began writing The Daily Coyote, chronicling Charlie's life from the day he came to live with her. For that reason, the blog has a 5-month time-lag - in other words, a post she publishes today actually happened 5 months ago. It's a feature which can have interesting (and unintended) consequences for her readers, especially those new to the blog, who haven't quite figured out the time-difference...
A couple of days ago, Shreve posted that Charlie was very ill with parvo. This is often a fatal disease in canines, and it's incredibly fortunate that Shreve realised immediately that something was wrong, and got help. If she'd waited a couple of days, it would have been too late and he would have died.
Now those of us who've been following Charlie's life for a while understand that there's a time delay, and that Charlie actually got parvo in September of last year - but that didn't help allay everyone's fears. What if Shreve had been inspired last September to begin writing The Daily Coyote as a result of Charlie getting parvo and dying? How would we know? Oh nooooooooooooo!
Some of the blog's more observant readers had figured out that Charlie must still be alive because there's a photo of him, nearly full-grown, romping around in the snow (which was presumably taken some time after September in the winter of 07/08) - but the link to the photo's pretty small, and not that noticeable, so most people didn't figure that one out...
It was fascinating to read the comments on the blog during that time. It was this crazy mixture of "OMG! I hope he gets well soon!" from those who didn't understand the time lag, "OMG! What if he died in September and we never knew!", from those who had got the time lag but hadn't seen the snow picture, and "OMG! Don't you people pay attention! Timelag-snow-picture-he's-ok-stop-freaking-out!", from those who'd figured it all out already.
In the end, Shreve just gave up trying to reassure the freaker-outers and posted this short and to-the-point missive...
Phew! Well that's OK then....
Funny how easy it is to get caught up in the life of someone (human or animal) living on the other side of the world, whom you will never meet, and who will never even know you exist. In a funny way, I find it rather reassuring.
Technorati tags: The Daily Coyote, Shreve Stockton, Charlie, Eli, coyote, wild, pet, cool websites, favourite websites, kewl websites, Daily Kos, Guardian Unlimited, Public Address, Dooce, WebWeaver's World, webweaver.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Fearing the worst, hoping for the best
Sometime in December I noticed that Winnie (my little back and white cat) had developed dark spots on the iris of her left eye. I did a bit of googling on "cat health black specks iris" and didn't find any worrying info, so I didn't take her to the vet. Last week I decided to do a bit more googling, this time using the search word "spots" instead of "specks" in my search phrases. What a difference a single word makes!
All of a sudden my screen was filed with the words "pre-cancer", "melanoma", "malignant", and "cancer". Shit shit shit.
I took her to the vet straight away, but because it's a fairly rare occurrence, he wasn't really confident about doing a diagnosis. He booked Winnie in to see the eye specialist who, luckily enough, was visiting my vet clinic the following day.
By the time we saw him I was pretty sure what he would tell me. I'd spent time researching iris melanomas in cats, and looking at dozens of photos of cats' eyes, many of which resembled what I was seeing in Winnie's eye. I was right.
Winnie has pre-cancer in her left eye, caused by pigmented cells called melanocytes that have overgrown. The eye specialist used a slit-lamp biomicroscope to look at her eye to see if the lesions were flat (pre-cancer) or raised (cancer). At the moment they are flat, which is good, but if they change in shape or size, or start to affect the pupil, it may mean they have become cancerous.
75% of eye cancers in cats are malignant, so if the spots do become cancerous, the best option would be to remove Winnie's eye to stop the cancer spreading.
Deep breath.
OK - I guess that's not too bad. I mean, it is bad - it's awful - but if it became a question of having her eye removed or seeing her die of cancer, of course I'd choose the former option.
I was just about coming to terms with that possibility when another, much worse scenario occurred to me. What if she develops cancer in both of her eyes? Then I'd have a blind cat, and she wouldn't know why!
Oh God Oh God Oh God.
Winnie is my favourite cat. I know you're not supposed to have favourites, but I do, so there we go. She's my baby. She's family. I love her SO much, it hurts like hell just to have to think about this stuff.
I have to take photos of both her eyes, and the eye specialist will review them over time, to make sure that the spots aren't growing or changing. He told me they do this on a 6-monthly basis, but to me that doesn't seem often enough. What's worrying me is that I think I'm pretty observant, and the spots in her eye seemed to me to appear overnight. By that I mean I noticed them one day and I hadn't ever noticed them before. I looked at older photos of her and she definitely didn't have them a couple of years ago.
Sadly I hadn't taken any pictures of her for a while, so I can't pinpoint when the spots started to appear. Now I'm photographing her every day, trying to get a decent close-up shot of each eye. It isn't easy. Like any cat worth her salt, Winnie is an expert at avoiding whatever it is you want her to do (or want to do to her!). She turns her head away every time I approach her with the camera, or looks down, or shuts her eyes, or simply gets up and wanders off somewhere else. It's so frustrating!
As I'm the only person she allows to get anywhere near her, I can't ask anyone else to hold her while I take pictures, either. So I'm just going to have to persevere and get those photos - and keep on taking them, and monitoring them, and praying to the Great Beagle or the Giant Pumpkin or St Frances or something.
I was watching her in the garden the other day. She's so fascinated by everything. She's constantly looking at stuff, and sniffing around, and exploring, and checking out the world around her. I can't imagine how she'd manage if she had no eyes. What if she went on the road by mistake? Or wandered to the edge of my garden and fell down the steep cliff onto the road below? Or what if Teddy Cat next door decided to beat her up? She'd have no defenses!
She'd have to become an indoor cat, and I don't think that would make her very happy. Maybe I could take her out into the garden on a cat lead when I was around, and let her explore safely that way...
I know it's not exactly productive to let my mind race away into the worst "what if" scenarios like this. I try not to - it upsets me far too much, and as the outcome is not something I can control, I don't think it's a particularly good thing to dwell on it right now. 
I suppose thinking through the possibilities might allow me to make some attempt to "prepare" myself for the worst. Except I don't think there's any way I can prepare myself for this. My cats are my best friends. They are the ones who live with me and share my life every day. I know that non-pet people probably think that's a little over the top, and a wee bit sad, but those of you with beloved pets will understand completely.
My cats are my fur children. I'm not going to have "real" children, but those of us who lack the maternal gene still have masses of love and affection to give. Many of us choose to give that love to our pets, and those pets become as important to us as any person. To think about the possibility of illness, pain or death in relation to my cats is as hard to do as if they were people. And what makes it somehow worse is of course that I can't explain any of this to Winnie. She will never understand what's happening to her.
Winnie and I are spending lots of quality time together. She sleeps on my bed every night, and unlike Bailey who generally goes off to his own bed at some point, she's still asleep on (or even in) my bed every morning. Quite often when I'm having my morning shower she'll come into the bathroom and wait for me to finish before demanding to be picked up for a good long cuddle.
She thinks I'm another cat, and rubs her face enthusiastically against mine in greeting. She curls up next to me on the sofa if I'm watching TV, or jumps up onto my lap if I'm working on my computer. If she wants attention, or wants to play with me, or wants her tummy rubbed, she isn't shy about letting me know.
And right now, whatever Winnie wants, Winnie gets. I don't know how much longer we've got together, and I want to make every moment count. I want to savour every second I have with her, and I want to show her just how much I love her.
So for now, I'm fearing the worst, and hoping for the best. Sometimes cats with iris pre-cancers can continue for years and years without their condition deteriorating in any way, and without the pre-cancer becoming cancer. I'm praying that this will be the case with Winnie.
Iris Melanoma in Cats
Technorati tags: cat, health, pre-cancer, cancer, eye, iris, melanoma, melanocyte, slit-lamp biomicroscope, opthalmologist, benign, malignant, enucleation, metastasis, spots, WebWeaver's World, webweaver.
Sunday, December 23, 2007
Moving away from commercialism at Christmas - and into ethical gift-giving
Sandra and Sean were the first to give me a Christmas present from Oxfam Unwrapped, a few years ago. They gave me 10 chickens, on a card that said something like:
10 chickens have been given on your behalf to a family in the developing world that really needs them. Happy Christmas!
It made me cry. It was the perfect present. I have enough stuff. I don't need anything. And for a greeny liberal hippie like myself, giving a gift to someone who doesn't have much, and whose life can be improved by that gift, is absolutely the best thing ever.
I think Oxfam Unwrapped is a genius idea. I see other charities like Tear Fund have picked up on it now, and that's great. Oxfam's always been one of my favourite NGOs, because it's not affiliated with any religious group or faith, and because it helps people in need all over the world, regardless of who they are, their ethnicity, religious beliefs or whatever.
Oxfam International works in the developing world in very sensible ways - providing useful, practical solutions on a small scale, working alongside and in harmony with local people, and listening to their specific needs before thinking about solutions. Oxfam doesn't "throw money at the needy" - they work to empower people, and to give them the help they need to help themselves. They also advocate and lobby Governments and international institutions such as the IMF and World Bank on behalf of the world's poor.
Hence the Oxfam Unwrapped website is full of practical gifs - like a goat or a baby buffalo, 3 ducks or 25 trees, safe water for 25 people, school books for the whole class or Fairtrade Certification for a whole plantation.
I've been buying Oxfam Unwrapped gifts for my nearest and dearest for a couple of years now.
Last year I bought a goat for my older niece and nephew, and a goat care kit for my younger niece. My sister told me it was one of the best presents they received - because I'd told them the story of how I'd taken care of a goat when I lived at the Ahu Ahu commune on the Wanganui River, and it had been one of their favourite WebWeaver stories. My goat-gift encouraged them to use their imagination, and make up more stories, and talk about me and my goat - and my sister said it was such a relief not to get yet another "thing" for the kids to play with, get bored with, and discard.
Another cool thing about Oxfam is that they do an event called Oxfam Trailwalker to raise money. Four people, one goal: 100km in 36 hours to help overcome poverty and injustice. Teams enter, raise funds to do the walk, and the money raised goes to Oxfam. A team from Shift Auckland is entering, and if you buy stuff from Oxfam Unwrapped via their team page then they get more funds added to their total. Kewl!
Shift's been getting ethical with their gift-giving this year too. We support the Worldwide Fund for Nature New Zealand (WWF-NZ), and this year we built them a new website and CMS for a tiny fraction of what it would normally cost.
We decided that this Christmas we would give each of our clients a Hector's dolphin - or rather, we would send them a Hector's dolphin adoption kit from WWF-NZ. We sent them out on Thursday, and soon the emails started coming in from clients - they loved the idea - and are all now busy thinking up a name for "their" dolphin.
Brian, Rene and Dom put together a Flash animation for the Shift homepage which continues the Hector's dolphin Chrismas theme - I think it's absolutely wonderful. Check it out!
Happy Christmas, Eid al-adha, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Yule, and Winter/Summer solstice to you. I hope I've given you some ideas on how to move away from the commercialism of Christmas, and into ethical gift-giving. You know it makes sense!
Technorati tags: Christmas, gifts, gift-giving, presents, ethical, commercialism, charities, Oxfam, Oxfam Unwrapped, WWF-NZ, World Wide Fund for Nature New Zealand, Hector's dolphin, adopt a Hector's dolphin, Shift, clients, Christmas gift ideas, gift for one who has everything, ethical gifts, non-commercial Christmas, Eid al-adha, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Yule, Winter solstice, Summer solstice, WebWeaver's World, webweaver.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Meeting Florence - and choosing not to have kids
This is Florence (Flo for short) with her new dad and mum, Kurt and Briget. She's the latest addition to my wonderful circle of friends. Isn't she gorgeous? 
I got to spend all afternoon with them yesterday, and we went through a whole "baby cycle". Hold baby, talk to baby, baby naptime, baby wakeup, baby feed, baby play, hold baby again, talk to baby again, baby bathtime, baby sleeptime. Grownup talking, grownup fish and chip eating, grownup rugby watching (go the All Blacks!), grownup beer drinking. It was lovely!
Unlike the majority of my friends, I decided a long time ago that I didn't particularly want children. I think there are a few reasons why...
Firstly, I don't think I have the "maternal gene" - whatever that is. Most women get that biological clock thing happening at some point - generally in their thirties I suppose - and the ticking of the clock becomes louder than anything else in their life. So they do something about it, which generally means finding someone to have kids with (assuming you don't have a someone already) and then getting down to it.
My ticking clock never eventuated. I never heard the tick - and, to be honest, I didn't really expect to. Because...
...reason number two - I never envisioned children in my future.
You know how throughout your life you have a mental picture of how it is now, and how it's going to be? Well, my mental picture of my future never had children in it. I never really had a positive picture of being a mum, or having kids.
Oh sure, as a child I stuffed a pillow up my jumper to see what it would look like (I thought I looked ridiculous). I do also remember imagining myself being a mum. I have an incredibly vivid picture in my mind of how I imagined life would be. It's a vision of a woman, alone, pushing a pram up a hill in a deserted, lonely street.
I have no idea where the vision came from - the suburb where we lived was beautiful, tree-lined, full of parks. Nothing like the dismal housing estate in my head. Still, I remember sensing the intensely lonely desperation of the woman in my mind, and I remember vowing that that would never be me.
Reason number three is that I have not met my soulmate, and therefore I have had no reason to want to set aside reasons #1 and #2. Kurt reckons that, had I met Mr Right, I would probably have had kids, and I think he's probably right. The love of a good man, and wanting to express that love through having children together, would have overridden any doubts I might have had.
But it didn't happen. There have been three men in my life with whom I could imagine having children, but they didn't feel the same way about me. As I said, rather sadly, to Kurt - there's actually no-one who's wanted to have children with me. Ah well.
I just feel incredibly lucky that I wasn't desperate to have children. Imagine how much worse that would be, if I ached to have kids, and I hadn't had them! Alice reckons if my clock had started ticking I would have made sure I found a man who wanted to procreate. She's probably right.
Or I suppose I could have got myself knocked up and had the baby on my own. I know the thought crossed my mind somewhere in my early 20s (before I knew any single parents and realised what an incredibly difficult job it is), but it didn't really go anywhere. I just remember thinking that if my clock did start ticking at some point, I'd be prepared to have a kid on my own if it came to it. Except the clock appears to be broken...
There was an interesting piece in The Guardian Comment is Free section recently. It was written by a woman who (thus far) had decided not to have children. She's not ruling it out in the future, but right now, she's not interested. She's happy with her life, and her career, she's not that into babies, and her clock isn't ticking, although she accepts it might start sometime. She wasn't very impressed with the women who have kids giving her a hard time about not having them.
The comments section was very interesting. I don't think I've ever seen such vitriol in The Guardian (unless it's aimed at George Bush). She was called "selfish", "self-centered", "barren", and told her life was meaningless and pointless. It was amazing. Women who felt the same way as she did were laying into the "smug marrieds", and those who they feel are selfish for having children and for wanting to create a little "mini-me".
Both sides felt they were continually being lectured by the other side. Mothers were tired of having the job of childrearing undervalued by career women. Women without children were tired of being told that they led selfish, meaningless lives. It got very heated, very polarised and really vicious.
I guess I was surprised because, really, what does it matter what other people choose to do? I'm happy with my life, but I see no need to either justify my choices or judge other people for having made different ones. I know I've made the less usual choice, but that's fine by me. I never was entirely conventional anyway. But it doesn't mean I think any less of people who do make the more conventional choice. We each make the choices that are right for us.
I like kids. I like them quite a lot - and they like me. I also like giving them back after a while. They tire me out (as I'm sure they tire their parents out, too!). I've never felt grown-up enough to have kids, and I'm always slightly surprised when my friends go ahead and have them anyway, because I see my friends as being at the same level of grownupness as me. I guess they're not.
I can't imagine being totally responsible for the health and wellbeing of another human being. It frightens the life out of me. I'm completely inconsistent in my level of care of myself, let alone another person. Kurt and Alice both think I think about things like that more deeply than some other people do, and maybe that's what's held me back. Maybe it's also because I'm such a perfectionist and I don't know whether I'd be able to do a good enough job of parenting... and perhaps I'm afraid to try in case I don't reach my own standards, whatever they are.
Kurt and Briget are much more laid-back about the whole parenting thing than I could ever be, and they're doing a great job - without, it seems, too much angsting about it all. I admire all my friends for the way they just get on and do it - they are all such wonderful parents.
I've wondered if I'm completely selfish for choosing not to have children (Alice says no - and thinks that some parents are pretty selfish - the ones who want to create a little mirror image of themselves, anyway). I've wondered if my life is meaningless and unfulfilled, as some of those parents on the Guardian comments thread would judge it to be. I don't think it is, and so I guess that's OK, seeing as it's my life, and my choice.
Anyway, I'm thrilled to have so many little friends in my life. I'm thrilled to be an honorary member of another family (as Zef and Sarah's daughter Eesha has described me, much to my delight). I adore having two nieces and a nephew, and although I'm sad they live on the other side of the world, I'm in awe of the fact that apparently the spare room at their house is now permanently named "webweaver's room" even though I've only stayed there once. I'm honoured every time I get invited to one of my little friends' birthday parties (and find it funny that parents I don't know invariably ask me "which one is yours, then?")
So welcome to our beautiful world, baby Florence. You're going to have a wonderful life with your awesome mummy and daddy. I hope I can share in a little bit of it, just as I do with all the other children and babies in my my inner circle of friends. I'd like that.
Technorati tags: parenting, babies, family, children, kids, childless, choice, not having children, career women, mother, father, parent, WebWeaver's World, webweaver
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Smack no more!
Hooray! The Crimes (Substituted Section 59) Amendment Bill was tonight given its third reading and was passed by Parliament by a vote of 113 to seven. Fantastic! I'm very, VERY happy about that - and so pleased that MPs on all sides decided to be grownups about the whole thing, and found a way to compromise, and were able to come to an agreement on the issue.
Here's Sue Bradford's speech that she gave in Parliament tonight, in support of the bill. It's so good I think it deserves quoting in its entirety. Thanks to the Green Party for making it available. And thanks SO much to Sue and all the Greens for having the balls to make this legislation happen. I'm so proud of you all. And I'm a little bit prouder of New Zealand tonight than I was a few weeks ago.
Sue Bradford MP, Green Party Children's Issues Spokesperson
Third Reading, Parliament, 16th May 2007Madam Speaker,
I move that the Crimes (Substituted Section 59) Amendment Bill be now read a third time.
Nearly two years ago my private member's Bill to repeal s59 of the Crimes Act was drawn from the parliamentary ballot. While I was certainly well aware of the controversial nature of this issue after facing hostile audiences on various election platforms around the country, little did I realise back then the full extent of the difficulties that were yet to come.
I came to Parliament after many years of working for the rights of unemployed people and beneficiaries and was very used to our groups and ourselves being seen as outcasts, korotake, blamed and despised. I was used to being physically assaulted on street protests and often enough arrested as well.
However, none of that quite prepared me for the level of vitriol and the ugly lies and threats cast at myself and others simply for standing up for the right of our babies and children to live free from violence.
I thought in a country that prides itself on being a great place to bring up kids and where people from all parts of society talk constantly of their love for children that it would be like motherhood and apple pie to work for a law change that benefits children.
Instead, the debate over whether or not to get rid of the defence of reasonable force for the purpose of correction has shown quite starkly that some people believe the right of parents to legally beat their children is so important that some of them have stooped to threats of violence and other abhorrent tactics.
However, it has, in the end, been a wonderful thing that despite the ugliness of some aspects of the public discourse, so many members of Parliament from almost every party have chosen to support my Bill in its amended form.
I acknowledge and thank all involved from all sides of the house for your support within this outbreak of consensus politics, and I regret on behalf of Peter Dunne and Judy Turner that this Bill has seen their party break apart because someone is so dedicated to fighting for the right to beat children that they've abandoned their allegiance.
The Bill in front of us tonight fulfils my original goal of removing the reasonable force defence while at the same time dealing with some of the fears expressed at different times by both the Labour and National caucuses and by some members of the public.
The Labour-led amendment which came out of our select committee consideration of the Bill is aimed at reassuring parents that they won't be prosecuted if they use reasonable force to do things like putting a child in a room for time out, forcibly removing a child from danger, or restraining a child from causing damage to people or property.
I am aware that some lawyers believe that this new clause may be misused as a legal defence for having hit a child as part of control and because of this I believe that its use as a defence in future must be monitored to ensure that it is not used this way in practice.
The second significant amendment to the Bill has been the one put forward just two weeks ago by Peter Dunne and agreed to by both Labour and National through John Key's leadership, encapsulating within the Bill the long-established police discretion regarding the action they take when deciding whether or not to prosecute in very minor cases where there is no public interest in proceeding.
This new clause simply affirms in law what is standard police practice under their prosecution guidelines but I think it is useful in helping to calm some of the unnecessary fears driven up by the Bill's opponents.
Neither the Select Committee, myself or anyone else supporting the Bill has ever intended that all parents who ever lightly or occasionally hit their child should be subject automatically to investigation and prosecution.
What we have been simply seeking to do is to remove a defence which has allowed some parents to get away with quite badly beating their children, and most significantly, has stopped police taking action in many situations of violence against children.
Some of the most powerful submissions during the Select Committee process came from paediatricians who talked about the injuries they see constantly, and of how most of them are inflicted in the name of child discipline.
Only last week we were made all too aware of the case of the three year old Otara boy who was killed as a result of beatings inflicted in the name of toilet training. The police officer who led the investigation, Detective Senior Sergeant Richard Middleton said, among other things, "What I will say is keep your hands off your kids. Don't hit them. It's not on. There's no need for it."
I think it's a red letter day when a senior police officer feels able to make such an unequivocal statement in the national media. Police, like paediatricians, see the daily consequences of what happens when people assault their kids just to teach them a lesson.
Some people say that smacking or spanking isn't violence. I say to them - what else is it? If a burly gang member much larger than you smacked you in the pub tonight, what would you call that?
Some people say that the deaths of children like James Whakaruru or the Otara boy have nothing to do with this Bill - well I say they have everything to do with it.
There is a spectrum of violence used against our babies and children and one person's light occasional tap is another person's beating or shaking to death, all in the name of so-called correction.
I've been much criticised by the Bill's opponents for my unwillingness to support the earlier amendment put up by National MP Chester Borrows, which attempted to define the nature and level of force that parents could legitimately use on their kids.
I will simply reiterate once again that to support any such definition would make things even worse for kids by having the state define acceptable violence, and by entrenching the legal and social concept that it's OK to beat children but not OK to beat adults.
It is important that as we finally vote this Bill into law we also look forward to what else needs doing. Law change alone is not enough.
To be really effective, the Bill we are passing tonight needs to be accompanied by a well planned public information campaign telling people the intentions and implications of the law in a way that doesn't make people feel frightened or guilty.
The Government also needs to make a commitment to maintain and extend the SKIP programme so that strong, clear messages about alternatives to physical discipline are available to all parents around the country.
Funding for community groups that support children, parents and families needs to be increased.
We need research and monitoring of the attitudinal change that I feel sure will result from this new law, as it has already during the two years of the public debate.
The interpretations of the new law and its implementation by courts, police and CYFS all need to be monitored as well, and I welcome the two year review instigated by the Minister.
I also strongly recommend that the Government work closely with the relevant NGOs following the Bill's passage on an action plan to ensure that the best possible outcomes are achieved for children and families.
In conclusion, I would like to take just a moment to thank some of those who have played such a critical role in championing and supporting this Bill to the stage we're at tonight.
There are an enormous number of organisations who have worked tirelessly for reform over the last two years including Plunket, Barnardos, Unicef, Save the Children, the Families Commission, the Office of the Children’s Commissioner, EPOCH, Every Child Counts, the Body Shop, Child Poverty Action Group, Parents Centres and many others. I am sorry I can't name you all.
There are also many individuals who have played a key role - people like Beth Wood, Mike Coleman, Deborah Morris-Travers, Megan Payne, Ian Hassall, Cindy Kiro, Jane and James Ritchie, Kaye Crowther, Robert Ludbrook, Sonya Hogan, Rhonda Pritchard and David Kenkel - and again I apologise for only being able to mention so few of you.
I'd also like to say a special thanks to the Reverends Anthony Dancer and Margaret Mayman and all the other clergy involved in hosting the moving ecumenical service two weeks ago, and in mobilising Christian support for the Bill.
I would like to acknowledge the huge amount of work done by the MPs and officials involved in the very long Select Committee process, including the sterling efforts of our PCO counsel, Elizabeth Grant.
And finally I'd like to say a huge thanks to all the MPs who stood firm in support of this Bill during some fairly dark days, including Helen Clark and the Labour caucus, the Maori Party caucus, all my own Green Party colleagues, Peter Dunne, Brian Donnelly, Doug Woolerton and Katherine Rich - you are all heroes in your commitment to a vision of a country where children will finally receive the same legal protection as adults.
And I also acknowledge the lead John Key took in working to find a way through a seeming impasse so that his party too can lend its full weight to the mana of this Bill.
But in the end this Bill isn't about us here in Parliament or indeed about adults at all.
It is about our children and what I believe is their God-given right to grow up secure in the love of their family, valued as equal citizens to the rest of us and without the constant threat of legalised violence being used against them.
Technorati tags: Sue Bradford, speech, Green Party, section 59, Crimes (Substituted Section 59) Amendment Bill, anti-smacking bill, smacking, child abuse, children's rights, human rights, smack, violence, legislation, New Zealand, law, repeal s59, Crimes Act, politics, WebWeaver's World, webweaver.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
I'm ashamed of you, New Zealand!
We've been together a good few years now, New Zealand. 1992 was when we first met - and I moved in with you a year later. Over 14 years together, with never an angry word between us. Okay, I admit I might be a little obsessive about our relationship - I think my love for you sometimes borders on hero-worship, but still.
I have always been so proud to be seen with you, proud to introduce you to my friends, filled with pride by everything about you - and filled with an equal pride by the fact that you wanted me.
But today I'm ashamed of you - and I never imagined this day would ever come. What happened to you, New Zealand, why is it that part of you thinks it's OK to hit a child?
Why is it that parts of you are fighting tooth and nail to keep the right to "use reasonable force" on your children enshrined in law? Why have I heard people laughing this week as they relate tales of what I would call abuse from their parents - and as they argue forcefully for the right to do the same to their kids if they feel like it - "without The State interfering".
My God. No wonder we have such an appalling record of child abuse in this country - third worst among 27 developed countries for child deaths; a child killed every five weeks by caregivers. Being allowed in law to "use reasonable force" on your children is the pointy end of the stick that eventually leads to the violent deaths of children such as the Kahui twins, in my opinion.
Let me ask you a question, New Zealand. If you were, say, a manager in a company, and one of your staff failed to get an important project in on time, do you think it would be reasonable for you to whack them over the head with the phone book as a punishment? What if you caught one of your employees stealing money from a colleague's purse? Would it be okay for you to grab the hot-water jug and beat them with the electrical cord to "teach them a lesson"? How about if you worked in a stressful environment and in a heated debate one of your colleagues swore at you? What would happen to you if you pulled their pants down and smacked their bare bottom?
You know the answers to those questions, New Zealand. If you did any of those things you'd be had up for assault and you'd be hard-pressed to find any jury willing to let you off. And rightly so.
In a civilised society you can't go around hitting, whacking, beating or smacking people! So how THE HELL can you argue that it's okay for you to do that TO YOUR OWN CHILDREN?????
Frankly, New Zealand, I'm pretty disgusted with parts of you right now.
Technorati tags: smacking, anti-smacking bill, section 59, s59, Crimes Act, Sue Bradford, corporal punishment, repeal of section 59, family, parent, child, child abuse, New Zealand.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
A life in 65 words (or thereabouts)
On Wednesday we helped Barbara to decorate her Christmas tree. It was pretty vast, and she has more Chrismas decorations than anyone I've ever met. A great time was had by all, and Barbara and her family outdid themselves with the hospitality. Gracious hosts indeed.
Afterwards we took turns in reading each other's "Life in 65 words", and guessing whom they each belonged to. I thought they were so good, I asked permission to reproduce them here. It's a very interesting exercise - a bit like the ultimate short story really. Every word must count, every phrase must evoke a picture, a sound, a scent or a feeling. Each story must draw you in, while leaving you wanting more. Here they are:We always thought we were poor because we got oranges in our Christmas stockings. It was the 1950s, everyone was poor, but none of us kids liked the orange reminding us. When I was 30 I found out it was an old English custom, but by then the damage was done. No one should inflict old English customs on kids. Especially not on poor kids.
I was born into what may be considered a pretty privileged position in the sibling pecking order in a close-knit family and one of my earliest memories is witnessing the entrance of the Apollo moon landing craft into the atmosphere from where we lived in the tropics. Also I know what "TARDIS" stands for.
My mother made all our dresses by hand. This was a good thing, labour of love and all that. But she would inevitably leave in a pin. Since she made us pants to match this was not a good thing. I hate to get all allegorical here, it's only a story after all, but from this I learnt the lesson of life. Sit on that.
Pink skirt, pigtails, tight black top. That was Simon ready. Remember my lines, "if you see a faded sign by the side of the road that says 15 miles to the L-o-v-e Shack". Got it. Remember my moves, step, step, twirl, clap together, kick. Fits of laughter, tape gets stuck. Time for the performance, clear the dining room, lights out. Oh, fuck off David.
Our father's garden was truly enormous. It stretched right down to the back fence. He had gooseberries and pumpkins, tomatoes and leeks. He had rows of corn we could get lost in. He grew potatoes and blackcurrants, carrots and peas. We visited recently after decades had passed. "Have you subdivided?" we asked the new owners, dumbfounded. "No" they said. The back fence was really close.
Jamie answers the door on crutches, blushes. Gaye's on the window sill, fag in hand. Little Leadbitters with their heads over the fence, all curls and glasses. Making éclairs, I'm only allowed to do the cream. Dinner tastes funny. Should have goe to Anna's. Playing tag in the street, hiding in the big tree. He's seen me, run like the wind.
The little girl stood on the wooden groyne, mesmerised by the steely water pushing and pulling itself over the pebbles. She knew what she had to do. It was like a string was coming straight out of her tummy, tugging at her, pulling her in. So in she went. The shock of the water woke her. Deep, but not over her head. Cold, but she knew she was alive.
My grandpop was a matinee idol. He smoked a pipe and looked exactly like Dean Martin, except less Italian and much better looking. He had thick silver hair and skin so brown that in the summer it would look purple in the folds, like an Indian. He smelt like tobacco and the olive oil that he baked himself in. Nobody else's grandfather came close.
There was a young lass from down south
Who occasionally enjoyed ill health
She popped many pills
To mask all her ills
And never was down at the mouth.The absolutely best things about my childhood were Alexis Smith's clothes. Alexis Smith's family didn't go to church or tithe their money so she had patent leather shoes and dresses with collars and big wide sashes. Alexis Smith wore her party clothes then gave them to me. I got her T bar shoes that fastened with little leather buttons. They even came with the box.
Favourite brown car seat, in the back with Hamie. On the motorway, past the kissing poles, over the bridge, past the fort with the flag, not far now. Turn into the drive with the acorns. Up the orange path and past the plastic curtains. Up on the bench, lollie jar out. Crayons in a margarine container. Roast for lunch.
I miss my Nana.One of the more interesting aspects about my life so far is that I used to be moderately psychic.
This was usually intriguing but on occasion scary. At times I found it difficult to decide whether I was knowing/observing things, or actually causing them to happen.
I grew out of this trait and missed it when it was gone.
It is possible I was sailing somewhat close to the wind.There were two reasons why I didn't want to invite anyone back to my house. One was because we had no tv and had to go over the fence to Mr Walls house to watch the news. And the second was because my parents were in love and kissed when my dad came home from work and even if he drove off in the car.
This was the law of presents in our house. Each year, it was the same. Mum got a long box filled with tissue and a silky nightie. Ninon over none on Dad called them. Dad got a tie, sometimes socks. We got shortie pyjamas, bath salts from the aunties and one big present from Dad in a box. We always had to keep the paper.
3:30pm, come home, pack my bag. Clean undies, favourite pants, sun screen, tooth brush. Dad will be here at 5:30pm. Vegemite sandwiches and Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Turtles then in the shower then get ready. Hair brushed, shoes on, bag by the door. 5:30pm. I'll wait by the window. Red car, here he comes, no, false alarm. 6:15pm, Dad's on the phone. He's in Hamilton and will see me tomorrow. Howl.
We met at University, became friends then lovers, and travelled the world together. I loved him with all my heart, and the night we parted he confessed his love for me. The day he got together with my ex-best friend was the last day of our friendship. They're married now. He was the love of my life, and losing him is my deepest regret.
There were eleven of us, growing up. It meant sharing everything, especially my parents. And even more especially, roasts. I has two sisters but there were all the others as well. My parents fostered kids and took in lodgers. I longed to have enough gravy for a second helping. Extravagance was a mortal sin. Going without gravy is far wose than not knowing about gravy.
Early memories... straight hair... didn't need a hair brush... wanted to smoke and wear lipstick like my Aunty Rita... very glam... then...
Listening now to Paul Kelly Glory to be God - remember as a child 'God is everywhere'... now... nowhere... miss some aspects of religion... such a part of the first 20 years... then I married and it didn't fit with my new life... I had grown away...
Defining moments... birth of my first child... anaesthesia... epidural... nursing... meeting my partner in life... now 30 years... things like pain dominate my life... my work... my career... my personal development...
Wine... music... children still... though growing up... sensual pleasure... self hypnosis... books... being still... refection... breadmaking... losses... colour... dreaming... young forever.We had pet lambs as kids. My sister had a dog, a budgie, a rabbit and goldfish too till David Bolstead poured in the windowlene. But the lambs were the best. We fed them with baby bottles and laughed at how fast their little tails wagged. My friends Jossy Watson had her own big fat sheep called Bunty. She didn't even live on a farm.
Every year I waited for the Sally Army truck to come round and sing carols outside our house. Christmas carols were the best. At Sunday School I loved looking at people on either side of me so they knew I didn't need to look at the carol sheet. Glooooooooooooria. Hosanna in Exchelsius. Then I would look to see if they noticed how I pronounced it.
I didn't become to QOFE till I was 40 years old. Right up till then I was the QOFNothing. I was the QOFNothing all through school. Flat chested, nerdy and the girlfriend of my best friend's boyfriend, if I was lucky. I was crowned QODoubleFNothing on my wedding day. The I reached my glory days. I thought, hey, hey, ermine, niiiiice. Hand me my orb.
Hang on, call waiting. It's Miranda, can I call you back? I know, such a bitch. Whatever, he doesn't even think she's hot. Nah, you? But, like, don't tell her I said so. As if. Umm, yeah, the blue one with the white knee highs. OK, I'll wear mine. I've got beeps, wait there. I'm on the other line to Miranda, I'll call you back, k?
Technorati tags: Christmas, short stories, writing, memories, life story.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Decorating the Christmas tree
I skipped off early from the mini-Webstock presentations on Wednesday night and went to my book club Christmas dinner instead. I'm so glad I went. The women at book club are soooo nice, and funny, and just plain good to be with. At Christmas we each buy a book, wrap it up, and after dinner we randomly pick a number which corresponds with one of the books. The book I "won" this year was Breakfast at Tiffany's by Truman Capote. As it's one of my Top 5 Movies of All Time, I was very pleased to get it.
The other reason why I'm really glad I decided to go was an invitation from Barbara, to us all, to help her decorate her Christmas tree later on this month. I was inordinately excited to be invited, so much so that Barbara had to ask me why the wild enthusiasm?
It goes back to when I was a kid I suppose. Doesn't everything that's magical about Christmas stem from when you were young? I think so.
Sometime in December dad would come home one day with a great big Christmas tree, which we would set in a tin bucket with bricks around the trunk so it didn't fall over. We'd put it in the corner of the living room, and then, with great ceremony, we'd decorate it.
Dad would do his bit first, which was to arrange the strings of fairy lights around the branches, attaching the electrical cables to the branches with little plastic-covered bits of wire so they wouldn't fall off. Then it was our turn. Mum would have brought down the box of decorations from the attic, and we'd all dive in. The box was filled with other little boxes and old paper bags, and inside each box would be found (wrapped carefully in cotton wool or tissue paper) a single precious bauble.
You never quite knew what you'd get when you opened a box (although as we generally used the same box for each bauble every year we did come to recognise some of them eventually), so the whole process was hugely exciting, and full of tingling anticipation. I remember my sister ate one once. That wasn't so good. It was a really nice one! :)
I had two absolute favourites. One was a tiny little white ball covered in rough white glitter, with a tiny white pipe-cleaner stuck on one end which you hooked round a branch. It looked just like a mini snowball. The other was a larger double teardrop-shaped electric blue bauble (pointed at both ends and wider in the middle), which was very special because at the widest mid-point it sort of turned in on itself to create a round, fluted silver indentation. It was just beautiful.
There were little bird-houses made of wood, each with a wooden bird inside, old decorations we'd made ourselves out of egg cartons covered in glitter, funny little brightly-painted wooden figures, plus baubles and balls of all different shapes, sizes and colours.
In the paper bags we'd find the strings of tinsel we always used, and somewhere in the big box there'd be the Christmas angel (who looked more like a fairy) and a gold star. We liked the angel best so she generally ended up at the very top of the tree.
The final task, once everything was in place, was to throw on the silver rain. This consisted of long narrow strands of silver "stuff" (like the individual strands which make up tinsel only much longer) which you grabbed handfuls of and kind of "threw" at the branches, hoping some of it would entangle itself in the pine needles and stay there. If you were being careful you could place individual strands by hand, but that was incredibly time-consuming, so we generally did the throwing first and the hand-placing to fill in the gaps afterwards.
Once we were finished, and the boxes and paper bags had been packed away carefully to use again later, we'd stand back and just... admire. Once it got dark dad would perform the very solemn ceremony of Switching On The Christmas Lights, and we'd all ooh and aah because it was so pretty and sparkly. I don't think we had those fancy lights that blinked on and off - or maybe we did - it's quite a long time ago, now... but anyway, it was all quite magically beautiful.
Sometimes at night I'd creep into the living room when no-one was in there, and I'd switch on the fairy lights and just sit there, watching the tree quietly sparking to itself. It was lovely.
I haven't had a Christmas tree for years. Now I'm a grown-up, and because I don't have kids, it's never really been a priority for me. I'm the only one who would see it (apart from the cats) so I've never really thought it was worth it. Plus I have no decorations!
So... to have the opportunity to go to Barbara's house with a whole bunch of people I like, and to listen to Christmas music and help decorate her tree will be just lovely. She freely admits she's a complete control freak when it comes to decorating the tree - it has to be just right, the tinsel has to be just so, and you have to decorate "with depth". Brilliant! I know just what she means!
Instead of gifts she's asked us each to bring a 65-word story on My Life, which we'll read out at some stage and try to guess which story is from which person. 65 words!!! Blimey! I can write a single sentence that's longer than that! How am I going to cut out the verbiage I generally come up with and stick to only 65 words?
That last paragraph was 65 words, by the way. If you count hyphenated words as one word and not two. I can see I'm going to have my work cut out for me. What fun!
BTW, all the pictures on this page are of Krinkles ornaments. I found them while looking online for a nice Christmas tree picture (I don't have any pictures here of our real tree) and I think they are so cute and funny and whimsical, I decided to borrow a few. Angelic Dreamz Krinkles Shoppe. Merry Christmas!
Technorati tags: book club, Christmas, Christmas tree, Christmas decorations, Christmas ornaments, family, childhood memories.
Monday, November 27, 2006
On guinea pigs and the sowing of wild oats
I had a guinea pig when I was a kid. Her name was Ginny and she lived to be nine years old, which is really impressive for a guinea pig. She was orange with a big white stripe right round her middle, and a white blaze down her nose.
Dad built her this amazing run in the garden, so she could play outside on nice days. It was basically a wide, shallow "box" with an open top, made from angle-iron and chicken wire. We'd place the run upside-down over a fresh patch of grass, clover and dandelions, pop Ginny inside, and she'd run around making tunnels through the greenery all day long.
When she was indoors she spent a lot of time running around in the laundry, which was where her cage was. We thought it was a bit mean leaving her cooped up for too long, so we'd regularly take her out of the cage and let her have a bit of an explore. There was usually a pile of straw out in case she needed a refuge, but she was such a confident little thing, she'd happily trot around the laundry for hours, squeaking happily to herself and talking to my mum or anyone else who happened to be in there.
Long before I learned about Pavlovian conditioning in my biology class I taught Ginny to respond to the clicking sound of the garden shears - because this sound meant fresh dandelion leaves and clover! Yummy! She would run around squeaking like crazy until I returned from the garden with her green salad. I can still do a very passable imitation of a hungry guinea pig!
I used to take her with me into the playroom to watch telly, and she'd sit on my shoulder and nibble gently on my ear. If she was especially happy (like when she was being stroked) she'd "purr" with pleasure - which I used to call "bubbling" because that's how it sounded. She was quite amazingly well house-trained. If she was sitting with me, rather than in her cage or somewhere she could go to the loo, she'd give a little wriggle to let me know it was time to "go". She knew that I knew that this was a signal to take her home, which I always did, so there were never any little accidents on the sofa (or my shoulder!). Very impressive!
I loved Ginny. She was my mate and she was well cool. I still have a great fondness for guinea pigs, so you can imagine how much I loved this little news article that one of my colleagues sent round the office today. Classic!
Click on the pic to see a larger version. Just as well the chicken-wire in Ginny's cage was a little bit more robust than in Sooty's!
I love the final paragraph - "He was absolutely shattered. We put him back in his cage and he slept for two days." Heh. Heh hehe hehehehehehe!
Technorati tags: guinea pig, Sooty, Ginny, pets, childhood.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Caring at a distance
Gosh, I can't believe it's been a week since my last blog post. Forgive me!
It's been a very distracted week for me, I'm afraid. My mum is quite unwell, and it's been weighing heavily on my mind. It's tough when people you care about are on the other side of the world. However far apart we are (in all meanings of that phrase), she's still my mum, and I love her.
It looks like she's had a bad reaction to some of the meds she's on, so her doctors have taken her off them and we'll just have to see how it goes. My sister's doing a great job taking care of practical stuff, and we're in constant contact, so I'm hoping that I'll be able to do anything I can to help her and mum.
I have some great big thoughts in my head about a whole lot of stuff that's happened over the past week - both political and otherwise - so I hope I'll get to it before the week is through. Watch out for my upcoming post on boiling the frog. Should be a good one - the words have been forming themselves into sentences in my head for a few days now!
Technorati tags: family, illness, distance, oh, and, penguins :)
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Flying out of Heathrow
Oh, man...
I'm watching the BBC news covering the "Terror Plot" involving plans to blow up aircraft flying from Heathrow to the US - and the chaos that has already ensued due to the cancellation of all flights in and out of Heathrow today.
I'm due to fly home on Saturday - two days from now - and the thing that's really worrying me is the "no hand-luggage" thing. No book to read. No puzzle magazines allowed. No bottle of water. No iPod. And no laptop. Fuckshitbollocks.
What am I going to do with my laptop? My iPod? My digital camera? And how on earth am I going to keep myself occupied for 36 hours (12 hour flight from Heathrow to HK, 12 hours at HK airport and 12 hour flight from HK to NZ) with nothing to read except the in-flight magazine???
I've been checking online about the safety of laptops in checked-in baggage. You're basically looking at three possible scenarios:
*sigh* Better backup my entire laptop and leave the disks with my sister. Better check I'll be covered by my travel insurance if they get stolen or broken. Wonder if I can buy a really heavy-duty laptop case before I leave.
I know it sounds stupid to be worrying about things at a time like this - maybe I'm focusing on that instead of the much more scary thought of a bomb on the plane. My sister reassured me by saying it's probably the safest time to travel - just because of the increased level of security - and that's true - and it did make me feel better. I don't particularly like flying at the best of times, so this certainly doesn't make me feel any better.
I'm not too worried about delays - I know there will be massive delays at Heathrow - the backlog won't be sorted out by Saturday, I'm sure - but at least I have 12 hours in Hong Kong, which hopefully will cover any delay in arriving from London.
*double sigh*
I hate flying.
Technorati tags: terror plot, Heathrow, flying, terrorism, security, hand luggage.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Feel the fear - and do it anyway
A few years ago when I was The Gathering's publicist I was invited to enter a pitching competition at the New Zealand Film and Television Conference. Each competitor had exactly five minutes to make their pitch to the audience of film and television executives, for whatever TV show they wanted to make. The first prize was $6,000 and TV3 would consider screening your winning entry once it was made.
I had a week to prepare, and decided I would pitch to make a documentary of the Millennium Gathering. We had already made a Gathering documentary a couple of years before, so with an editor friend I made a 5-minute show-reel using the best footage from that doco. I included sound at the beginning and end, and the rest was silent. It would be shown on the big screen behind me as I made my presentation. 
I decided to use the "Bob Dylan" technique and accompany my speech with large cue cards - like in his video for Subterranean Homesick Blues. I practiced my presentation until I had it timed exactly at 5 minutes, and prepared as thoroughly as I possibly could.
The night before the conference I lay awake practically half the night, sick with nerves, absolutely terrified, wondering why the hell I had ever agreed to enter this stupid competition. If anyone had given me the option, I would have quit right then, because I truly didn't see how I could possibly go through with it.
But I couldn't back out, because I had promised I would take part - which I did. As luck would have it, I was picked to go first, and delivered a pretty good presentation, timed to perfection. Apart from a bit of "nervous dry mouth" halfway through, I did just fine.
I won the competition.
Imagine if I hadn't gone through with it because of my nerves the previous night (and the following morning)! I felt (and still feel) so proud of myself for "feeling the fear and doing it anyway". Winning was a fantastic added bonus - but I think for me it was actually going through with it that made me feel the proudest. Granted, I would probably have piked out had anyone given me the chance, but they didn't, so there you go.
I was reminded of this challenge today, when we took niece #1 and nephew #1 on the open-topped bus that takes tourists around the city where my sister lives. I think many people (adults and children) are frightened of the unknown, and nervous when asked to do something they haven't done before, and many people are uncomfortable with change. Although we had prepared the children as well as we could beforehand, by talking about our upcoming adventure, they were still quite freaked out by the prospect - especially niece #1.
So we did it in baby steps.
Once we were on the bus (with a lot of comforting help for niece #1 by mummy), we stayed downstairs for ages. Being on a bus was enough of a new experience for it to be absolutely fascinating just sitting on it. Not really looking out of the windows, not really listening to the commentary - just being there. It was actually a very cool tour - even my sister found out stuff she didn't know - and we were so proud of how quickly both children calmed down and began to take an interest in their surroundings.
The bus stopped occasionally to let people on or off, which again was interesting enough to keep the children occupied, without needing to do anything more. Each time we stopped, we casually asked them if they would be interested in going to have a look upstairs, and for ages they absolutely weren't.
But after an hour or so, completely out of the blue, niece #1 decided she'd like to go and have a look. We went upstairs together, had a look round, sat down for two seconds and then she decided to go back down again. We met mummy and nephew #1 about to come up the stairs! We all had a little rest, and then almost immediately both children decided that upstairs was where they really wanted to be, so back up we went - and stayed there for the rest of the journey.
I think what today's adventure has reinforced for me is the importance of taking manageable steps towards a goal. Sometimes you plan to do something that's just so daunting, you don't know how you're ever going to achieve it. And sometimes the fear of what you're planning to do can be so debilitating that it stops you in your tracks, and you can't even begin.
Sometimes I think it's actually a good idea to put yourself in a position where you actually can't back out - like I experienced with the pitching competition - because then you really are going to have to feel the fear and do it anyway. And then you make sure you're thoroughly prepared, and if you can, you break it down into bite-sized chunks.
Feel scared about this little bit. Do it. Feel great that I did it. Feel a bit more scared about this next bit. Do it anyway. Feel even greater. And on and on, a bit at a time, until you achieve your goal. The fear is almost always worse than the actual thing - but this is something you only figure out if you actually do the things that you're afraid of.
Because, as niece #1 so neatly put it "I didn't want to go on the bus at first, and now I really like it!"
ADDED 3 AUG: We went swimming yesterday and practiced our techniques of infinite patience and teeny weeny baby steps. After an initial total meltdown in the changing rooms we finally ended up 2 hours later with niece and nephew #1 actually SWIMMING and telling us they really really loved it and they didn't want to go home. Wow!
Technorati tags: The Gathering, fear, overcoming fear, achieving goals.
