b r a v e c r e a t u r e s

You would think that the prospect of a two hour walk to get home after midnight would deter most people, but eleven year olds can get funny ideas sometimes. And I was always a particularly stubborn one.

It was summer holidays and I had been at work with my father all day, helping out and trying to spend time together. Predictably the divorce had made creating a connection between us difficult and I think he was trying to find ways for us to get closer. Hanging out in the office wasn’t really the answer, but it was worth trying.

End of the day he had decided to take me to his favourite restaurant, the Leichhardt Tavern, for dinner and a few drinks with his friend Len Rigby who drank too much. Both my parents drank a lot during the years of the divorce, which was tough on me and my sister, so anything that encouraged them to drink more was not wonderful. Len was not my favourite person.

The Leichhardt was a pretty standard pub restaurant that had pushed up market, up market that is for Brisbane circa 1980; ferns, down lighting and travertine. The big attraction for my Father was his new girl friend, the barmaid Gillian; a tall, dark haired, calculating woman with oversized nipples and a very forward manner.

She was the sort of woman who seduced just about every man she met on one level or another. At least she tried. In my case, even if I hadn’t hated her for taking my mothers place, she was talking a foreign language. I knew what she was doing, but it was meaningless to me.

Between the two of then, Len and Gillian, my father was keep pretty distracted for most of the evening. So much for quality time.

Around 11.30, after four hours of this another bottle of wine was ordered and Gillian was finishing. It looked like things were going to kick on for a while yet. That was the point I snapped. So I excused myself, to go to the bathroom I think was the excuse, and headed for the door. It didn’t seem that far home. And I was pretty sure I knew the way. And in any case, I was pissed off. So I just left.

I think part of what I was doing was an attention getting exercise, but I was also out to show my Father that it was not ok to ignore me. So I started walking.

Late at night, and for an 11 year old, Brisbane is pretty quiet. Not much traffic and what there is, is pretty industrial. The streets between the city and where I lived were pretty grungy, at least to begin with. I suppose I should have been scared, but it was kind of exhilarating.

About 1/3rd of the way, dads friend Len found me. He pulled up beside me and told me how angry Dad was with me and that if I didn’t get in the car right away so he could take me back, there would be no end of trouble.

The problem for him was that at this point, I had gotten a taste of independence and I was not letting it go. I told him that I was not getting in the car, I was going to continue walking home. If Dad wanted to talk to me he could do so himself. And if Len go any ideas about making me, I would fight him and scream for the police. If he wanted to be up on a sexual abuse charge with a minor, he was welcome to it.

Len backed off. I walked home.

Dad caught up with me just as I arrived outside the house my mother and I were living in. He was furious, but he also recognized that I was just standing up for what I believed in. We made our peace in the car and agreed not to tell mum about it.

My Father had realized that I was not just a child any more and I think it was at that point that we started to develop a relationship based on mutual respect.