During a recent family meal, my offspring accused my generation, the baby boomers, of being the root cause of climate change, sky-high property prices, escalated living expenses, a divide in political views, evolution of autocratic political figures and various other calamities such as Borneo’s deforestation and the emergence of the anti-vaccination movement.
To counter this, I argued that despite maybe losing a few consequential rugby matches, my generation had done some noteworthy things – preventing total whale extinction, encouraging the US and Russia to sign the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty aimed at nuclear weapon reduction, causing the fall of the Berlin Wall, and conceding to the end of Apartheid in South Africa.
My daughters, the instigators, displayed expression of confusion.
“Patriarchy! Why wasn’t a woman the first to step on the moon?”, they jointly voiced.
“What is the Berlin Wall?”, they inquired.
I clearly wasn’t getting expected returns on their school fees.
I posited that surely there must be some good, older white blokes, to which they challenged me to name one.
I contemplated a bit, then suggested, “Neil Armstrong.”
“And his achievements?”
“He was the initial human on the moon’s surface.”
Frustratingly, they jointly retorted with, “Patriarchy! The first should have been a woman on the moon!”
I could only respond with an easy explanation — the US didn’t permit women into their space programme, though I didn’t mention that part.
Attempting to lighten the mood, I suggested Syd Williams as another good bloke, citing his winning score in the 1969 Sydney Rugby League Grand Final when representing Balmain against Souths.
Not a single chuckle.
I ruminated further – JFK? Surely they recognized Marilyn Monroe?
My barrage of suggested names involved figures like Winston Churchill and Abraham Lincoln, though explaining that the Republican party was once the radical left, right before the USA 2024 elections, proved to be an unsurmountable task.
Eventually, “Jack Kyle!”, I cried out in desperation.
All I got in response were face displaying perplexity.
Jackie proved himself a remarkable figure in Irish sporting history, ingeniously manoeuvring Ireland to their maiden Grand Slam victory in 1948. After hanging up his boots and accomplishing his medical studies, he devoted his career to humanitarian work in Sumatra and Indonesia. Following this, he spent 36 years as a medical practitioner in various Zambian hospitals. Having had the pleasure to meet him, I can attest he was genuinely an impressive individual.
Silence blanketed the room. One sceptical voice questioned, “Isn’t that just some kind of colonial grasping at power?” The thoughts behind such comments are beyond me. If Jackie Kyle’s contribution to humanity doesn’t define greatness, what benchmarks do we need to surpass?
Then, what of all the fathers toiling away each day to provide sustenance, clothe, and arm their offspring with education? The very souls who adore and honour the women in their life, who steadfastly encourage their independence and personal growth? I suspected they might respond with, “Oh, so you’re referring to yourself?”
I was met with silence again instead. “So, what about me?” I probed. “Me!” I asserted, frustrated by their obliviousness.
I saw no harm in partaking in ‘that rugby thing’. If anyone was naive enough to pay me for doing something I thoroughly enjoyed, I was more than happy to accept the compensation.
Laughter broke out as they sheepishly remarked, “Ah yes… Like you”.
The eldest pointed an accusing finger at me and commented, “You haven’t matured a bit. You’ve spent your entire existence following your passion for rugby”.
“And what’s wrong with that?” I was bewildered.
Honestly, I didn’t see the problem with indulging in ‘the rugby stuff.’ If someone was ready to pay me for something I enjoyed, why would I say no?
The dubious expressions on their faces indicated they weren’t thoroughly convinced, but I held my ground.
Attempting to shift the conversation to a brighter topic, I said, “Speaking about rugby, globally, it’s played in more than 150 nations, uniting a kaleidoscope of cultural backgrounds. Regardless of size, shape, and gender, anyone can partake”.
My innocent comments were met with a defiant, “Dad! There are more genders than just two.” Just when I believed I was making a good impression!
I never anticipated that my efforts to provide my family with education, housing, sustenance, clothing, vacations and other necessities, ranging from the financing of piano and saxophone lessons, acting in community theatre, sports fees, to providing orthodontic treatment and technology such as laptops, would paint me as a patriarch perpetuating male dominance. If only I had splurged on my lifelong dream car, an Aston Martin, then perhaps societal balance would have been reestablished.
Suspended in my new consciousness, my family and I convened around our cherished ancient wooden table, a remnant from my grandparent’s time. The aged table serves as a poignant keepsake of the bygone generations who relished its wooden tread.
My father, a steadfast factory worker, led a challenging life. He, alongside my mother, made significant sacrifices to ensure their four sons received the best education money could afford. A privilege greatly valued by the Irish immigrant community. Despite his silence, one piece of advice from him when I was just ten is deeply etched on my heart, “I work in a factory, you don’t.” That short nudge from my father held a wealth of advice – pursue education, work diligently, aim high, be tenacious, and most importantly, care for the next generation.
As my children’s laughter enveloped me, I found myself caressing the aged eucalyptus wood, reflecting on the arduous battles that my family, as Irish immigrants, had weathered to put food on this yesteryear’s table. They had championed through two World Wars, the Great Depression, severe climatic events such as floods, droughts, and bushfires which took away their farm. In such terrifying times, trivial pursuits such as rugby seem inconsequential.
“Dad,” my smallest one called, her voice laden with a tone that was a prelude to a favour I might not be keen to grant. The once occupied chairs around this old table are now vacant, the once valuable objects to its occupants are now reduced to mere dust.
Therefore, no matter how insurmountable our present troubles appear, time will eventually find solutions, by hook or by crook. Thus, finding delight in the current moment, no matter how tough, becomes even more critical.
Would it be possible to loan your vehicle during your trip to Ireland for the November Internationals? Regrettably, had I been the owner of an Aston Martin my response would have undoubtedly been negative.
Cherishing every fleeting moment I get to share with my offspring is high on my priorities, and it’s profoundly true what my girls assert. There’s a slight skew towards patriarchy in our family dynamics and differentiation of responsibilities, with power leaning towards the genders.
The upper hand in our family is wielded by my daughters, forming a dominant matriarchy, and I must admit, I couldn’t be more delighted about this scenario.