If somebody took a photo of you right now, right this second, and then showed it to a complete stranger, what assumptions do you think they would make? What judgements could they form based on this one moment in time that they see you?

Forgive me if I get a little philosophical again, but it is something that has been on my mind of late. How often do we make judgements or assumptions about people based on the small part of them that we see?

I was talking to a friend yesterday, who was both amused and bemused at the comments made to her by a fellow school parent at a birthday party. My friend had been assisting in their children’s kindergarten class and had helped the other mum’s daughter finish reading her home reader because she wanted to change it over. The mum confessed to my friend that when she heard the story from her daughter, she had thought “Oh no, why did it have to be you. We just hadn’t had time to get the reading done, and you’re always there helping and always look like you’re on top of things  and have it all together.”

My friend and I chortled quite merrily about this. In fact I offered to call the other mum and set her straight about all my friend’s parenting shortcomings. But then my friend wondered, “Is this really how other people see me?”

I guess the answer is yes. People see what you project in the moments that they know you. This mum had only seen my friend in the few minutes at school. Now I know that books are a passion with my friend. She is an avid reader and not only enjoys sharing her love of books with her own children, but ensures that she finds ways to share it with her wider community. With two older children as well as a kindergartner, she has been involved with the school’s reading program for many years. No wonder she looks self assured and confident when other parents see her helping out in the classroom.

While my friend’s experience could be viewed in a mostly positive light, there are more obvious negatives to drawing conclusions about someone based on relatively brief encounters. In this particular situation, the other parent might not have broached the subject in such a light-hearted way or indeed at all. She may have allowed this one perception of a person colour any other encounters they had. Suddenly someone who helps out with reading because she loves books and hates canteen and sports carnivals, becomes an “Übermum” and a pushy parent.

Now look at other times we make judgements about someone with very little or even no knowledge about who they really are. Have you ever tsked about an overweight person in the shopping centre eating a donut and a milkshake? Have you ever rolled your eyes at someone speaking abruptly even angrily to their child or spouse or parent? Have you ever made an assumption about someone by their clothes or appearance? I know I have. It’s hard not to.

What we see of people we don’t know or only know a little is just a snapshot of their lives. And snap judgements are very often wrong.

Oh and by the way? If you see a crazy woman in her thirties in the local Westfield on a Wednesday berating a sweet little old man? Don’t judge. That’s me and my dad, and we bicker because we love. Right Dad?

Last week I had a couple of those random twitter experiences that get your mind working. First Susan at Reading Upside Down outed me as the intrepid children’s book sleuth when Rebecca Newman (@_boobook_ ) was hunting for a book she had read as a child. (You can read about how we did here at her blog. )  I do possess mad googling skillz, and was one of those kids who read every book in the library, so this was a labour of love. Susan knew about my fondness for such pursuits when I helped her sister rediscover the Green Knowe series. Like Rebecca, she could only recall certain aspects of the book – a boy called Tolly, ghosts of children and an old mansion. Her description rang a bell, and we were both excited to find the books and reread them.

Then I had a lovely chat with several folks about the Australian childrens’ books Bottersnikes and Gumbles. It was fun to see how many of us Australians (of a certain age) recalled such details about a series that never reached the dizzying heights of renown as Snugglepot & Cuddlepie or Blinky Bill. They obviously made an impact on us in our young reading years.

So here are a few more books from my childhood that I recall with incredible fondness, yet aren’t often listed in the classics that we ensure we set aside for our own children.

When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit – Judith Kerr

I think I read this as my brother was reading it in his class a year ahead. The story of a young Jewish girl (the author herself) who fled Nazi Germany with her family, it was my first real introduction to the Holocaust and the history of World War 2. Before then Hitler was just a name of a bad guy that sometimes got thrown my way at school because my family came from Germany.  Since that first reading at around ten years of age, I have sought out many books on the subject, both fiction and non-fiction. My own daughter has just finished Morris Gleitzman’s beautiful Once and Then, which like When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit is told from the perspective of a child.

The Cay – Theodore Taylor

I remember the feel and the cover of this book (not the one pictured) quite strongly for some reason. The edition I read seemed quite new – although at the time (around 1982) it was already over twelve years since it’s publication. It’s possible that it just wasn’t one of those books that kids are drawn to, but it has stayed with me, although I haven’t read it since. I remember the cat and the eventual friendship between Phillip and Timothy, and how they looked after eachother when stranded on the Cay.

Island of the Blue Dolphins – Scott O’Dell

I must have been going through a “stranded on an island” phase, because I’m sure I read this around the same time as I read The Cay. Actually, now that I think about it, we may have been doing a theme of that kind in our library lessons that year, and I was always the good girl who read every book! Animals always featured strongly in the books that I loved, and I remember crying as I read about Rontu the dog (wolf?) in this story.

The Phantom Tollbooth - Norton Juster

Now here’s a great story, that people just look at me strangely when I tell them about it. I have no idea why it isn’t better known because it is so much fun to read.  My brother and I had a copy, which I first read at a very young age, when I was probably too young to understand all the clever puns and wordplays. I read it recently with my ten-year-old son, and he delighted in the story of Milo, who travels through the Phantom Tollbooth to the magical lands of Dictionopolis and Digitopolis to rescue the princesses Rhyme and Reason.

A Little Bush Maid – Mary Grant Bruce

If one side of my heritage led me to reading holocaust and world war two fiction, the other side has given me a deep and abiding love for stories set in the Australian bush. Although idyllised and very much a product of their time with regards to the representation of aboriginal and chinese Australians (and I understand they have since been edited to change this), the Billabong series of books were captivating stories for a young city girl who thought living on horseback and camping out under the stars was a wonderful life indeed. It was also fun to read classic books with a female protagonist that were still ‘ripping yarns’ and full of adventure.

Do any of these books ring a bell with you? What other less-commonly-known children’s books do you recall from your own childhood? Or do you have a book mystery you’d like me to try and solve?

My twelve year old daughter wrote the following for her school’s public speaking competition, after we were talking about the Bear Grylls in Newcastle hashtag on Twitter. I thought it was pretty funny, so would like to share it with you all. Apart  from removing names and the lovely all-caps and rainbow colours she had going on, all words are her own. I hope you enjoy it:

I was watching a TV show called Man vs Wild the other night. If you haven’t seen it – you’re not living!

In Man vs Wild there’s this guy called Bear Grylls, right? He goes to some of the harshest places on earth, but he doesn’t take a plane like any normal person. He’s Bear Grylls! He has to jump out of a helicopter.  Then he puts himself in the position of a lost hiker or tourist and shows you how to survive. Like all tourists he only takes a few things with him –

• a water bottle,
• a pocket knife,
• his clothes
• … and a camera crew!

Some of the adventures Bear Grylls attempts include

• Jumping off a waterfall in the amazon
• chasing rhinos across the savannah
• eating a sheep’s eye in Alaska
• and jumping into quicksand to show you how to get out.

What can I say? This guy’s mental!

Anyway while I was watching Man vs Wild the other day I thought how would Bear Grylls cope being stranded in the wilds of my school?  Well for starters he’d jump out of a plane and parachute onto the library roof. He’d then abseil down the building and CRASH! He’s through the principal’s window. There’s glass everywhere but there’s no time to pick the pieces out from his skin because someone’s coming! Quick! It’s the principal! Bear Grylls drops to the ground. He knows what he must do. He commando crawls out of the principal’s office and past the EVIL OFFICE LADIES!

All right, he could get in easily enough – but how would he survive? If you have ever watched the show you would know that water is essential for survival. That should be easy enough in a school playground – there’s bubblers right? But Bear always prepares for the worst. He would probably pee into his Wiggles drink bottle in case he gets dehydrated and can’t make it to the bubblers. How disgusting is that?!

Next problem is what would he eat? Well he could raid the canteen but he would have to fight off the canteen lady first. And even though he is an SAS commando and has trained in the airforce I reckon she could take him on. Looks like he would have to raid the garbage bin for the last half-chewed chicken chippy. But wait a minute – that sounds a bit boring for Bear Grylls. He’d probably go down to the creek and catch one of those red belly black snakes for his lunch – YUM!

As night falls, the air gets colder, and Bear knows that he has to build a shelter – and fast! He usually finds tree branches, bamboo and palm leaves to make a cover for his bed. But everybody knows it’s an immediate yellow card if you start ripping down the trees!  He could get supplies from the work shed. Hey – he could even sleep in the shed!

Oh well – no one said he was smart.

After a hard night’s sleep out in the cold, Bear thinks he has primary school sussed. He has found food and a water source, but then – the lunch bell rings. It takes all Bear’s survival skills to avoid the herd of stampeding kindies on their way to the sandpit. There are kids everywhere – he has to get out! NOW!!

Finally Bear has an idea. He creeps into one of the classrooms and grabs a desk and a meter ruler. With the desk upside down and using the ruler as a paddle, he rafts down the creek then crawls across the scorching earth of the local soccer grounds to finally make it to civilisation – BI LO!

With all his skills and training, Bear Grylls has conquered some of the world’s most deadly terrains. But I reckon my school would be his toughest challenge yet!

My son is not your average lad. When people talk about boys being more assertive, more physical or just generally more boisterous than girls, I know they haven’t met Davo, whose boofy family nickname belies his gentle personality. He’s an enigma at times. Incredibly bright, but not particularly enamoured with academic success. Awards and certificates don’t inspire him. He just gets in and does the job. He’d rather sit quietly in the back corner, and yet I’m told he speaks confidently when called on in class. He plays soccer the same way, watching mostly from the side, but running in and having a go when he feels confident.

Davo  seems happiest being a bystander, an observer. He’d make a great writer, except he hates to actually write. His  face sums up his personality so well – big limpid blue eyes, massive eyes, hiding behind a mop of sandy brown hair that is begging for a cut, but he prefers unkempt. (He’s not much into appearances.) Mouth curved into a small smile. He doesn’t say much.

Oh but when Davo does speak – everyone should sit up and listen. For underneath the quiet exterior is a funny and thoughtful young man. He measures his thoughts and his words carefully, and often sees details that go unnoticed by the rest of us. He is not completely averse to silliness of course, he’s still a kid. And there is nobody better at pushing his sister’s buttons – the one time he uses his superpowers for evil rather than good. But the rest of the time there is a stillness about him, that is incredibly soothing and highly uncommon in nearly ten year old boys. Davo and I can sit together for ages, just reading or watching TV and talking to each other about everything and nothing. I hope we can continue this for as long as possible as I watch my gentle boy grow up into a gentle man and a gentleman.

Related Post: About a Girl

My severe arachnophobia is well-known. I blame the Dr Who Planet of the Spiders episode. My research showed that this first aired in 1974, so assuming it came to Australia not long afterwards, I must have been around 3 or 4 years old when I saw it. Even looking back at the hokey 70s prop spiders gives me the heebeejeebees.

OK – posting that for you is killing me.

I’m getting a little better. As an adult, I have managed to let go of my daddy-long-legs fears. That’s a good thing, because my house is full of them. But it wasn’t until my late teens that I managed to cope with them.  Growing up with an outside loo was torture. Tarantulas and bird-eating spiders are exotic and not likely to be crawling into my bed at night, so I can cope with their existence as long as I can’t see them. The black housespiders that nest in the eaves are creepy, but keep their distance. Redbacks are nasty, but teeny tiny and easily identified. These days my real anxiety really only shows itself with two kinds of spiders. Unfortunately they are kind of rife around here.

Despite knowing that huntsman spiders are benign and safe, I can’t cope with them being in the house. Fair call too, because they are HUGE. Like the size of my hand. And they sit on the wall and ceiling with their legs all spread out. It’s unnerving. Once when my daughter was a newborn, I noticed one above the doorway to our bedroom. Thank goodness I had moved the bassinet into the sunroom before I saw it, because I honestly cannot say if I would have been able to walk under the spider to go to her. And if I had, I doubt I would have been able to walk back out. I checked on it for hours to make sure it didn’t disappear, because if there is one thing worse than a spider you can see, it’s a spider you can’t see but you know is there.

My arch-nemesis is of course the funnel-web spider. A much more sensible fear, because of the whole Most Fucking Venomous Spider in the World thing. They are in my nightmares. Just thinking about them makes my hands shake. Until three years ago, I had little exposure to them, despite always living in their territory. And then we moved here – to this nice house backing on to a tad of bushland, with a pool. How many “funney buggers” have I seen since? We are in double digits! Never near the house, always in the pool after heavy rain. I understand they can survive underwater for days, and when you pull them out they might look dead, but they can come back to life. Here is one we pulled out back when we first moved in. Now they are so commonplace we don’t bother taking pics. Gah.

But my favourite (and by favourite, I mean most nightmarish) spider story is this:

One day when I was a new young mum, I was doing a load of laundry. I was whistling as I worked, because there is nothing more cheery than washing a pile of wee baby onesies on a sunny Spring day. As I loaded up the washing machine, I noticed a teeny tiny spider just inside the rim. About the size of my little fingernail. A ‘pidey. So I squashed it with my thumb and closed the lid of the machine. Strange. There it was again. A teeny tiny ‘pidey on the lid. So I squashed it again. With my thumb. Not before noticing that it looked like a miniature cute widdle huntsman.

And then I looked up…

The ceiling of the laundry was covered in hundreds of teeny tiny huntsmen. Crawling with them. And one big mothership huntsman in the corner, glowering at me. It was like the end of Charlotte’s Web, when her egg sac hatches and the air is full of tiny spiders. If Charlotte’s Web were written by Stephen King.  I shut the door and walked away. I may have curled up and sobbed for a while, I can’t recall. Then I did what any right-minded, environmentally aware person would do – I had my husband napalm all up in that joint until  the little bastards were dead, dead, dead.

So now you know what’s in my Room101. What’s your worst phobia?

So, I don’t drive.

I can hear you gasping from here. It’s the response I usually get when people discover this fact about me. Followed by “You don’t drive?!” , possibly in case I had said I don’t jive. Which I don’t really either, but you know, not so gasp-worthy.

Since I’ve been not-driving for 38 years, I am used to facing this incredulity, although it has really only hotted up over the last fifteen years or so. People were less concerned when I was in nappies.  I understand that I am a licenseless anomaly in a world of cars, and that to some people this is incomprehensible. When people wonder how I get around, I usually reply honestly about using local facilities and public transport, saving car-necessary travel for weekends and evenings when my husband is home. I occasionally get a little annoyed by obvious scorn, but I’m a fairly affable lass, so I try not to bite back. Sometimes, just for kicks, I channel my inner-Blanche Dubois and breathily coo “I have always relied on the kindness of strangers” and bat my eyelids and try to draw attention to my bosom. This usually ceases the line of questioning, and indeed the conversation altogether most of the time.

Some curious folks want to know my reason for not driving. Truth be told, there isn’t really a reason. Not a single one anyway. The reason for not learning when I was 17 was different to the reason for not learning when I was 23 which is again different to why I still don’t drive now.  It is more complex than just lack of interest, although that has become a major factor, but there is no deep, dark underlying story behind it either. I just don’t.

One thing I have found is that not driving has its benefits. My life is slower than most. My children’s lives by extension are also slower. They have never had to spend afternoons ferrying between activities or appointments, because I try to keep as much as possible in our local area. In doing so, I have felt a real connection with our neighbourhood and our suburb. Our local school, local sports clubs and local small shopping centre have provided us with a community that we really feel a part of.

My children walk more than they would if I drove. They walk to sport and music lessons and school. Sometimes with me, often without. They have been able to learn independence. And road sense. And an awareness of nature. And again, a sense of community.They have never had to miss out on a social opportunity due to my lack of a drivers license. Their friends’ parents are always willing to offer a lift to parties and days out, and I return the favour by being available for last-minute before and after-school care when they need it.

People often dwell on the worst case scenarios of not driving. I have a plan of course. My husband is rarely more than a phone call away. I have good friends and neighbours who would help me out if an occasion should arise.  Taxis are available in emergencies. Ambulances in real emergencies.

I’m not a rabid anti-car warrior. Top Gear is one of my favourite shows. I salivate over the Mercedes SLK in the picture above. I love watching the Grand Prix. I admit that often things would be easier if I had a license. But things aren’t as hard as you might think when you can’t drive.

Why don’t you try it one week? Look at all the things you do in your car, and work out which could still be accomplished without it. Put the kids (even the little ones) on the school bus or make them walk to school. Budget for only one big supermarket trip in a week. Use only one car, if you usually use two. Not everything will be feasible, because obviously not everybody has set their life up the way I have. But we can all slow down a little sometimes, because in the words of the great philosopher Ferris Bueller:  “Life moves pretty fast. You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

I answered this “25 things”  meme a while ago on Facebook, and thought it might be nice to break up the Deep Thoughts I’ve been posting about lately, because I am really quite shallow.

1.I am completely and profoundly addicted to coffee.

2. I desperately need a haircut. I am morphing into Cousin Itt (with Morticia grey streaks.)

3. I have to leave the room during tense moments in sport. Particularly if the Wallabies are playing, and the last World Cup nearly killed me (the football one, not the rugby one.) 90 minutes of tension at 5am is not good for me!

4. I call soccer ‘football’ because I am both a wanker and a wog.

5. When I was a kid I used to go with my Dad to watch KB United play. I used to take my teddy bear dressed in a team scarf and beanie.

6. I am a writer because I love words. Also because I can spend my working day in my pyjamas.

7. I know more about Star Wars than my kids, and I will yell at them if they ask me one more time if “this is the one with the ewoks?”

8. Jar Jar Binks made the Ewoks look like fucking Shaft.

9. That is a quote from Spaced. I love Simon Pegg.

10. I am not a geek. I swear.

11. OK – maybe I am – a little bit.

12. Apart from a year in Germany, I have lived my whole life in the zone of my archnemesis, the Sydney Funnel Web spider.They are found from Nowra (where I was born) to Newcastle (where I grew up and live now.) I swear they’re after me!

13. I sincerely believe that my extreme arachnophobia comes from watching the Dr Who “Planet of the Spiders” episode as a kid.

14. “People are Stupid” is my mantra. Seriously, once you accept this, life gets much easier.

15. Frangipanis used to be my favourite flower until everyone started sticking them on their damn cars.

16. I am a little bit jealous that our cats like my daughter more than me, but I have come to accept that she has the Kavorka for cats.

17. The dog likes me though.

18. The dog also likes random strangers and sniffing other dogs’ butts, so I am finding little solace in this fact.

19. My Arts degree means that I can answer all the brown questions in Trivial Pursuit. That was four years well spent, yes?

20. My obsession with pop culture means I am also quite good at pink questions, and having once worked in travel helps with the blue. Tony is good at Sport and Science. If we just learn some history and politics we’d be the perfect team.

21. Sometimes I think with our Mad Trivia Skillz, we should quit work and just do the pub trivia circuit. Except we both find it hard to focus on anything other than beer while in a pub.

22. I would rather have a good gin and tonic (Bombay Sapphire and Schweppes Tonic water) than any fancy cocktail.

23. I am a literary snob who not-so-secretly loves reading chick lit. This is because all the worthy literature is so damn depressing. Kind of like the Best Picture Nominees at the Oscars.

24. My kids are quite possibly the funniest, cleverest, sweetest children that ever lived. I know every mum thinks that, but it’s TRUE!

25. And some mornings I would still trade them in for a really good cup of coffee.

On the weekend I went shopping with my daughter for some clothes. At almost 12, she has definite tastes. It has been a long time since I dressed for fashion rather than comfort, but I thought I was doing pretty well at pointing out colours and styles that are “in” this season. But then I found myself furiously shaking my head “No” at a cropped denim jacket that would have barely skimmed a bikini top. “Jackets are for warmth and I’m not paying for half of one!” I said, and then quickly looked around for my father. Surely those were his words, not mine!

You see, as much as I like to think I’m pretty cool (Are kids still using that word? “Cool”?) I do tend towards the fuddy-duddy at times.  Trouble is I can be a bit unpredictable with my preferences. For example I hate flat-brimmed caps, low hanging pants and “bling” on boys. But my son is one of only a few lads with long scruffy hair in a class of “short backs and sides”.  I turn up my nose at designer wear and brand names but gladly fork out for Globe skate shoes if it means my kids will wear black leather shoes to school without a fight.

We eat dinner as a family almost every night, with the table set and the television off. At the end of the meal, if we are still sitting and chatting, the kids need to ask “May I be excused” before they leave. Terribly old-fashioned, and yet I don’t care if they eat breakfast while hanging upside down on the lounge watching cartoons. On school mornings. While still in their pyjamas.

We have a mobile phone ban in place until Year 7, but umpty-two computers, a PS3, multiple iPods and Nintendo DSs. I refuse to get pay TV but with the endless hours of television series and movies we have on DVD, I can’t see how it would possibly change our viewing habits. Yes to The Simpsons, no to Home and Away. Neighbours at a pinch, but only if I can watch too and laugh at it – and none of them during dinner of course! No chewing gum! No bubble gum! No stupid sour liquid confectionery in a squirty bottle. Coke? Occasionally as a treat.  Chocolate? Hell yes! You can’t colour your hair until you are fifteen, but then you are allowed to dye it blue if you so desire. Lip gloss, sometimes. Lipstick NEVER!

So what do you think? Am I normal? What rules do you insist upon in your home? And which ones do you let slide?