Letter from my Father by Dasia Black Page A

stop them falling into the lake.
    On weekdays, after picking up the children from kindergarten or infants’ school, a group of young mothers would meet to gossip at one of our special places like the Harbourside Lyne Park with its excellent playground equipment. We talked mainly of our children, their triumphs and our concerns, while keeping a watchful eye on what our offspringwere doing. While we chatted and intervened to settle disputes such as he pushed me , brushed down dirt, attended to scratches, kissed sore knees better and just gave the occasional cuddle, the children climbed trestles, slid down slippery-dips increasingly faster and swung higher and higher on swings. They also talked with one another – or at least at one another.
    Richard and I seemed to spend hours, weekend after weekend, holding on to the back of a bike and running along as the boys learned to peddle fast enough to gain balance. Both became proficient bike riders and enjoyed finding out about our neighbourhood, especially streets with no barking dogs, of which they were wary, just like their mother.
    Growing up in a city like Sydney and living close to some glorious Harbourside places – Camp Cove, Watsons Bay and Nielsen Park, as well as Bondi Beach – much of our outdoor summer time was spent at the beach. From the time they were toddlers, the boys were encouraged to enjoy water splashing over them, jumping over waves and eventually surfing. Learning to swim was imperative. When I took six-year-old Jonathan for lessons from an experienced elderly teacher at Bondi Baths, a real ‘old-timer’, I was told after a few lessons: That boy has the courage of a lion – but he is poorly co-ordinated. Bring him back next year and he’ll get it . He did. Both boys also had lessons from the legendary Alf Vockler, an old Olympian who taught children in a firm authoritative manner at Watsons Bay Baths. Determined Simon would swim his laps either under Vockler’s strict gaze or unsupervised. Then my heart would beat fast, knowing that if he encountered trouble I, a poor swimmer, could not save him.
    At school, Simon was selected for the Opportunity C (gifted children) class at primary school in Woollahra. His teacher was brilliant in knowing how to foster each child’s talent, and Simon blossomed. Reserved ten-year-old Simon, with his fine diction, was selected to make a speech incelebration of Red Cross Day in front of 1000 people at the Town Hall. Though apprehensive beforehand, he performed with amazing poise and not a little courage. This did wonders for his confidence and gained the respect of his peers, not easy for a boy who was relatively short for his age at the time.
    Jonathan lost some of his good looks during his primary years when the secondary teeth started emerging and could not find sufficient space in his narrow jaw. They crowded in on one another, the front two teeth protruding noticeably, like a rabbit’s. At the age of seven it was found that he needed to wear strong spectacles. I cried for weeks seeing those beautiful eyes veiled by lenses.
    In his middle childhood he was a very thin, wiry, extremely active boy. He was certainly not a team player. In kindergarten his teachers described him as wild and non-conformist. In a class photo at Rose Bay Primary, when he was about eight years old, he stands out. Every child except Jonathan is looking straight at the camera. He was constantly in trouble at this school, for calling out in class and not giving other children a chance to answer.
    Jonathan was probably bored, since this behaviour ceased when he too entered Woollahra Public Opportunity C Class. He blossomed. The boys’ primary years were characterised by the demands of innumerable projects necessitating trips to the library, photocopying, scissors-and-paste work and lots and lots of discussion and parental help. We transported the children to and from sporting events, birthday parties and