make the bread go soggy. She was often ambivalent about the crackers and let me have them. Eventually I asked her how come she always had this packed lunch—surely some days you just can’t be bothered making it. I have those days. Or some days I’m running late and don’t have time to make it. “My dad makes it,” she said. And he does. Every morning he makes lunch for her and her brother, Jamie. Get this—when I sleep over on a school night, he makes it for me too!
One time I was sleeping over at Penny’s and we were at the kitchen counter making brownies. Her dad comes in, puts an arm around her, hugs her, kisses her cheek and says something like, “What’s my girl making today?” And when I’ve been over on weeknights, he kisses Penny’s mum when he gets home from work. Like, openmouthed and with feeling. Did you ever see anything like it?
On the mornings when Penny’s dad has to be at university early, he gives Penny and her brother a lift as far as the uni, and they join their buses from there. On the days that he works from home, he gives them a lift to the bus stop at Maroubra Junction to save them the twenty-minute walk.
On the weekend he potters about the house in overalls, fixing this and that, washing all the school uniforms and hanging them out to dry. Penny’s brother, Jamie, plays on a soccer team—well, he did before he got sick recently—and Penny’s dad coaches the team! Seriously. One night a week he and Jamie go off to practice at Lambert Oval and they play against other teams on Saturdays.
One night I was sleeping over at Pen’s and we decided to go to a movie. Once there we decided to see a double feature and were home two hours later than we’d said. Penny’s dad was waiting up in the living room when we got back and sprang to his feet saying, “Where were you girls? I was worried. You must call if you are going to be late.”
It’s not hard to figure out that these things made an impact on me because it’s very different over my way. For starters, my dad is away a lot. He is a director. Plays, TV, film. One of the best. There is not a whole lot of work in Sydney, so he has to go where the work is. This means that up to five months of the year he is away, and it’s been that way for as long as I remember. Directing a play in a different city, touring with a play, doing an episode of a TV show onlocation. Last year he went to Perth for three months at a time to teach at the Academy of Performing Arts, and he has a semi-regular gig teaching at a drama school in Singapore. When he is home, he’s out rehearsing a lot, or in his study going over scripts and notes. Or worse, he’s between jobs.
You’d think that when he’s away, it would be harder for my mum, as she’s essentially a single parent. But, in truth, there’s less tension at home when he’s away. As you might have gathered from my Betty Friedan “moment” the other night, my mum does almost all the housework, works full-time and takes care of my little sister, regardless of whether Dad is home or not. I help where I can, but I’m at work three weeknights myself now. I try to keep a low profile at home and not do anything that will (a) bring me to Dad’s notice or (b) add to my mother’s despair.
When Dad is away, the yawning inequality in the “sexual division of labor,” as you put it the other night, is less obvious. When he is at home, I almost always feel angry with him and, it seems, he with me. So all our interactions—which are pretty few and far between in any case—are laced with anger. The ultimate insult comes in the evening, when he fillsthe family space with cigarette smoke. Well, they both do. Not only are they going to give themselves cancer, they’re going to take me and Jess with them.
When I picture my mum in my head, she is coming in the front door at 5 p.m., holding Jess on her hip with one arm and a bunch of shopping bags in the other. She always looks tired. On days that I’m not
One time I was sleeping over at Penny’s and we were at the kitchen counter making brownies. Her dad comes in, puts an arm around her, hugs her, kisses her cheek and says something like, “What’s my girl making today?” And when I’ve been over on weeknights, he kisses Penny’s mum when he gets home from work. Like, openmouthed and with feeling. Did you ever see anything like it?
On the mornings when Penny’s dad has to be at university early, he gives Penny and her brother a lift as far as the uni, and they join their buses from there. On the days that he works from home, he gives them a lift to the bus stop at Maroubra Junction to save them the twenty-minute walk.
On the weekend he potters about the house in overalls, fixing this and that, washing all the school uniforms and hanging them out to dry. Penny’s brother, Jamie, plays on a soccer team—well, he did before he got sick recently—and Penny’s dad coaches the team! Seriously. One night a week he and Jamie go off to practice at Lambert Oval and they play against other teams on Saturdays.
One night I was sleeping over at Pen’s and we decided to go to a movie. Once there we decided to see a double feature and were home two hours later than we’d said. Penny’s dad was waiting up in the living room when we got back and sprang to his feet saying, “Where were you girls? I was worried. You must call if you are going to be late.”
It’s not hard to figure out that these things made an impact on me because it’s very different over my way. For starters, my dad is away a lot. He is a director. Plays, TV, film. One of the best. There is not a whole lot of work in Sydney, so he has to go where the work is. This means that up to five months of the year he is away, and it’s been that way for as long as I remember. Directing a play in a different city, touring with a play, doing an episode of a TV show onlocation. Last year he went to Perth for three months at a time to teach at the Academy of Performing Arts, and he has a semi-regular gig teaching at a drama school in Singapore. When he is home, he’s out rehearsing a lot, or in his study going over scripts and notes. Or worse, he’s between jobs.
You’d think that when he’s away, it would be harder for my mum, as she’s essentially a single parent. But, in truth, there’s less tension at home when he’s away. As you might have gathered from my Betty Friedan “moment” the other night, my mum does almost all the housework, works full-time and takes care of my little sister, regardless of whether Dad is home or not. I help where I can, but I’m at work three weeknights myself now. I try to keep a low profile at home and not do anything that will (a) bring me to Dad’s notice or (b) add to my mother’s despair.
When Dad is away, the yawning inequality in the “sexual division of labor,” as you put it the other night, is less obvious. When he is at home, I almost always feel angry with him and, it seems, he with me. So all our interactions—which are pretty few and far between in any case—are laced with anger. The ultimate insult comes in the evening, when he fillsthe family space with cigarette smoke. Well, they both do. Not only are they going to give themselves cancer, they’re going to take me and Jess with them.
When I picture my mum in my head, she is coming in the front door at 5 p.m., holding Jess on her hip with one arm and a bunch of shopping bags in the other. She always looks tired. On days that I’m not
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