I know, it’s been a long time… Just on a month in fact!

Going to Adelaide, teeth giving me shit and a new mini project have taken much of my time.

I wanted to start this ep as a video, but decided to write it instead, mostly because it is 11pm and I haven’t shaved for a week and look like Ned Kelly!

I want address something before I start. I moderate your comments and in saying that, if you use a false name/email address or something of the like – your comment is automatically erased and I receive an email telling me “A knucklehead tried to post a comment, but was too lazy to use a real account” <- actual words – Cos I’m good with WordPress!

So, to the few who comment and go all fake – If you bother to use your real details, I will post your comment. But expect me to give you the serve you need.

Right let’s get down to it – How do you deal with loss? My Dad passed away a couple of years ago and I had questions I wanted answered; some are quite personal and others are are simply the types of questions a son would naturally ask a Dad.

One question that has bugged me since I was 7 or 8 has quite a lovely story to premise it…

It was early Autumn in the Sydney suburb of Newtown back in 1981, I was 7 and back then (I sound like I’m 80 years old….) parents didn’t worry about kids being abducted and all the bad things we see on TV these days – I was able to goto the park by myself, walk to the shops and I was known my many shop people. The old Lady at the Coles on King street knew my name and said hello, the Postmaster would sneak me a drink or a toy that was normally on display – these were good times to be young.

One day Mum was heading to a friends house at McMahons Point  and would be there most of the day. So mid morning off Mum went.

Mum left me, my older brother Jacque (who was 16 and wanted his 7 year old brother hanging around as much as Juila Gillard wants Kevin Rudd hanging around). So around midday, he bailed too. Here I am, bored out of my 7 year old mind – what to do?

I decide I am big enough to go and find Mum, 7 years old, on the opposite side of Sydney Harbour AND I’m going to do this by bus! I venture to the bus stop in the centre of Newtown, I have done the trip to the city hundreds of times with Mum, but I’m wearing the big boy pants now – that is until I get on the bus, the driver asks where I want to go and I tell him ‘The City, Please’ and he says ‘that’ll be 40 cents’. Here is where problem number 1 crops up – no dosh. Never fear, I tell him I’m going to see Mum and he let’s me on…

As we head into the city, we pass the university of Sydney, The Seymour Theatre, Central Station and Chinatown, Town Hall then through the city and finally Circular Quay, now I’m excited – I love watching the ferries come in, see the people get off – others get on and off the boats went… wondering where those people were going and why. Now I knew which ferry to catch and what wharf it left from, but the wharf hands were a different breed from the friendly bus drivers.. dirty fellas, their sleeves rolled up, stubble and all of them smoked… So I used the same tactic as I did on the bus ‘I have no money, but I want to go to my mum on the other side of the harbour’ – no dice.

The wharfmaster called me over, asked where I was going and how much money I had. Didn’t ask my name, address, phone or either Mum or Dad’s name – this is important!

He politely asked me to take a seat in his office and he wandered off, coming back about 10 minutes later with a chicken sandwich for me (crusts cut off and all!) he told me to sit there and eat my lunch, so… I watched the ferries and the people and happily ate my sandwich, until…

About 20 – 30 minutes later oblivious to everything except the comings and goings of steel on water, this deep and somewhat annoyed voice comes through the door behind me and echoes around the little room I am sitting in “Allain, what the hell are you doing in the city?”

In a move that would have broken world records and snapped the necks of mere mortals, here is my Dad – hands on either side of the doorframe, looking over his glasses that had fallen (or had been moved for more effect) half way down his nose… “OUT!”

Reluctantly I slivered out of the little office took his hand and walked to his car, hoping St. Peter would see all the good I had done in my short life.

Not a word was spoken, no eye contact – nothing. To make matters worse, we were not heading towards home.. About 10 minutes later we pull up at Dad’s work (The Smith Family at the time) where he was in charge of the front desk and security. He grabbed a chair and placed it next to him at the desk, gave me the comics section from the Sydney Morning Herald and settled back into his work.

At 5, we packed up and drove home, never to hear about it again.

…and after 30 years, I still have no idea how he found out I was at the Ferry wharf and believe me – I asked often. His response was the same - A Wink…

and a smile.