Flamingo Famous – The Final Part

February 6, 2023 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Having achieved Flamingo Fame there wasn’t much left for Kevin to do on Friday except stand still for the pats and cuddles that rained down upon him from the many students with whom he is now on a first name basis.

Everybody continued to be delighted with Kevin, including the school crossing guy who finally asked for a photograph. Except, that is, for the principal who demonstrated great enthusiasm on day one but perhaps has softened on the whole shamozzle as the week has gone on. She apparated next to us more than once and said things like “you’re still a flamingo I see”, no doubt hopeful this general distraction may soon come to an end.

As we were leaving the school on Friday afternoon a teacher walked over to us and said Kevin had made her first week. She was new, just a month in Darwin, and Kevin had helped keep her smiling all week. She said that she was previously unaware of this Northern Territory tradition but that she liked it very much. We explained we were also new and we all agreed, if not a tradition yet, Kevin should become so.

Kevin waddled home, pleased with his week’s work; a little twisted and saggy but still most recognisably a flamingo. Over Frosty Fruits on the way home Milo, ever the accountant, noted that I had promised him a week and that technically I had only delivered four days, given the Tuesday start. My mind on the apparating principal, I rejected Milo’s position, noting the spirit of the deal had been satisfied if not the precise details.

Given this argument has worked with our eldest son exactly zero times over the 8.5 year span of his life, it was not entirely surprising to see it a) not work and b) drive him into a spontaneous decline. Sensing the moment, acknowledging the very positive week we had just had, and recognising the overarching objective of Kevin’s adventure in the first place, Nicole (my wife) adroitly stepped to the plate and agreed to wear Kevin for a final fling on Monday. The children cheered, Kevin looked up from his deflated pile, shrugged his shoulders and said “why not?” Because that’s the kind of flamingo Kevin is.

So on Monday, Nicole donned the luminescent flamingo and wore it very well. The jockey legs were still miserable and flimsy, but they were perhaps slightly better proportioned to her body. It’s still unlikely anybody really thought she had ridden a flamingo to school, but it’s more possible. We did enjoy some renewed honks from passers-by, some fresh positivity from the stew of drop-off parents, and new smirks from the boys’ teachers.

Most importantly Milo and Monty were satisfied that Kevin’s adventure had come to an end. He was gently hung on his hanger, hugged once more and flung into the cupboard. So, perhaps now there really are only 510 more Kevin journeys to go.

Although as a wise friend of mine, and father of two older boys, pointed out – if he were to try to take his more grown up boys to school dressed as a flamingo tomorrow, they would never let him take them to school again. So perhaps this is Kevin’s future; as the years drift by, the boys’ attitudes to us and the public wearing of inflatable exotic birds shift, he might morph from a comforter, an ice breaker, to a threat. If you don’t go to school today I will dress up as Kevin and walk next to you! And Kevin will be pulled out of the cupboard, mouldy, patched up with emergency electrical tape, and we will shake him at the boys as a cautionary tale, as we hustle them out the door.

Who knows.

Either way, Kevin is family now and his story is not yet done.

Rest well Kevin. Great work this week.

Kevin’s final journey

Rest well Kevin

Flamingo Famous – Part 2

February 2, 2023February 2, 2023 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Very early on day 2 the boys informed me that I had agreed to wear Kevin every day for the first week of every school term for the rest of their scholastic lives. This sounds highly dubious to me but they are adamant and I have no evidence to the contrary. It is, I must admit, plausible that I wasn’t completely listening when this matter was first discussed. Unfortunately, despite my best efforts, this happens from time to time because sometimes what they want to talk about is just so desperately uninteresting.

But there is a lesson here; engage fully with your children parents, give them your fullest attention, especially when you are discussing such important matters as wearing an eye-popping, inflatable costume to their school for the rest of your life.

So Milo quickly did the maths. Given Monty has just started kindy, after this week I will only need to wear Kevin 510 more times. It seems unlikely he will go the distance, given he is so vulnerable to catastrophic deflation. So it may be wise to visit Spotlight now to procure ‘son of Kevin’, before the costuming trend of ‘human riding something comical’ comes to an end, however unlikely that may seem now.

DAY 2

So with the finish line, in fact, nowhere in sight, Day 2 began rather brightly. Still a few honks from passers by and giggles from those parents who missed Kevin on Tuesday but otherwise our neighbourhood seems altogether non-plussed today about a fully grown man wearing a flamingo costume on a Wednesday morning. It is likely they still think me odd, but the repeat performance has reframed the oddness as the type that should be pitied rather than feared.

Upon our arrival on school grounds we enjoyed far more interaction and engagement from parents, teachers and students. Those who had averted their eyes yesterday today called out “good morning Kevin”, gave him a pat and asked a number questions, most of which were variations of “why are you wearing a flamingo?” I tried out a number of responses such as “Why aren’t you wearing a flamingo?” and “What do you mean I’m wearing a flamingo?” etc, most of which were received poorly by the students, who generally responded with that blank look that only children can deliver which says “I’m smarter than you think I am, you’re an idiot and I’m not impressed” all at once.

However, eventually we were surrounded by a group of 5th and 4th graders (one of whom was in Milo’s class) who were examining Kevin’s puny legs. One of them (Ollie) asked the standard question and just as I was mustering an underwhelming answer his friend (name unknown) stepped in and said “Oh, I know. My mum told me it’s because Milo is starting a new school and so he made his dad wear it.” Ollie then looked at Milo and said “Milo, you’re flamingo famous.” Milo grinned. The system is working.

DAY 3

I can’t tell you how disinterested everybody is in Kevin today. He is decidedly commonplace. Only the dogs are still titillated by our presence as we walk to school. The plovers who foolishly build their nests in the middle of school ovals for some unknown ridiculous reason don’t swoop us. The occupants of the passing Hiluxes and Landcruiser Troop Carriers don’t even steal a look sideways as they pass. The only interaction we received on the walk was a “sick ride” from a returning parent, which we enjoyed.

However, it must be noted that Milo skipped some of the way singing “I’m flamingo famous” which warmed Kevin’s plastic heart.

By the end of the day Kevin’s batteries were running low. His head was lolling back and forth like he had some sort of Flamingo vertigo, his healthy rump was emaciated, and those tiny helpless legs were scrunched up like deflated wedding balloons. We’ll need some fresh batteries tomorrow morning before Kevin’s final adventure… until April, apparently.

Waiting for Monty

Flamingo Famous – Part 1

February 1, 2023February 2, 2023 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 4 Comments

There is no amount of parental guilt that cannot be expunged by wearing an inflatable flamingo costume for a week.

This week the boys started their new school in Darwin. Milo in particular was not well pleased with this life development and so he, with the enthusiastic support of his giggling brother, devised something of a quid pro quo. Like an elderly resident negotiating an above-market price during a compulsory house acquisition, Milo secured a silver lining to his gathering, monsoonal storm clouds; those being a new school, in a new city, in a new state, in an entirely new climate.

For the first week of school I must drop them off and pick them up dressed as a bright pink flamingo.

Now, before we go on I must describe the outfit to you, because it is important. Inflatable, it is in the popular style of a human riding something, or something riding or carrying a human. That is, I am enveloped by a bright pink inflatable plastic flamingo. My legs slide into the costume and are designed to appear as the flamingo’s legs. There are separate, utterly disproportionate legs that dangle helplessly either side of the flamingo’s bulging body. Those withered little legs are supposed to be mine, such that I am riding the flamingo, whose name is Kevin.

Kevin has some nice flourishes; a little floppy yellow crown, a rather flamboyant pink tu-tu and a gold beak which matches the shiny tassels on my paralyzed legs. The inflation mechanism is actually rather ingenious. Lodged in Kevin’s back is a battery-driven fan pump which operates constantly, sucking air into the pink plastic sack which, when fully inflated, forms Kevin’s body. A simple tie mechanism around the waist keeps most of the air in, although his face and beak deflate immediately whenever any air escapes, giving him the appearance of a drunk, or a narcoleptic.

Anyway, the thought processes here are very interesting and, I think, far more sophisticated than simply the hilarity of forcing your dad to dress like a flamingo for a week might first appear. Or perhaps I’m over-thinking it.

Their request is definitely not punitive; they know well-enough that dressing like an exotic, brightly-coloured bird in public is leisure for me. There is definitely an element of something to look forward to. On the last evening of the holidays Milo morosely sobbed that the only thing that could make him happy the next day was Kevin. The flamingo may also be shielding or distracting them from the understandable trials of being the new guy; Milo needed to wee during the walk to school but would not let Monty and I walk on and let him catch up (which would not be a problem because the flamingo is not easy to walk in) – “wait for me or I won’t get to walk with the flamingo” he yelled desperately.

But I think the most ingenious aspect of Milo’s plan is that Kevin is an unmissable, unexplainable, unforgettable year 3 ice breaker. There are limitless ways this conversation can shake out, here’s a few:

“Hi Milo, it’s nice to meet you. Is your dad insane?”

“Yes, I think he is. Should we have lunch together?”

“Yes I would like that.”

…

“Hi, nice to meet you. Did you come to school with a flamingo?”

“Yup.”

“What’s his name?”

“Kevin. My name’s Monty.”

“Hi Monty, I’m Indi – do you want to paint something with me?”

…

“Hi Milo. Boy, that flamingo costume your dad’s wearing must be a real sweat box. Welcome to the tropics. How are you finding it so far? Would you like to share one of my lamington fingers?”

etc etc

And it must be said Kevin worked a treat on day one. Here are some highlights:

myriad honks from twin-cab utes on the walk to school;
the school crossing guy neighed at us and then said he thought I was a pink horse;
countless smiles, pokes, prods and slaps from confused but delighted children;
one child asked if I was a big sausage;
a smiling Darwinian yelled “that’s a bloody ripper” out his wound-down window;
The boys both smiled, giggled and held their heads up high the whole way to school;
Monty cuddled Kevin first, then me, at the end of the day; and finally…

After we had dropped Monty we walked with Milo towards his classroom. On the way we noticed a local news station filming inside the school for the evening news. I spotted the school principal and went to change course away from the camera. She walked directly up to me and said “No, what you need to do is walk in front of the camera’s view.” And so we did. Welcome to Darwin.

More to come.

Kevin

An ode to Monty at five

December 23, 2022 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 1 Comment

Monty’s library selections last week were as follows:

The Bird Atlas by Barbara Taylor
Handbook of Australian, New Zealand and Antarctic Birds by PJ Higgins
Encyclopaedia of aquarium and pond fish by David Alderton
The sausage roll maker by Sophia Young
Finding Australian birds: a field guide to birding locations by Tim Dolby
A beginner’s guide to terrarium gardening: succulents, air plants, cacti, moss, and more! by Sueko Katsuji
Bug: the ultimate gardener’s guide to organic pest control by Tim Marshall

Yes, at five he has developed a wide range of interests and hobbies suitable for a forty-three year old.

With Christmas on the horizon Monty’s mind has turned to what treasures he might receive. Thus far he has humbly requested the following: a terrarium building kit, a guide book for building ponds and a recipe book that might teach him how to make curries.

Yes, Monty had burgeoning cooking skills; he loves to experiment in the kitchen and the ‘Monty salad’ is famously polarizing in our family – cucumber (roughly chopped), ripe tomatoes (diced), 100s and 1000s and finished off with native violets freshly picked. The perfect accompaniment to any meal.

Monty’s palate matches his hobbies; he guzzles home-made kombucha, loves coffee foam and enjoys nothing more than tucking into a big bowl of mushrooms.

But he has a restraint uncharacteristic of a five year old. Last Halloween he Trick or Treated for one and a half streets before declaring “I have enough” and walking home. Half-muffins are routinely left on plates ‘for later’ and a box of Tic-Tacs will last all year.

He shows no such restraint with his hair however, which is currently pink with a long plait dangling down over his face. His hair, he declares, will not be cut until it is well beyond his bottom. Recently, while swimming in the local pool, a girl paddled over to Monty and asked him why his hair is pink; “because it looks awesome” he replied and paddled away. Touché.

Monty loves birds and currently goes nowhere without his ‘Birds of Australia’ guidebook under his arm and his binoculars slung around his neck. Whilst visiting his grandma last week Monty pointed out the birds printed on her dining room chairs are not Sulphur Crested Cockatoos (as has always been presumed) but are in fact the lesser known Major Mitchell’s variety.

He loves sloths, puzzles, National Geographic documentaries, eating herbs and kale directly from their plants like a goat, and his favourite records are (in order): The Kids are Coming (Tones and I), Graceland (Paul Simon), Welcome to the Madhouse (Tones and I).

Monty does not want to learn how to ride a bike. We have been out together four times with his new bike, evocatively named the GT Stomper. On each occasion he has hoped the bike might propel itself forward without the requirement for him to pedal. On our last such fruitless effort I displayed some sub-par parenting and, in a frustrated tone, said something to the effect of “why did we buy you this bike if you don’t want to ride it?” As Monty wandered off in the direction of the car he calmly called over his shoulder “I dont know. I didn’t ask for it.” Which is completely true.

This is a hip dude at the peak of his game who knows what he likes, what he doesn’t like, and what he has no time for. All critical life attributes that most of us take decades to work through.

He’s off to a great start.

Home foils

Match Report 3: Hellratz vs The Doogs

November 23, 2022 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

The Doogs came to play.

From the south side of the river, this crew wouldn’t know an organic spinach leaf if it gently slapped them in the face, their parents cook with cubed rather than natural, home-rendered liquid stock, and some of them are even subjected to pasteurised rather than the more gut-friendly cold-pressed milk. In short, they were hungry, tough and high on lactose. A force to be reckoned with.

Led by their talismanic captain, number 80 with his electric mop of blonde hair, The Doogs stifled the Hellratz flow. Known down south as Funk-Yellow, number 80 was everywhere in the first half; slapping, scratching, scoring, and the Ratz had few answers. The loyal Hellratz supporters could only marvel at Funk-Yellow‘s tenacity and commitment and wonder aloud how much more dominant he could have been had his hair not obscured 80% of his vision.

The Hellratz limped to half time with no notable highlights to report. The score was tied 10-10, a fact known to nobody but this reporter because apparently keeping score in an under 10s game leads to hyper-competitive play, sideline arguments and a diminishment of the purity of the game. That’s loser talk, but to avoid developing a ‘tiger parent’ reputation I still surreptitiously keep score on a tiny notepad while pretending to check my WhatsApps. Keeping score and checking WhatsApps mid-game are both scorn-worthy activities for a sideline parent in 2022, but on balance score-keeping is the greater evil.

Regardless, as the Ratz sat on the bench at half time sipping water and talking about Minecraft they knew they were in a battle. The Boss and The Prodigy knew it too and so attempted to motivate their warriors with a stirring half-time speech. As all great coaches do when their backs are against the wall, they reverted to defence, defence, defence. And scoring slightly more than their opponents. For the first time this season The Boss produced a mini whiteboard complete with basketball court line-markings. As her marker danced this way and that with arrows and xs and swirls and loops the boys looked impressed and bamboozled, and then bored.

Early in the third quarter, motivated by the halftime Minecraft chat, the momentum shifter came from an unexpected Ratz player – Smilez.

Funk-Yellow was deep in the paint, doing his thing; jab step, dribble, small travel, pump fake, small travel, jab step. Smilez, seeing an opportunity, lunged at the ball. With surprising strength Smilez latched on and wouldn’t relent as Funk-Yellow shook and lurched like a tethered crocodile. Smilez was eventually flung out of bounds, but not before the whistle had blown for a tie-up. Smilez sprang to his feet, smiling, and received the hugs of gratitude he deserved.

Well, that singular effort turned the tide. Perhaps simply due to an increased level of effort, but also perhaps because of the low GI white bread The Doogs had enjoyed for breakfast, the Hellratz found their shape and intensity in the second half. Back and forth we went, basket for basket, and in the last minute the score was locked at 20-20.

Nobody on the court, or on either bench was aware of this of course so there was no alteration in strategy, effort or vigour. As chance might have it the Hellratz were on offence; pivot, pivot, pivot, small travel, pass, air-ball, rebound, pivot, small travel. As the clock ticked below 10 seconds I, alone, was on the edge of my seat, beyond the edge even. The Baby-faced Assassin had the ball in his hands, on the baseline about 10 feet from the basket. Any advanced metrics would tell you that for such a game situation BFA with the ball in that pocket of the court is precisely what you want. The Boss could not have drawn it up better on her little basketball court whiteboard. And yet it appeared as if The Assassin was just going to let the clock run-out. But then, pulse maxing out at 57 bpm, BFA glanced up at the hoop, squared his feet and stroked the ball into the air. Front rim, backboard, net.

As the clock ticked down to zero, I stifled a fist pump so as not to give away my contraband score card then, as the players walked languidly off the court I etched two more to the Hellratz tally: 22-20. It was then that I looked up and briefly locked eyes with another dad who was doing the same. 22-20? I mouthed to him. He nodded wisely at me and we both went to congratulate our non-plussed children.

I glanced over at Funk-Yellow who looked exhausted and still unable to see much. I am sure he was thinking… if only my mum had eaten my dried placenta in powdered form straight after I was born in order to transfer those dense nutrients to me. Imagine the player I could have been…

When should children get a vote?

November 15, 2022 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

We are moving north, way north to the very top of Australia; warm weather, camping, big storms, guilt-free 4×4 ownership… that sort of thing. When deciding on such a move, families weigh up a variety of factors such as; the price of avocados, the availability of vintage terry-toweling singlets, and the likelihood of crocodile-related death (to name the three key ones).

Now, we are a family of four (six if you include the cats) and, unfortunately for the other four, only two of us got a say in this significant decision that clearly has a large impact on us all.

We recently took the boys north to visit our new home, to sell them on the idea, and ultimately bring them in on the plan. The itinerary was filled with dogs to pat, swimming pools to jump into, exotic fruits to be enjoyed in all forms; peeled, smoothied, frozen and ice creamed. We looked at sunsets, swam in rivers, ate fish and chips on the beach and importantly never wore jumpers (Monty barely wore clothes).

We chose the morning of day three to share the news over breakfast; a public cafe in case of violence. We workshopped the wording and the timing and agreed we would present the outcome as already decided, not a ‘strong potential’, nor a ‘likelihood’. Importantly this was ultimately a good decision for everybody, a grand adventure… but we were not voting on it.

Despite said workshopping our presentation fell flat. Milo (we’ll come back to Monty) was not at all bamboozled by any of the preamble, nor our blatant 3 day charade. His little brain took 8 seconds to process the information then went straight to the heart of it:

“Canberra is my home. We only just got back! Why do you always take me away from my home?”… he opened with.

Silence from us.

“I have made friends, and I like my school. Why would you do this?” … he continued, tears now streaming and snot bubbling.

More silence, but also miserable, sad, hopeless looks from us.

“I hate this place. I’m not coming.”

We looked at each other desperately but neither of us could think of anything cogent or useful to say.

Milo’s sadness had by now progressed smoothly into anger and he started pummeling me in the chest with his little fists. It felt like dozens of frozen quails flying into me at speed, one by one. He then grabbed my forearms with both hands and dug his fingernails in as hard as he could, leaving little moon shaped welts. Desperate to process and expend his feeling of helplessness and rage he then collected all the cutlery from the table and flung it onto the floor. He was careful not to choose anything breakable and he did it in such a way as to minimise injury to us or our fellow diners.

While Milo sobbed and snorted we briefly turned our attention to Monty who was sitting quietly, eyes slightly watery.

“What do you think Monty?”

“Can we bring the cats?” Monty asked, voice cracking slightly.

“Yes of course we can,” we replied. Monty nodded and continued eating his scrambled eggs.

By now all four of us were capable of conversing in a vaguely productive manner. It felt like an hour but had probably been no more than five minutes. Milo had stopped crying but was scowling and red and puffy and enraged and dejected all at once.

“You should have at least bought me chips before you told me something like that,” he said, again achieving absolute exquisite truth. We could only agree.

After breakfast Milo wouldn’t talk to anybody for an hour or two. We stole whispered conversations together, oh shit have we completely made the wrong decision? Perhaps we should delay by a year? Other topics centred on self-loathing, flagellation and regret.

But then, sometime shortly after lunch, Milo piped up “ok fine, I’ll come. But I get to swim in a swimming pool three times a day! And we have to have two swimming pools. No, five!”

“Of course!” we agreed (we can deal with that one later) and since then he has moved through resignation, acceptance and now perhaps there’s even a hint of excitement.

Parenting is littered with these types of decisions, made on behalf of our children. Sometimes we convince ourselves the decision is in their best interest, despite their views to the contrary. And sometimes we save ourselves that charade and just acknowledge we are making choices for us, and that’s probably okay.

Goodness knows we could have managed that situation better with Milo, but also goodness knows how we might have done it. Certainly children work their way through disappointment and frustration in a completely different manner to adults. Adults cling to their perspectives and opinions. A jilted adult wallows and processes and protests and argues and must be coaxed out of its inertial emotions. Milo seemed to work through his disappointment, accept it, file it and then embrace his new reality in the time it took us to find and buy a papaya and lime juice. He then set about shaping that new reality as best as he could, extracting a ‘non-core’ promise of a house with five pools from his parents. Bravo.

I presume one day the boys will get a vote on some of these big decisions, but I don’t know when that will be. As a wise friend of mine pointed out; if kids had their way they would be eating Happy Meals and living at Disneyland… not papaya and lime juice in the far, far north of Australia. Time will tell which is the better choice.

Match Report 2: Hellratz vs Wyld Stallyns

November 8, 2022 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

The Hellratz started the match with 4 players, a classic Alpha move. In fact for a brief period there were more grandparents in attendance than players. Milo arrived 5th and so strolled directly into the starting 5 (after hugging his grandma).

Hellratz were without Stretch for this one, but with the Wyld Stallyns small, slashing line-ups the analytics probably would have pointed to extended rest for the lanky rim protector anyway. In his place we welcomed back Smilez, another junior member of the squad growing in confidence week by week. Don’t let the perpetual smile fool you, he is ready to do whatever is necessary to get a Hellratz W, including cuddling the opposition.

The most noteworthy aspect of the Stallyns unit in the early going was their coach. Some people might say his approach was somewhat more direct and forceful than is required for the world of under 10s basketball.. But those people would be losers. Coach Stallyn knows where he wants his squad to be and Coach Stallyn is prepared to make the aggressive, outlandish, arguably abusive public pronouncements required to get them there. Coach Stallyn was wearing red bike shorts under his other, also athletic shorts and a Woody Harrelson-esque tank top which suggested he had just come from his game, or was on his way there after dealing with the upstart Hellratz. Although I fear it was neither.

The Hellratz quickly established their groove, raining buckets on the Stallyns like there had been an explosion in a nearby bucket factory which caused many of those buckets to be flung into the air, only to shortly thereafter rain down on people standing around in the nearish vicinity.

Although I did not attend training this week in either a journalistic or ‘hanging around waiting for my son’ capacity, it is clear the theme of the week was pivot foot. One, two, sometimes seven times the Hellratz propped and pivoted, this way and that, flouting the three second rule, bamboozling the Stallyns. “Take it! Take the ball Keith!” Coach Stallyn would yell with increasing ferocity. But Keith could not take the ball. He slapped helplessly at air as Smoov and The Big Fundamental pivoted around, sometimes in a full circle, before making the perfect pass for The Magic Man or Pocket Lightning to finish in the lane.

Towards the end of the second half Milo found himself the recipient of one such pass; a crisp, wrist snapper from Smoov. In a classic example of Squircle Offence Milo was perfectly positioned somewhere towards the middle of the key with his back to the hoop.

He was wide. open.

In one smooth motion Milo spun around and caressed the ball into the air. Up, up it went with an atypical sideways rotation. The crowd gasped, Milo held his breath, Coach Stallyn yelled and then, just as it reached the climax of its journey, I am pretty sure the ball looked at me and winked before splashing through the twine.

Well, the roof of the stadium literally turned into confetti and tumbled down upon us all as the multiple grandmas roared in unison, the disgruntled siblings looked up from there ipads and smiled and even Coach Stallyn nodded with a you did good look of respect. The rest of the Ratz, intuitively understanding the gravity of the moment turned towards Milo and celebrated with him, The Big Fundamental even reaching down to give him a cuddle at the free throw line. Delightful stuff.

The second half saw the Stallyns increasingly ignore their coach’s carefully considered directives “Run! Make Space! Help him! Spread out! Run!”, and they did so to their detriment. Due to their lack of running, space making, helping, spreading and running the Hellratz ran riot. It must be said Milo missed several defensive assignments in the second half due to his skipping and double arm windmilling but he can be forgiven for this week only. He will need to quickly put that swish behind him and look to next week as the match-ups get tougher, and the coaching more nuanced.

One small postscript; in the dying stages, with the game well under control there was a moment of exasperation between The Baby Faced Assassin, not known for gesticulation or indignation, and Magic Man. Magic, dribbling at full speed on a fast break missed an opportunity to feed the ball to the Assassin for an easy lay-up and instead faded out of bounds and hurled the ball into the side of the backboard. Magic Man, to his credit, acknowledged his error, but this is something we will need to keep an eye on in coming days and months.

Final score, Hellratz 26 – Wyld Stallyns 10

Subscribe for more Hellratz updates as the summer season hots up.

Match Report 1: Hellratz vs The Deadly Dojo

October 25, 2022 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Welcome everybody to another season of Hellratz basketball. The team looks rested and feisty after a short break and ready to take on the challenges that await them in this shortened summer season. There’s no doubt the Hellratz surprised a lot of pundits during the long, arduous winter season, during which undershirts and in-game tracksuit pants abounded, but there will be no surprises this time around. Everybody knows what the Hellratz are about and the whole league will be out to knock them from their lofty perch.

Critically the front office has done a wonderful job of keeping the group together so we will be running it back as they say, with the same line-up that the loyal group of sideline-parents and disgruntled younger siblings in attendance against their will have come to know and love. By way of quick recap here is the unit on hand for round 1:

The Magic Man – Audacious, competitive. Never saw a shot he didn’t like, or couldn’t make.

The Big Fundamental – All foot-work and focus. Not afraid to put his body on the line for the Hellratz.

Baby-faced Assassin – Smoothest jump-shot in the comp. Heart rate oscillates between 55 and 57 bpm.

Smoov – Sideline parent favourite. Effective, unpredictable style. Hyper cool flowing hair.

Stretch – Intimidating length, calm and reliable. A feared inside presence.

Pocket Lightning – His age is a mystery. Legend has it not yet 5, but absolute electricity across the pine.

The Boss – Representative player and coach. She demands excellence and receives it.

The Prodigy – Assistant coach, mentor, hype-guy.

Milo – The protagonist of this story, and one of the junior squad members. Given the Hellratz rookie squad is under 10s Milo has a full 5 more seasons to compete at this level. He and Pocket Lightning are undoubtedly the future of this franchise and, pending injury and general disinterest, could form a special combination for years to come.

Match Report

Well, the Deadly Dojo looked sharp in the warmups. Despite their legendary focus and professionalism, the Hellratz couldn’t help but take an envious look down the court. Really nice Dikembe-era Hawks-like uniforms, and multiple flash haircuts including undercuts, mini-mullets and arguably even a squirt or two of hair gel. The Hellratz unis are mining-industry orange interspersed inexplicably with multiple shades of blue. Yuck.

Smoov aside (whose style is irrepressible), top to bottom utilitarian haircuts under the Hellratz hoop. Deadly Dojo won the early instagram battle.

Once the ball was tipped (or gently passed in from the sideline as is the practice of our times) it was clear there is to be no season 2 hangover for the Hellratz. The Magic Man took over early, relentlessly dribbling this way and that through the entire Deadly Dojo squad, launching high arching bombs from all corners, delivering his signature ‘come and get it’ hand-gesture celebration. The Baby-Face Assassin, looking passive and possibly asleep swished everything he touched, involved team-mates with crisp passing and suffocated his man on defence.

When he wasn’t comparing heights with Milo (he has grown a little in the off season) Pocket Lightning was everywhere, leaving little tracks of fire behind him as he burned around the court, stealing, dribbling and generally terrorising everybody. Pocket Lightning’s signature moment came in the period shortly after the half time siren had sounded. Deadly Dojo’s power forward had not heard the siren, was delighted to see a wide open lane appear in front of him and dribbled apace towards the hoop. Pocket Lightning, giving up three quarters of a body length in height, pursued and harassed him for 15 seconds, achieving a held-ball while everybody else had already sat down for half-time water and Minecraft chat.

Interestingly, not content to rest on their season 1 success, The Boss and The Prodigy have implemented two significant tactical amendments to the summer game plan. Firstly, in the half court the Hellratz have adopted the legendary 90s Bulls-era triangle offence. However, the structure has been astutely modified to better suit the Hellratz style of play. Rather than a triangle they form more of a flattened squircle around the three point line which moves and oozes this way and that until somebody decides to jack up a shot. Borderline unstoppable.

Secondly the Hellratz have taken on a straight line Uruk-hai inspired defence, with devastating effect. They form a straight line, spread out across the width of the the court just their side of half-way. There they lie in wait for the opposition to dribble tentatively forward. As soon as the poor ball handler crosses that half-way line there is no going back. The Hellratz descend, hollering and waving their arms around, and amidst the ordered chaos the ball-handler is overwhelmed, generally flinging it to The Magic Man or Pocket Lightning who finish things off at the other end. It is like a half-court trap with more terror, and may revolutionize basketball.

Well, the second half was more one way traffic. The Big Fundamental took over as he usually does when energy begins to flag and discipline evaporates. Fundamentals deliver in the 39th minute as they do in the 1st. Jump shot, lay-up, jump shot, including a beautiful swish from 15 feet into the opponent’s hoop. The Big Fundamental was somewhat dismayed by his oversight but he needn’t have been, it was yet another glorious display of technique and focus.

Any opportunities that the Deadly Dojo briefly identified in the second half were hunted down by the prowling pair of Stretch and Smoov, and snuffed out by superior length and athleticism.

A final note on our protagonist. It would appear Milo has de-prioritised tucking his arms inside his singlet for warmth this season and is starting to deliver on his significant potential as a feared defensive stopper. His focus and increased confidence were notable, involving himself with timely passing and smothering, demonic efforts on the defensive end. Milo scored two baskets in his debut season and is hungry for more this summer. Based on what we saw in game one, Milo would be a strong overs bet and the future is bright.

Final score, Hellratz 33 – Deadly Dojo 10

Which shows length and switchability on the wings will beat sweet haircuts and classy uniforms every day of the week.

Subscribe for more Hellratz updates as the summer season hots up.

Parenting is not a spectator sport

October 16, 2022October 17, 2022 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

People choose to take on the role of full-time parent, long or short-term, for all sorts of reasons. People are also lured back to their careers for all sorts of reasons; money, boredom, stage of life, morning teas. One important reason that I think is not discussed or acknowledged enough is the basic human need for compliments.

Children are generally not great at delivering positive feedback. The meals I deliver day in and day out to my boys are always critically evaluated. As they chew, they hold their little fists out perpendicular to their bodies like mini Caesars of Rome. My teeth clench, my eyes widen in anticipation and my heart sinks as their little thumbs plunge downwards. Sometimes I am rewarded with a horizontal thumb and very occasionally I get one that briefly hovers around 10 o’clock before settling back at the 9. My dancing is the subject of derision and scorn, Monty now thinks I am only the third best Lego builder in the house (he is not right about that) and last month Milo said I look ‘okay’ but I would be much better looking if I had hair.

As for adult feedback, I assure you the only time adults-in-public ever notice your parenting is when your child has opened a box of spaghetti and is making pasta angels on the floor of aisle 3, or when they hold up the ice cream queue by asking for 5 samples, including the rainbow twice… just to be sure.

No, during the day your moments of parental pride are almost always achieved alone. Yes! Negotiated Milo’s birthday party list down by 4 without causing any playground fallout. Yes! Managed to brush Monty’s hair while convincing him it will not impact his long-term ambition to have dreadlocks. Yes! Convinced Milo for the 7th straight week to go to Coding Class while he begged for a week off only to hear what a great time he had afterwards. Yes! Super-glued Monty’s water bottle lid back together for the 3rd time. Yes! Found and returned 12 Minecraft books to the library the day before they are overdue. Yes! Resolved an argument over the last banana by eating it myself.

Fist bumping yourself gets boring, and your knuckles get sore.

The workplace has all sorts of structures and systems in place to ensure people are regularly given feedback and praise for their work. Admittedly these compliments are often bland and meaningless, but that steady, nurturing flow can usually be relied upon in some form, and it is good for morale. But expecting or delivering compliments for positive, creative, effective or just brave parenting is largely taboo. Parenting is seen as an expected, almost universal skill, and the day-to-day grind of its execution nothing remarkable. To receive thanks or acknowledgement is one thing. But to receive a compliment for your skill or perseverance is, I think, something else altogether.

Last week I was standing at the supermarket check-out with Monty, loading our groceries onto the conveyor and discussing the relative merits of chicken wings versus chicken thighs, while I simultaneously rebuffed his varied requests for chocolate, Chupa Chups and New Idea Magazines from the evil end-cap of temptation. Mid-load I looked up at the 18 year old check-out chap, who was sporting a nice wispy moustache and a passive expression (as is the style du jour), to say hello and without warning he said to me “you’re a really good dad.”

“Thanks” I said. But, caught off guard, I had teared up a little. He noticed this, found it weird, and we continued the rest of the transaction in silence. But his compliment had lodged itself in my cerebral cortex, and was perhaps more resonant than any I have received during 20 years of structured feedback sessions in the office. As Monty and I walked back to our bicycle, I squeezed his hand and grinned.

Parenting is confusing, confounding, confuddling and sometimes even contorting. It is a constant work-in-progress, with each day filled by numerous little wins and a roughly equal number of little losses. It is generally impossible to know if you are winning. I think therefore that when we witness good (or even slightly better than competent) parenting we should all be more comfortable delivering compliments; to friends, family and to strangers with children in the airport security queue. Especially to strangers with children in the airport security queue.

All humans need compliments; and perhaps at certain moments white-knuckled, solo child-wranglers need them more than most. So, if an opportunity arises, be free and loose with a parental compliment. It will be more impactful than you think.

Half-assed answers to reasonable questions

October 7, 2022October 7, 2022 by Jupiter and Sons ♥ 2 Comments

When your baby is tiny they ask no questions. As they grow into something slightly more human-like they begin to notice the inconsistent, confusing and weird world around them and look to you, their all-knowing oracle, for guidance and explanation.

Their first questions are like this; “Daddy, where is my foot?”

You say “oh my darling”, show them, maybe give it a little tickle, and feel smug that you know where all the major limbs are on a human body and they do not.

Then without warning, one day, while eating a Cruskit with peanut butter… “Daddy, what’s a soul?”

“Huh?” you say, spitting out the bit of Cruskit that you had fished up off the ground absentmindedly and popped into your mouth. And so it begins, the deeply humbling realisation that you know almost nothing about anything.

For the last few months I have been noting down the quite reasonable questions Monty has been asking me, questions for which a fully-formed adult human should have a reasonable response, and questions for which I have, unfortunately, been providing entirely half-assed answers. Here they are:

“Daddy, why does the teaspoon float on the water?”

“Well, you know it’s because the void space in the spoon is displacing more volume of water than, you know, it’s own volume. Yeah, so, surface tension. You know?”

…

“Daddy, how does a sleep apnea device work?”

“Well, it gives you more oxygen which helps you sleep.”

“How does that help you sleep?”

“Well, oxygen is pretty good isn’t it? I mean, particularly good for sleep right? So, that’s how it helps you sleep.”

…

“Daddy, what is that little plastic circle thing on your COVID mask?”

“It’s a filter.”

“What is the rest of the mask?”

“Oh, that’s also a filter.”

“Well, what’s the plastic bit for?”

“Um, that’s to get air in… or out.”

“Right.”

…

“Daddy, why are prawn tails good for chickens to eat?”

“Well, calcium. Yeah, it’s the calcium in the prawn tails and that’s good for chickens. Pretty sure that’s what it is.”

…

“Daddy, why are those clouds so low?”

“Umm, it depends on atmospheric conditions… you know, temperature, pressure and maybe, you know, altitude.”

…

“Daddy, why is the iced tea so foamy?”

“Well that’s because you shook it up and, umm, sent all the air bubbles out of it and, umm, into the foam.”

…

“Daddy, what’s that slippery ultrasound stuff for?”

“Umm, well, it helps the machine see through your skin I guess, or helps the wand slide back and forth. One of those… or both.”

…

“Daddy, how does a tornado get formed?”

“Low pressure. Yup, the low pressure forms a cone thing, with wind. And that’s a tornado.”

…

“Daddy, how do frogs breathe through their skin?”

“Well, it’s all about permeability isn’t it? Wait, frogs breathe through their skin?”

…

“Daddy, what was before the Big Bang?”

“Huh? … oh hey, do you want ice cream?”

…