Conscious Children

This afternoon I took the kids to the park behind our house. It’s a great set up as I take my laptop and write. It’s a beautiful park, lots of things to look at and discover, plenty of dirt to chuck around and sticks to pick up and whack each other with. There is a creek running behind it but the rumours of bunyips have as yet kept them away from it.. oh and there is the play equipment.

Before we left I had to download Pink Flyods "Another brick in the wall" from Youtube. It was the prompt for Mondays Music Musings and I wanted to get a head start on my ideas for it. Instead of running off to the helicopter or dashing down the slide, both Morgan and Lilly sat with me and watched the clip several times. For me it’s a chilling piece of music , masterfully layered with meaning and symbology. Morgan asked lots of questions about the clip and of the words – which in my true style, I explained as simply as I could – but didn’t hold back. Sociology lesson over, they were content to bury each other in the deep pinebark and bark at each other.

I want my kids to grow up always questioning. Never to accept what is dished to them just on face value. Morgan agreed he didn’t want to be a sausage or a faceless student and promised with his big blue sincere eyes that he would question everything. By the second viewing he was cheering on the students as they smashed up there wall and their school.

“Why don’t other kids ask questions Mummy?”

Parents don’t mean to be bad. We just get caught up with everything and fail to recognize a bright light desperate to feed on the mountains of information around them , seeing some sort of guidance system, some sort of framework to make sense of it all. Many of us grew up with the concept of seen and not heard or had the answer – “don’t worry about that” or “you don’t need to know that just now” – or “be quiet!” I have caught myself a few times nearly coming out with these dreadful words, taking a deep breath and getting to the questioners level and taking the time to answer the question in as much detail as I can.

We have already done the Death thing, the God thing, the baby thing ( but not how it gets there.. yet) I really believe that if I stop communicating, if I brush them off now, when the time comes that either of them need an ear, need help , then their trust in a parent will be long gone. I theoretically know that my importance in their lives is even now beginning to slip. However, thankfully… I once was a teacher so still have some sort of credibility in Morgans eyes….

"Mummy, teachers are so smart. They know everything.” “Humm.. well not everything, but they are pretty smart yes” I said.

“But you are extra smart Mummy. you are a mummy and you were a teacher.”

Bless his little dirty, smelly socks…

Pinko Rubbish

“Why do animals have to die?”

We were tucking into a beautiful venison hotpot setting it off with a select red and savoring every mouthful.. The rich aroma streaming throughout the house, the rain beating down on the tin roof outside and a slight chill in the air – a perfect winters evening…

We both looked at Morgan. He knows full well where the meat we eat comes from. He has helped with the cutting up of the carcasses on my parents property. Death and the cycle of life is not a taboo subject and is discussed in an open and frank manner. He has often asked what type of meat we were eating and has his preferences. We try to ensure a large percentage of pesticide free meat we have comes from my parents property. I really hate buying chicken as I have issues with its production and don’t even start me on any pork product.. If it wasn’t for crispy bacon I wouldn’t touch the stuff… Morgans insight on why Ham is not called Pig was a refreshing, honest one – because people don’t want to know they are eating an animal with a name.

So this questions was not out of the usual. It was not unexpected and it was one he had obviously been thinking about a lot before formulating it at the dinner table. Morgan is only just 5. I know most parents would disregard a comment like this and not acknowledge that there was any reason behind it.

We asked him which animals in particular he was concerned about and then talked about farming methods and choices we can make. Adrian and I both supported his decision not to eat the meat on his dish tonight. We talked about other choices he can make and said its up to him with where he feels is best. Thankfully Morgan likes most veges and will eat them without any fuss. However at the moment we have issues with onion and tomatoes.- this will pass I am sure and it will be carrots or something else.. I am not concerned about lack of protein or any of that other rubbish meat eaters try to force down prospective vegos necks. Our nut and legume intake will just increase and it will be a better health choice for all of us.

I can’t imagine questioning our meat choices when I was a child. Both for the reason I grew up on a farm and it was the tradition, it was in the blood and our culture, but also I think that kids today are so much more advanced in thought processes and worldly aware.

I remember I brought a friend from Uni stay the weekend. She was a vego and I had told mum this before we arrived. I will never forget the worlds colliding. At that time, I don’t think anyone in my village had heard of a vegetarian. Mum had made her famous spaghetti and served it up. She whispered to my friend that she could pick out the meat chunks and put them on a plate she had put beside her. I had not realized that Mum had mistaken my friends vegetarian choice as one who just didn’t like the taste of meat. In no way would she be the only one in this situation… Many years later, I was watching a movie – my big fat greek wedding – and the prospective husband announced he was a vegetarian. Mumma made him a special dish – with lashing of lamb.

Belief.. part 2

I make a habit of reading other peoples blogs. It not only helps me formulate ideas, but assists me in understanding the thought processes of others. It also unifies the writing community. No longer are we sitting in a hilltop postulating. We have the technology to allow 100000s to view our inner thoughts and to comment upon them.

Something that I see as a common thread is the constant questioning of their belief. Belief is not necessarily attached to a spiritual faith – but a guideline for operating ones life. With writers it seems the lack of belief in ones self, ones writing ability and ones play in relevance to society. For that reason alone its is dangerous to shut oneself up in a cabin – devoid of reality, encaptured in self.

No doubt other religions followers have similar doubts, but my exposure to the Christian faith is broader than others and I have seen the doubt and questioning of the dogma and doctrines a lot. Its not just spiritual beliefs . No matter what you stand up of – your faith , your beliefs, you will encounter others in society, in our community and in our own families who seemingly delight in ripping your heart out and tearing down the very fabric of your structures.

I remember when I was ‘going’ through my ultra Christian stage, the amount of kids in my class who went out of their way to torment me. I acknowledge that the teenage years may not be the ultimate time to be expressing your faith in a society desperate to tear down anyone who is different, but the experience left me battered and alone. I drew some strength from my chats with Jesus, but never understood why I couldn’t just go to the main dude. ( Catholisim at its best!) I remember when I announced that I would not be giving my kids cows milk or its products. The venom and disharmony I encountered by people who would normally be supportive was incredible. I understand that its not a reaction to myself or my decision, but a reaction to their own beliefs.

I guess I am wandering around with this entry. The outside world plays a huge part in challenging your beliefs, but as always it’s the inner world, out little demons who cause the most damage. I birthed mother guilt the same time I birthed Morgan and Lilly. As they grow , so does my mother guilt demon. It is reinforced by the images and comments from my outside world. My only solice at the moment is my escape into my writing. I am doing it from a place of joy. I am but a conduit for the source it has transpired.