“When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things”
Corinthians chapter 13, verse 11

Well if you believe that then you don’t know me very well. One of the best things about being grown up is that you can do childish things and not fear your parents coming down on you… Cowabunga, dude!… It’s good to be the King…. as long as the Queen doesn’t catch you!

Trouble is my middle name – There is good  trouble and bad trouble. Kids today don’t seem to know the difference!

When I was a child:

• we respected our elders
• didn’t curse in front of most people… elders, authority figures, ladies
• if you got in trouble, you excepted your punishment
• you didn’t answer back, more than once
• if you went too far you owned up early
• everyone that was a family friend was aunty and uncle…

But all the time we were having fun getting into good trouble:

• we grabbed the back of the milk truck when riding our bikes or skateboards
• played at building sites and flattened their sand piles
• wagged school and went to the arcade or fish & chip shop at lunch time
• sold cigarettes for extra lunch money at high school
• acquired watermelons from open fields by practicing our army crawl and stealth tactics taught to us at cadets (like nomads we only took what we could eat)
•  built cubby houses out of mainly waste materials found on building sites.

I remember one time, I made a slingshot out of a coat hanger and a big bag of industrial size rubber bands that had come my way, courtesy of the Sunday Independent Newspaper factory. Now this was a thing of beauty. Shaped handle, strip of leather for your projectile, bound with donated rolls of electrical tape in bright red. Couple of test shots with gravel out the back of home and I was set. Off to some remote spot in the bush to see what this thing could do. But first, pick up a few of the mates. Three of us riding our push bikes, slingshot sticking out my back pocket,  down Alexander Drive in the middle of the road, because you could back then. No traffic… except the one and only cop car that just happened to come up behind us. I can’t think of a sadder day, being asked to hand over my weapon and then follow the cop car back home to answer to my Mum. But I did and sure enough, next day, after my head stopped ringing from the clip round the ear, I started on slingshot mark 2.

At about 14 I had a Honda XR-75 dirt bike that I saved all my money from the paper round to buy myself. On a number of occasions this machine of pure joy got me in trouble. It seemed to have a mind of its own and would veer off the bush tracks and onto public roads or parks. I tried very hard to stop it, but one day the Ranger had to step in and see if he could help me. My bike had again taken full control and dragged me onto the local oval. The Ranger also seemed to be having trouble with his vehicle as it jumped the curb and headed onto the oval as well. This mayhem didn’t last long, I got my bike back under control and ducked into the bush, heading for home. At home I made the quick decision to dismantle the wretched bike into small pieces very quickly. That evening, the Ranger popped over to chat with Mum and see if it was me having all the trouble on the oval that day. “No I don’t think so. His bike’s out back in a million pieces” Mum said… Good on ya mum. , next day after my head stopped ringing from the clip round the ear, I put the bike back together and we were both grounded for weeks.

My Honda XR-75

Me giving my little brother a test ride, under close supervision from Misty the wonder dog…

In recent years I have tried to make time to sit and listen to stories my dad tells of the trouble he got into in his teens and 20’s. Turns out he was just as naughty as any other child and although he seems like a respectful member of society today, I’m sure a few retired police officers may be able to tell me otherwise.

… But in all his stories I don’t think I have ever heard of a brutal bashing or death other than accidents. You can record the stories in the family history and I think others will look back on them and have a little laugh. I wonder how we will go in the future looking back on the violence happening today with young teens? Not something you would want to read in your family history…

Check out the Brady Family Tree in Western Australia‘s web site