Help your kids ‘find the switch’

The Navigator

Listening to Tim*, you feel sure his life’s journey had been written across the constellation he was born under. Yet had it not been for one very uncharacteristic decision of his father’s, Tim is certain he would have continued paving the generational path toiled by his ancestors.

“I would’ve been a farmer or a logger, for sure,” he said in his easy Texan drawl, diluted by life in California. Both were careers unlikely to have serendipitously led to us sharing a table one wintery evening at the Lord Nelson pub in The Rocks, Sydney (Tallawoladah in Gadigal Country).

As Tim tells it, his father had a little extra jingle in his pocket after they’d completed a gruelling paint job together at the mall near their hometown. Quite unusually for his dad, he shouted Tim to five hours of flying lessons at the local airport.

“My mother always wanted to be a pilot, but never managed it. Maybe that’s why dad did it for me,” he mused. 

Just a tiny shunt. That’s all it took for a whole new path to reveal itself, just for him. Destiny had wrapped its arm around Tim’s shoulders and smiled widely in support of its good friend’s discovery.

The Horizon-seeker

From that moment on, if Tim wasn’t flying he was earning the money to pay for the next lesson – painting hangar floors and petrol tanks at the airport’s fuel farm. Lots of tedious jobs his mates tried to distract him from. 

Once he got his pilot’s licence, he took any job that got him airborne – crop-dusting, flying Air Force pilots between bases and getting workers out to oil rigs.

One of his most wily exploits was not long after he’d qualified. He’d find out what local farms were for sale and take aerial photographs of the land. Then, he’d approach the farmer with glossy photos to ‘help with the sale’. But before the farmer could call their real estate agent – in the days before mobile phones – he’d race to the real estate agent and sell them the photos as well. Obviously, finding your passion in life brings ingenuity along for the ride. 

Then Tim became an airline pilot, and that’s where our paths crossed. As a Captain with American Airlines in the middle of a return trip to San Francisco, Tim was enjoying his first trip back to Sydney in two years. Unlike many pilots, he’d continued flying during the Pandemic, but almost exclusively to Europe, where the doors to international travel remained ajar. 

He clearly had a well-practiced routine for wandering the cities he visited, but on this night it seemed like a different kind of reunion was afoot. A chance to look past the fresh scars and find the dear friend briefly lost to unexpected misfortune. 

The Pathfinder

As we continued talking over dinner, the spotlight of conversation slowly turned toward our families. Tim spoke proudly of his stepdaughter’s achievements, following a path she’d not only mapped on her own but was brave enough to follow. She’d moved to Tucson, Arizona (United States), to study law on a scholarship and, by all accounts, was confident she was heading in the right direction.

For a man who happily admitted to strangers he’d never worked a day in his life, it was clear one of his proudest achievements was as a passenger on his children’s journeys. Because to him, one of life’s unmissable joys was seeing those you love find their own path, free from the misdirections of expectation or perceived status. 

In the passenger’s seat, Tim believed his only obligation was to ask the questions they were perhaps too scared to ask themselves and be a safe place for them to give an honest answer. He called it, helping them find the switch – that spark that sets you off on an adventure. After that, all there was to do was sit back and bask in the scenery.

Happily content after a tasty meal, Tim lifted his tall and lean frame out of his seat and offered his goodbyes so he could continue getting reacquainted with his old friend, Sydney. Knowing our kids were still quite young and would join the treasure hunt for their sparks one day soon, his parting words to us were…I hope you find the switch.

The Compass

In hindsight, the expression Tim dresses his face in is obvious. He wears it as comfortably as a favourite pair of paint-spattered tracksuit pants with an awkward tear at the knee from a rogue nail.

He sees the world without suspicion. He chooses to trust like there was no other option. He walks through life with his eyes open to the world, interested in what it wants to tell him. 

He’s as curious about the chatter being volleyed across the dinner table as he is about what’s around the next corner in a foreign city. From that curiosity, hopes and dreams are born, though they’re not his own. Instead, he’s pushing them into the universe with forceful might for the people he loves most dearly, so that they might discover new horizons of their own.

And, what a mighty force it is.

*While Tim might recognise this story if he ever reads it, I’ve changed his name to respect his privacy.

You’re not a bad parent for wanting a life beyond your family.

The Teacher

Judy is very familiar with being introduced to new acquaintances as The Diplomat’s Wife. It’s easy to understand why. On face value, it’s a glamorous etching on her resume; full of globetrotting adventures as our great nation’s representative overseas. Oh, the stories. From attending events with world leaders and witnessing natural disasters or civil unrest unfold, to hosting VIPs and local heroes at intimate soirées.

In fact, the only thing I knew about Judy before we met was exactly that. I fully expected our conversation to be loaded with charismatic tales of martini-swilling gatherings with James Bond quietly playing high stakes poker in the corner. But just like the razor-sharp turns his signature Aston Martins take outrunning an almost certain demise, our conversation jumped straight into the unexpected.

“I believe in childcare and a woman’s right to work. I also believe it should be free for everyone.”

That’s one of the first things she said when we sat down together on a steaming summer’s day in Central NSW, Australia.

“People who are bored with children shouldn’t be at home with them,” she continued unapologetically.

As a retired preschool teacher and childcare centre manager, it’s a truth Judy feels strongly about. Not judgementally. Quite the opposite.

Instead, she passionately believes that any mother who feels they have a bigger contribution to make to the world, beyond raising a family, should feel supported and inspired to do it. Including, not having to balance the scales between going to work and the cost of making sure their kids are safe and well looked after.

Judy speaks directly to women because, while she acknowledges familial responsibilities are managed slightly more evenly today, in her experience it’s almost always mums who make the professional sacrifice to support their family.

“I remember working in occasional care in Canberra many years ago, and this incredibly bright woman who, prior to having children, was doing very important work in international diplomacy, started using our centre regularly,” she said.

“Her children were very young at the time and it didn’t go unnoticed by some of the other educators at the centre. There were many raised eyebrows.”

Witnessing the judgement young mothers had to contend with early in her career clearly informed Judy’s long-held view that parents of young children don’t need anyone else’s opinion on how they’re raising their children. They just need support they can trust.

The Nurturer
Another important awakening that influenced Judy’s approach to caring for children happened during her first placement in Melbourne’s Fitzroy in the Sixties. She describes it as a rough neighbourhood back then.

In those days, educators used to visit a student’s family in their homes to provide an update on how the kids they were looking after were doing in school.

“I visited parents who could barely look after themselves, let alone a young child,” she said matter-of-factly.

She goes on to describe the conditions some of these families lived in as bordering on inhumane and remembers feeling shocked and disappointed that a country as wealthy as Australia – the self-anointed ‘lucky country’ – allowed people to flounder in such deprivation, with little hope of rising out of it.

Rather than be defeated by the circumstances she witnessed on those home visits, Judy’s innately nurturing nature shone through, and instead, she came away inspired by the families she met; determined to be the support they needed to help their children climb out of the mud they were stuck in.

“The best thing you can give a child is confidence in their own value,” she affirms.

That was Judy’s response when I asked what her philosophy on childcare was. I can’t speak for Judy, but for me, this was the most poignant moment of our conversation; every hair on my body stood on end. 

When I posed the question to her, I worried I’d struck a hidden tripwire as we stared at each other quietly and our conversation stalled for the first time in over an hour.

“No one’s ever asked me that question,” she offered gently, as a powerful reminder to always be curious about other people’s experiences; to listen so we can learn.

“When someone is confident enough to communicate their views, it reduces the burden of frustration on them,” she continues.

“Making sure they were constantly engaged and pushed encourages them to open their minds to possibilities they may not be aware of, or feel they deserve.”

The Ambassador
Judy welcomes you into her orbit with the kind of grace and humility of someone who intuitively understands the value of making people feel at ease. Whether that’s a skill she’s honed from years spent navigating the pleasantries and customs of foreign cultures or patiently wading around knee-deep in the giggles, triumphs and frustrations of little people, it’s hard to know. I suspect both.

While I have no doubt she was masterful in her role as a diplomat’s wife, my keen sense is also that, to think of her as only that, does her powerfully independent mind a disservice; it’s a mistake to think that’s all she is. A mistake we continue to make today – assuming women are the attaché, not the ambassador, of their life. That they’re in service of more senior ranking officials. 

The beautiful irony of Judy is that she is The Ambassador. A keen advocate for families and, in particular, mums. A nurturer of children and protector of independence for parents that love their families but still wish to be conquerors in other realms as well.

Note: The Venerables are identified by a combination of real names and pseudonyms. Not to be republished without permission.