40 years on… A MIND THAT NEVER SWITCHED OFF
Part 1.
Dad once said, "You didn't have the best start to life."
He was there, so I guess he's right.
At birth, I was choking, struggling to take my first breath.
The first two years of my life were spent in and out of hospital. Severe asthma meant oxygen tents, nebulisers every two hours and frightening reactions to some of the medication.
It was an exhausting time for Mum and Dad.
Mum cared for me during the day after working night shifts at the hospital. Dad stayed awake with me at night, trying to get enough sleep before heading to work the next morning.
The moments when the baton was passed between them were often filled with arguments and shouting matches. At the age of 2-3 mum and I moved to Canberra to live with her parents.
One bright spot during those extended hospital stays came when Australian actor Peter Phelps was filming at the hospital. According to Mum, he took a liking to me and made a point of visiting me every day while he was there.
I don't remember it, but I've always thought that was a pretty special act of kindness.
Despite those early struggles, I was in a walker when most babies my age were still learning to crawl. I became... an energetic toddler.
I couldn't sit still.
I did whatever my mind felt like doing, without any understanding of the consequences.
I've heard three different versions of the next story over the years. One involved my little sister, Alanah. Another involved a toddler friend. The third somehow included a German Shepherd.
Whatever the truth is, everyone agrees on one thing.
I managed to climb out of my cot, unlatch a six-foot garden gate and head off on an adventure.
Some time later, concerned neighbours alerted my parents, and I was found walking along the railway tracks almost two kilometres from home.
Needless to say, there was enormous relief...
...and very little doubt about who had masterminded the expedition.
Within that time, my sister was born, and Mum and Dad separated.
Both sides of my family called Canberra home, so support was always close by.
Mum worked all sorts of hours, so I spent much of my childhood with my Nunna, Nannu and Uncle, as well as being babysat by Mum's cousins who lived nearby.
Apparently, I started running early.
I've heard countless stories about me tearing laps around the house until my face was bright red, dripping with sweat and completely breathless.
My Nunna would finally catch me as I ran past, sit me down and wipe my face and neck with a cold, wet towel...
...and within minutes I'd be off again.
Trying to hold me down wasn't really an option.
Eventually, the tank would run empty and I'd simply conk out wherever I happened to be.
Usually in some bizarre position.
Reasoning with me didn't seem to work either.
Damage control became the family strategy.
One memory from crèche has stayed with me.
I remember being placed in a large, cupboard-sized dark room away from the other children.
The door was locked.
I have no idea how long I was in there or how many times I ended up there.
What I do know is that the memory has stayed with me.
I don't remember what I'd done.
I can only assume my energy had become too much to manage. Maybe I was disruptive. Maybe I simply overwhelmed the staff.
Whatever the reason, that room became the solution.
My second memory from crèche is just as vivid.
I had what Mum always referred to as an interview with "the two scientists."
I remember two adults asking me questions and giving me different things to do.
Apparently, I "passed" and was considered very smart.
Whatever happened after that led to a strict list of things I wasn't allowed to have:
No red cordial.
No Coca-Cola.
No sugary soft drinks.
Very few lollies.
Chocolate in any form.
Looking back, I can understand why I now enjoy a triple-shot flat white with 3 sugars and have such a sweet tooth.
Dad even remembers a medical professional recommending a "potato diet" to try to manage my energetic behaviour.
What exactly that entailed, I'm not sure.
Surely it wasn't simply just potato!
Then came Kindergarten.
One incident has stayed with me for more than 35 years.
I'd forgotten my lunch one day and decided I'd simply walk home during recess, grab something to eat and return before the afternoon assembly.
The school didn't have enclosed security fences or the strict procedures schools have today.
I even tried convincing a couple of mates to come with me.
Fortunately for them, they were thinking much more rationally than I was.
I certainly wasn't going to ask the teacher's permission. Even then, I knew that would ruin my brilliant plan.
I vaguely remember trying to sweeten the deal by promising to bring them back some potato chips.
So off I went.
I made it home.
Grabbed something to eat...
Grabbed a couple of bags of chips for my mates.
Then I headed back to school.
I remember feeling nervous on the walk back. I was hoping my teachers were none the wiser.
Every step closer to the school made me wonder if I'd actually pulled it off.
As I quietly slipped into the assembly hall and sat down, I genuinely thought I had.
Then the principal began speaking.
Suddenly...
My name boomed through the loudspeaker.
She explained exactly what I had done and, quite rightly, used me as an example of what not to do.
I remember sitting there thinking...
How does she know?
Surely my mates hadn't dobbed me in.
Around 300 students and teachers.
Every single person in that hall turned and looked at me.
I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.
A pattern was beginning to emerge.
Why was I always the hassle?
Why did I always seem to be the kid adults worried about?
Why did everyone else seem to understand the rules, yet I somehow didn't fully appreciate the consequences of breaking them?
I didn't understand.
I wasn't trying to be naughty.
I wasn't trying to make life difficult for anyone.
I was simply being me.
Eventually, the tank would run empty and I'd simply conk out wherever I happened to be.
Usually in some bizarre position.
To be continued...
