This is my “return of the prodigal”.
After High School graduation I wanted to do law, journalism or pursue an academic career, I didn’t complete any of those things, I did actually begin a BA at University of Queensland majoring in journalism in 1984. Instead I completed an Assoc Dip of The Arts in Theatre (acting) at the then Kelvin Grove College of Advanced Education in 1988. Years later I went on to attend NIDA (directing) in 1993 – another course I didn’t complete – I left one month prior to graduation in protest against the then Head of Direction at NIDA.
I have started no fewer than 6 companies, two theatre companies and four business entities. Four of which I would consider to have been successful , one of which – enormously financially successful.
So how do I find myself returning to my parents house at the age of 44 after only nine years in the USA, a father of six children, two of whom are biological (I will explain this confusing bit of information in a later post), single, unemployed, behind in child support payments, nearly homeless, penniless and injured. How the fuck did that happen?? – and all in the space of nine years? The truly disastrous occurences in only four short years??
Short answer – I’m still not really sure.
Definitive answer – It doesn’t really matter. I love my kids – and those of my kids who can remember who I am (and I number amongst them my two biological babies) love me too. My remarkable ever loving and supportive family love me – My Mum and Dad, My brother and sister-in-law and their children – my nephew and niece. My fabulous friends have open arms and my beloved homeland although significantly changed still welcomes me. I still have hope and heart and the ability to start again.
I remember the last pope or the bloke before him used to kiss the ground when disembarking from a plane upon arrival in a new country. Nice gesture. Qantas should have those landing stairs attached to the aircraft of every returning international flight reserved for returning ex-pats – that way we could kiss our golden soil – we’d know why we were doing it. There’d be no gesture about it.