Last Word: Dad shot my cat

Andrew E. Hall knows nothing about kids. Word.

I KNOW nothing about kids.

But in the dim recesses of my consciousness I recall actually being one once. I remember that all things appeared larger than they do now – my world in the Australian outback was a wondrously wide and mysterious place. A place to explore in great detail . . . as long as I got home in time for tea.

I remember getting my first bicycle – my pride and joy – which made my explorations wider ranging and led to the seeming permanence of Band-Aids on my knees and elbows. At around the same time my parents gave me my first football (oval, not round) and one of my favourite things – when I wasn’t riding like the wind through the bush – was playing kick-to-kick with my dad on the red earth that surrounded our house, on the outskirts of a town populated by 100 or so people.

At night we, as a family, devoured books.

My writing career began (at age seven or eight) after we had moved to a rather larger town and acquired a kitten that I became attached to. Unfortunately the animal gave me ringworm and my dad took it into the bush and shot it. I wrote my first poem about β€œKitty” that my mum still drags out from time to time these decades later.

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Life was pretty simple – the things that excited and entertained my sister and I came mainly from our surrounding environment. The boundless energy of childhood was expended by being β€œout there” with our friends and engaging in β€œplay” (not PlayStation) which is so important in the development of a social conscience and confidence.

We thought we were doing really well if from time to time we were allowed to buy a 20 cent bag of mixed sweets – unlike today where (for the same money) the shop-keeper says, β€œhere’s your sweet, mix it yourself”.

I know nothing about kids today as a generational concept.

But I do have a little friend, Cempaka, who is the daughter of a friend of mine.

She is a complex character who is entirely comfortable with all forms of electronica and who loves books – especially about goblins and fairies. Cempaka delights in performing magic tricks. And she’s pretty handy at karate. She is curious but sometimes I find myself unable to answer her questions about the world around us.

At times its cruelty (especially to children) overwhelms me.

But in Cempaka I see the future and the love she brings to all things inspires me to believe that it just might turn out okay after all.

I know nothing about kids (because I have never had the privilege of being a father) but I do know that we (as adults) have a responsibility to preserve a world that is worth inheriting from a wider β€œwe” who have yet to learn that destroying our environment is a bad idea. That conflict and war is a really bad idea. And that deploying electronic devices as a de facto parenting measure is, at the very least, careless.

What I do know about kids is that we should listen to them when they talk to us.

Sometimes the wisdom that comes from purity is profound.

Editor’s note: Ringworm cream is available at most reputable apotiks in Bali.