Tuesday, July 5, 2011


It was reading  this post at Mummy Mayhem that inspired my own post this morning.

Thinking of wonderful memories from a time where the only issue I had was that I thought my helmet looked daggy and my Mum wouldn't let me ride my bike without it.
I was raised until the age of 9 by my Mum, who by my standards provided myself and my brother a pretty top childhood, regardless of how tough she must have found it, flying solo.

We lived in a suburb in Melbourne for 15 years before we relocated to regional Victoria. The town I grew up in had a pretty bad reputation, where Bogans were  members of our local community, but regardless, I never felt unsafe.

My brother and I still often recount a lot of our shenanigans as children. Playing in our massive backyard amongst the trees, walking to the milkbar across the road and trying to avoid the 'regular' drunks who went to school with Mum and would often run to our house to make sure she knew we were at the shops [which she did and could see us, hence why we were there!?], always having a house full of kids every weekend, and sitting on our front doorstep with Bubble-O-Bill's Mum bought us from the milkbar on our way home from school on summer days.

I have a lot of little wonderful memories like that.

I used to love going back to my hometown and feeling nostalgic. Remembering the little things, what used to be landmarks that had turned into a block of flats or a supermarket, made me feel a little sad.

Now? I wouldn't even walk through there, and if I drove, I'd install bullet proof glass on my car, and have my doors locked at all times.

See, I don't live locally to my hometown, anymore.
But I have seen it lately.
All over the news.

In the street I lived in as recently as 8 years ago, a shooting took place, last week.
Near the very milkbar my brother and I would walk to with our younger sisters in tow.

It makes me sad to know that this behaviour, although my hometown was notorious for bad behaviour, has become a normality. That being shot, or raped, or stabbed has become just as regular as getting caught chatting to Steve & Steve, the best mates who ran the local fish and chip shop.

It's people my age doing these horrible things.
Were their childhoods filled with horrors, so unimaginable that they react as adults in such a way?
It just blows my mind the way the world has changed, how rapidly it has changed, and it's scary that this is what I'm raising my children amongst. No, it's not happening in our new town, their hometown, but 15 years from now, could they be watching the places they used to frequent being shot up on the news?

I don't know what I'm up against anymore.
I want my children to enjoy the care-free childhood I did. That's all I'd ever want.
That, and knowing we can walk to our local milkbar to buy our Bubble-O-Bill's and make it home, in one piece to enjoy them on the doorstep.

1 comment:

  1. I remember Bubble O Bills. They were the best!! Loved that nose gum!! Sad hey how thing change - but I guess it's part of life. Sorry your old stomping patch had turned all CIS on you :(