Hello Friends,

Are old people really sweet or simply deviants with wrinkles? After all, we will all be old one day and so it’s a bit rich to think that just because you’re old you are also lovable.

For example, what happens to all those sexual deviants when they get old?

Is there a geriatric gimp society?

And then there’s the idea that age makes us ‘wake up’ to ourselves; that when we grow up we can face our mistakes and put them right. But this isn’t always true either.

Some people never wake up from unconsciousness. Or they do but then can’t face the people who it would matter to, to know that they’re alive (again).

I guess to me messing up is simple. It’s just what happens. We all do it and as long as you learn from it so you don’t keep doing the same thing forever then it’s generally all good and forgiveness becomes irrelevant, as there isn’t really anything to forgive.

Bitterness is bad for the skin! But I don’t expect everyone to share this philosophy.

This means that at some stage of the day, at different times around the world, we will all meet people who will talk to us and tell us things. Although we might not know it, these are conversations of significance. So if you subscribe to the idea that there are conversations you would have liked to have had with someone but never got to, listen to someone else’s and you might find what you need to be able to go full circle.

Yesterday I was heading up to the Blue Mountains to work on my novel undisturbed. I got off at Katoomba to change trains and while waiting, started blowing out warm air into the cold wishing it was really smoke. I was doing this when an old man named Bill introduced himself.

According to Bill he was 85 and “flirting with the grave.” I like flirts so we instantly bonded. Bill was a bit of a cool cat. He was wearing a three piece pinstriped suit and instead of wearing a toupee had spray-painted his balding head black.

“I’ve had a million jobs of all descriptions,” said Bill. Considering I’ve also tasted the delights of many industries I decided we should play ‘guess the random job game’. Bill had worked for an abattoir, a biscuit company (much to my excitement) and at Luna Park( an Aussie Amuesment Park) where his job was to yell out, “Keep your arms and legs inside the Cha Cha.” But Bill had never done a medical trial in London or worked as a chat line operator, so according to Bill, “we were even”.

Bill even taught me how to collect coupons from the backs of dockets so I would be able to eat at Black Stump when I’m on the pension. We were mates now so I thought I could ask Bill where he lived without him seeing it as a come-on.

“I’m homeless,” said Bill. “I live off the pension in old hotels. I have eight children but I wouldn’t recognise them if they walked past me. You could be my daughter for all I know.”

I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened.

“I was dumb. All the other men were going to Sydney to get proper jobs but I wouldn’t so she divorced me,” he said.

“Do you want to see them now?” I asked.

“Not now, but possibly before I die,” said Bill. “When my brother died he said that all I gave my wife was pregnancy and poverty. But it doesn’t matter,” said Bill.

“Why?” I enquired thinking it must be one hell of a life tip. If he’d found peace with himself over that…

“Because I’ve got Madonna,” he said smiling with delight as he pulled out his wallet like a proud father.

But he didn’t mean Madonna as in the Virgin Mary. He meant the Madonna who dresses in disco leotards and who is far from being virginal.

“I’ve got all the stars here,” said Bill. “I cut them out of old magazines and they watch over me.”

Bloody Bill, even he liked celebrity magazines (my weakness).

The train came and, so I didn’t get teary, I decided to disembark from Bill. But before I could he said, “Emma-Kate I hope it turns out better for you than me.”

As our eyes met I wasn’t sure what to say other than to honour his honesty with mine. “So do I Bill,” I said. “So do I.”

He winked at me and said, “Good girl.”

I couldn’t help but feel sad as well as thankful. I bet somewhere out there are a few middle aged kids who wish that Bill hopes it turned out better for them.

There wasn’t any point judging him because for some reason I’d been given an insight. I liked Bill because he reminded me that even when things hurt, people aren’t bad, they just are sometimes not capable. It doesn’t mean you can’t cry or feel angry as hell, but when it comes to parents and people, their limitations don’t measure your worth.

Perhaps his kids were better knowing. He never really cared about not knowing them… Perhaps they wished they knew where he was. Maybe it would make it harder that Bill wasn’t actually a bad man, he just wasn’t capable of being a father.

It made me see the importance of our generation’s men and woman embracing contraception and not feeling guilty of the other choices we have to make, as sad as they can be. Because children are special, sometimes the only way you can honour that belief is by admitting you are just not ready to have one.

Email me, Emma-Kate Dobbin
editor@tootstar.com