Ponies

the current debate raging in Australia and recently put (unsuccessfully) before Parliament regarding gay marriages is just such utter bullshit. Its the sort of mindset that is imprinted into someone. You either are homophobic or not. You either can have empathy (not sympathy, that's different) and understand what it means to be gay or not. I find debating with them such a pointless exercise as all it does is highlight their ignorance and misconceptions and fuels further bigotry. I hope with this post, to enlighten maybe one person but honestly, know of the 5 people that read it, you are all more than likely of like mind in the first place. But here goes.
I have read that one argument put forward against marriage is that if there are 2 dads, who will help with the clothes shopping? My response is Ponies.
As a young and virile male teenager tripping around the streets of Goulburn in country NSW in the early 80's, I was the epitome of masculinity. I had hairs growing in most of the normal places and even in some not so normal places (I leave that for another blog) and me and my mates were busy riding bikes, playing footy and starting bush fires (Omg there's another blog - remind me later someone) and essentially having what is a good clean middle class white western European childhood. We didn't do drugs, didn't experiment with alcohol (except NYE and Summer Wine - blog to come) and got good grades in school. I used to get upset if I wasn't in the top 5 of the year for each class. I didn't get upset much except for English but its writing so who cares really! Anyways, what I am trying to say is that how can any parents not be happy with that?
Mum was the one usually to buy our clothes and shoes. She sucked at it quite frankly. Something about budget conscious and style devoid comes to mind. Dad on the other hand, was TOPS! I remember once I needed a fleece. I believe the standard cotton ones were available at Knowlman's for about $10. There was however, in Allen's (the up market shop) a branded hoody with ADIDAS clearly emblazoned across the front, it was tan and cream with draw strings and pockets and a HOOD!!! and it was expensive. I have $23 in my head for some reason but hey, it's 32 years ago so sue me. Dad didn't waver for a second. "Is that what you need?" "YES!!!!!" and so it was. Justin was instantly the coolest dude in the Goulburn universe thanks to my brilliant and loving and great Dad! Mum had a fat attack of course. That's what mums are for. But my mum had special skills in mummery post fat attacks.
I needed shoes too, and she knew it. "here darling, try these on". I was handed a standard shoe box and with some excitement opened it to find a pair of Ponies. For those of you that are unaware of what Ponies are, they are white ladies tennis shoes of questionable aesthetic appeal. The thick sole and white canvas top were instantly burnt into my retina but the thing that troubled me the most was the pink trim. As I sit here at 46 years old, I still shudder at the thought and what I knew lay ahead.
Robert Thompson, Greg Hucker and Steven Sieler were my main cohorts back then. We were playing soccer in the street outside Greg's house the day after the presentation ceremony for the Ponies. It was kind of easy to beat them all that day because its hard to run and laugh uncontrollably at the same time. I took it. I had to take it. I had to be the man. I did however want to kick that ball so far up the street they'd have to chase it for days to recover it. The ball arrived at my feet. I trapped it. It was stationary. I took a few steps back for effect and to provide the most mechanical advantage in the swinging foot about to come to bare on the orb. I was strong, all powerful Justin. He of the massive kicks, he who had perfect timing and alignment. I ran at the ball and swung my leg back in a perfect arc, and then with all my worldly force, swung my foot down to connect with that black and white bladder. The trouble with testosterone I find, is that it provides power but at the expense of accuracy. The toe of my new pink Ponies contacted with the road surface just prior to contacting the ball and as my foot struck the ball and I saw it careering off into the distance, there was something else in my peripheral vision. What was it? had I kicked the ball so very hard it disintegrated upon impact or was it that I'd caught the toe on the road and peeled the sole off the shoe off in one perfect sweep. It was the latter.
There was nothing I could say or do to convince mum it was an accident. Suffice to say I wasn't getting new shoes any time soon. Dad however, found me a pair of Adidas Country that were my Grandpa's. They were 2 sizes too big and they were my dead grandfather but there were Adidas Country!!!
Who says Dad's can't do the shopping.