Keeping it in the family

When I look back I realise it always happened on a day when everything seemed peaceful and the whole place was lit by a glow of rosy sunlight.

There I'd be resting from the rigours of the day, feet up on low stool, newspaper cracked open at the crossword page, pen in hand, furrow on brow and a hot cup of Nescafe just waiting to be sipped and savoured when - into this paradise - a voice would be heard, querying tentatively, 'Dad? Are you free?'

Of course it's impossible to hide behind such an overt display of relaxation - legs up, steaming coffee, puzzle page - and declare, 'Not just yet, son, I'm rather busy.'

Firstly, because this would send the wrong signal to the teenager. "If this is what my father looks like when he's busy, I wonder what it must be like when he's really relaxing. It's something to aspire towards."

It wouldn't do his future working life any good to start thinking that reclining + easy chair = hard work.

Secondly, the words of one of my grandfathers have already been singed into the spongy subconscious. 'You must always be there for your family. It's the one situation against which there are no excuses.'

That's how I get involved with 'The Assignment', setting the newspaper aside and sallying forth courageously into un-ventured territory not before enlisting the assistance of a determined aide - the wife, who is also mother of aforementioned help-seeking teenager.

It's easy to remember the rosy sunlight because it's the last light one sees as the uncertain darkness of uncharted landscapes quickly overwhelms it via The Assignment.

When do you have to hand it in, his mother enquires, with her sage and practical approach. The swift pace of our 'assistance' and the time we will have to prepare depends on an answer to this question. 'Thursday,' says the son, making it sound like next Christmas, the voice implying Thursday is eons away, relax!

It is tempting enough to reach out for the newspaper again and sip the coffee in relief but the wise wife is already deepening the near darkness with her realism: 'But it's Tuesday already!'

'Yes, mum, but that's FORTY EIGHT hours!'

I have a house, but truly what do I know about Real Estate? Not much, to be honest. Might not have bought it had I known more, especially the bit about mortgage and interest rates, and how some loan agencies don't need the Reserve Bank's approval to keep raising their rates.

Minefield

It's a minefield, even within the safety of four walls, which is why it appeared to be a minor miracle when the youngster announced, 'I'm going to study Real Estate.'

He had my blessings and now... he has me cursing. Anyhow, The Assignment has to do with grooming in the workplace, so between the two of us - me and she - we believe we could negotiate our gloom-filled way towards another rosy sunlit day. She gets on the phone and I get on the internet.

Soon we have a collection of brochures and an assortment of facts. I, being an unpublished writer, always have reams of blank paper waiting to be printed. This is pressed into service and pretty soon turned into a rather decent booklet.

Somehow, the pair of us keeps our calm as the deadline nears. We draw inspiration - on staying calm - by watching how our son in the next room is sleeping the sleep of the untroubled.

Thursday morning The Assignment is ready. The son says, 'Gee, thanks,' tucks it into his backpack and later hands it in. One week later, the results are in. Ninety-eight per cent he has secured.

'Nobody got less than 95 per cent, dad,' he tells me, adding that every one of his classmates on receiving their marked work unashamedly gave thanks, albeit under the breath, each one intoning variously, 'Thank you, mum.' Or, 'Thank you, dad.' Congratulations, I told my wife.

Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.