Betty on a Box

So we walked in, Jazzy Jeff and I, to the humble Western Suburbs rents’ home to pick up the pooches. With the pooches scratching my unclad legs, I went straight for the pantry where mum keeps the bottomless jar of BBQ shapes – seriously, it’s always full, like a glass of cheap wine at a wedding. This is great as it makes me feel that I’ve never finished a packet, hence my youthful, dreamlike figure (dreamlike is true). So anyway, Jazzy Jeff’s busy drooling over mum’s stove checking out what we might be able to take with us for dinner. I turn around from the pantry and nearly choke on every one of those BBQ shapes I’ve shoved in my gob and the jar almost crashes to the floor cos there’s dad, all 70 years of him, wearing a baseball cap – BACK TO FRONT. This is a man who thinks that insomnia is best dealt with by drinking a cup of espresso, who falls from the ancient fig tree after breaking a branch with his hulking frame but decides to chop down the tree out of spite and who still thinks that all of the Hollywood actors of the 50s and 60s were Italian (the films were DUBBED, DAD!). So, given that the man doesn’t watch nearly enough commercial TV anymore thanks to 24-hours of RAI-International that beams in on the tele from the super-massive bird-shit-splattered satellite dish, where did the back to front baseball cap come from?Has Papà’s been sneaking into our place on the sly when he SAYS he’s mowing the lawn and in between snips he’s been watching MTV Cribs and he’s now down with the homies, yo?

Jazzy Jeff: ♫I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart, down in my heart. I’ve got the joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart. Where? Down in my heart to stay. And I’m so happy, so very happy, I’ve got the love of Jesus in my heart…♫ (And so on)

Betty: Hey Jazzy Jeff, you know how you like music and stuff…

Jazzy Jeff: Yeah.

Betty: And you know how you like to sing those crazy non-Catholic hymns that I’ve never heard and stuff.

Jazzy Jeff: Yeah.

Betty: Well I was thinking, what with how you once were a Pentecostal and spoke in Tongues and stuff, that you should start your own church. But it couldn’t be all 7th Heaven with me, the little missus, in the front pew every week with her brood of pearly white children – seven of ‘em. I don’t think I could do that.

Jazzy Jeff: Have seven children?

Betty: No, show up to church every week, glowing. I mean, I’ve seen you give power-of-positive-thinking type speeches to your work colleagues and, like, not that they weren’t really good speeches, especially for being off-the-cuff and all, but man, it was a freaky other side of you I don’t want to see ever again.

Jazzy Jeff: Oh, but you’re prepared to have seven offspring?

Betty: Well if the choice is between that or sitting in the front pew and watching you deliver sermons every week, I think I’m prepared to have the seven ankle biters.

Jazzy Jeff: Or what if I just become a marriage celebrant?

Betty: And because you like to sing so much, maybe you could be, like, a singing celebrant.

Jazzy Jeff: That’s a really good idea. I’ll go online now and check it out.

Betty: Good idea. Jazzy Jeff?

Jazzy Jeff: Yeah, Betty, my child.

Betty: Would I have to come to the ceremonies?

Jazzy Jeff: Nah. You wouldn’t even know the bride and groom.

Betty: Ok. I think you’ll make a great marriage celebrant.

Jazzy Jeff: ♫If tomorrow all the things were gone, I’d worked for all my life. And I had to start again, with just my children and my wife. I’d thank my lucky stars, to be livin’ here today. ‘Cause the flag still stands for freedom, and they can’t take that away. And I’m proud to be an American, where at least I know I’m free. And I wont forget the men who died, who gave that right to me. ♫ (not a hymn, exactly, but curiously, a favourite of Jazzy’s)

And it was so. Jazzy Jeff did study diligently. And he did pass his assessments with only a few to go. And he has already booked his first wedding. But perhaps I can pick the hymns.

How come when I sent a text to all of my pals requesting their presense at the drag races at Calder Park last Friday night I got the following responses:

1. Who is this?
2. Is this a joke?
3. What’s wrong with you? (from the mother with young child)
4. I’m there! (Bless you Momo)

But really, after driving through the Bob Jane half tyre and parking the Corolla in the what we thought was a car park hoping that none of the rev-heads would think that it would be a nice challenge to steal it (not such a challenge) and convert it into a nitrous-huffing machine (QUITE a challenge) we climbed over the Calder hill to the sounds of lawnmowers and jet engines – seriously. It was like the West had come alive. Sure there weren’t too many folks there at the nanna time of 7-ish but what a crowd it was. Momo, Jazzy Jeff and I wandered down the hill and found a place next to a middle-aged couple and their kids. Their kids! I wanted to take a photo and send it to my friends (particularly number 3, in the list above) and say, “see, it’s just a fun Friday night out with the family!” Sure, this family might have been wearing sleeves of tatts and Holden Special Vehicle windbreakers but they were a family dammit. When I have a family, there’ll be no Hi-5 concerts with pre-tweens in their crop tops and spangly hair ties, it’ll be a night out amongst the fumes, the souped-up Toranas that can manage 249kph in 9 seconds, soggy vinagered potato cakes and a coffee from the back of a van. That’s where they’ll learn what they need to know about the world – how to apply an even fake tan, how to light a fag and, most importantly, how to legally drag-race a Commodore while still on their P-plates.