On Christmas eve, SBS aired an excellent french canadian movie called Crazy. The movie revolves around the lives of a family, focusing on a central character by the name of Zac who is one of five sons (in birth order, Zac is fourth). The movie begins at Zac's birth and follows the character until early adulthood. It is a story about personal and family struggles and the coming to grips (and acceptance) of identity (including Zac's sexuality). One early childhood scene in the movie was most poignant. Zac, who was born on Christmas Day, opens his present and is bitterly disappointed by the gift his dad had chosen for him, a hockey set. What Zac really covets was a toy pram which the father had refused the mother from buying. The scene was an especially significant one as it provides the first glimpse of the inevitable identity struggles and father-son conflicts that later ensues. I think it also reflects, very nicely, the complexity of human sexuality and the ways in which it can begin to mannifest.
When I was in the fifth grade, I coveted a doll. Yes, sure, I played with toy cars and planes (especially planes) but for Christmas that year, I wanted a porcelain doll I had seen at a shop called The Australian East India Company at the Woden Shopping Centre in Canberra. It was love at first sight. My first materialistic obsession. I just had to have it. I remember we were studying colonial Australian history at school. As the teacher ranted on about bushrangers and the goldrush, all I could think about was the doll. So much so that I started to draw a picture in the back of my book. The teacher strolls past my desk, notices the picture, stops the lesson and asks (in a loud enough voice so that the entire class could hear), "Is this your girlfriend?" She then picks up the picture and shows it to the rest of the class. Everyone bursts out in laughter. I was mortified.
The classroom experience did not dampen my obsession. That year, as Christmas approached, I remember my dad and I going to the woden shopping centre one Saturday morning. As we went past the Australian East India Company, I insisted that he come into the shop so that I could show him the doll. He wasn't as hostile as the dad in the movie but he didn't seem entirely enthusiastic either. Later, he went to work and I went to the public library. In the afternoon, I returned to the shop to have (yet) another glimpse and, to my absolute shock and horror, she was gone. Gone!
A few weeks later I happen to be rummaging around the garage at home and, hidden amongst the boxes, I found her. Dad must have snuck back and actually bought it for me. On Christmas day, I opened the present with my sisters and cousins and was overjoyed by what I had received (even though I already knew what it was, as most kids probably do). Looking back, I wonder whether my parents were embarrassed by their son wanting a doll for Christmas. If they were, they never showed it. In any case, in my innocent 10 year old mind, I was blissfully unaware as to what all of this would mean.
3 comments:
This is a very moving recollection AR. In retrospect, your Dad's lack of enthusiasm in the shop was probably a ploy to enhance the surprise. I don't know that many Dads of that era would have bought a doll for their son. He sounds like he was very supportive of you in allowing you to be who you are.
Thanks for sharing this story.
Linking this post with your subsequent coming out post does this suggest that your Dad knew your sexual orientation at an early stage? And, hopefully, was accepting of it?
Victor - I'm not sure. I think dad was still a bit 'shocked' when I told him but turned around pretty quickly. I'll have to write about that in a future post.
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