Monthly Archives: December 2020

This one did not

No ones likes a dobber

Guest written and illustrated by Shiralee Rudolph, LLB, BAS

Originally published by The Clifton Courier, November 18, 2020

Inappropriate sentencing can have long-lasting implications.

One year my three sisters and I were given the ultimate Christmas gift. Santa had left us a petrol-operated go-kart. I still remember the excitement and awe we felt as we raced out the flyscreen door to see this beautiful piece of machinery waiting for us. We were the happiest girls in Hinz Street (pay no mind to the fact that we were the ONLY girls on Hinz Street). We spent hours hooning around in that baby. Friends, aunties, uncles, cousins… pretty much everyone we knew would love coming around to take her for a spin. It was true, the go-kart brought many happy memories, but not without some heartache. 

Our parents are not particularly strict. They let us watch The Craft before we were 10, they were not sticklers for homework or bedtimes, and they always let us go to sleepovers and parties. However, as I would soon learn, some of their rules were made to be followed. 

There is quite a considerable age difference between the eldest and youngest Maguire sisters. While us older three were able to cruise around as we pleased, supervision was required if we wanted to take the youngest on the go-kart. The eldest sister can be a bit of a rule-breaker; and at that time had a reputation for doing what she pleases with little concern for the consequences. She was 10-years-old and, don’t let her driving record fool you, she was a confident driver. 

With full knowledge of the supervision rule, one sunny spring day she decided to take our two-year-old sister on the go-kart sans parental regulation. She was acting like a lunatic; driving around the paddock at top speed. Granted, she did keep her arm across the younger sister less she bounce right off the pleather seat. Still, I could not sit by and let this flagrant disregard for the rules fly. I had to call for authority. I raced inside to inform dad of her offence. Obviously, her joyride soon came to a halt. 

I was proud of myself. I had done the right thing… or so I had thought. 

Dad promptly handed down the orders. Suitably, the eldest was penalised with a one-week grounding. Chuffed with myself, I applauded this order. That was until Dad turned to me. 

He grounded me for two whole weeks; double the amount of the offending sister.

Dad’s justification for such a sentence? “You don’t dob on ya mates.”

This was ludicrous. How could Dad seriously think this was just? My sister knowingly broke the one rule of the go-kart. I merely sought for this behaviour to be reprimanded. 

Now, maybe I am jaded or maybe I have always been passionate about just punishment. But some 22 years later and I still struggle with Dad’s message: if your friend is getting into mischief it is always better join in, regardless of the consequences; don’t trust authority; and never report bad behaviour. But perhaps he was on to something. 

If you provide unconditional support and back your friends no matter what, they will do the same for you. Being able to rely on your peers in troubling times has proved invaluable. I have amazing friends who I would trust with my life. Plus, you’re more likely to have fun yourself when you are actively participating in capers. 

And maybe Dad didn’t mean to imply that I shouldn’t trust authority, but to instead question it and, by extension, question everything. He has a point; curiosity really is the best learning tool. 

Finally, what Dad may have meant by discouraging reporting bad behaviour was to try deal with problems for yourself without always depending on someone else to do it for you. As an independent woman, I respect this message of self-sufficiency. 

Through his harsh punishment, Dad was encouraging me to be a trustworthy mate, a life-long learner and a capable independent woman… well, at least, that’s what I assume he was getting at. I’m sure he planned that all along.

But while I appreciate the lessons Dad tried to teach me, I still don’t believe I should have received double the sentence of the perpetrator when all I did was snitch. I can’t recall if my older sister ever re-offended, but I can tell you that I still think twice before I tell on anyone. I guess the justice system really is an imperfect beast. 

The real moral of the story? No one likes a dobber. 

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This one made it to print

Playing Office

Originally published by The Clifton Courier, November 11, 2020

So remember a while back when I challenged my sister to write my column for me?

Well, the overachieving little snot actually took me up on it. 

She was over at my place the other day and mentioned that she was keen to do it, but said she’d have to wait until after the uni semester was done. So I pulled out my diary to look at the dates. 

And with that we slipped into Playing Office mode. 

We’re not an overly theatrical family (which, I’m pointing out right now, is very different to being a dramatic family – “theatrical” implies some kind of organised stage show with musical talent and rational story arcs, and anyone who has every heard any of the Maguire girls tell a story will know, our story arcs are a little more… abstract than that of your average three act play) but we do slip into something I’d describe as a cross between improvisation and delusion quite easily. And my sister and I have a long history of Playing Office.

It was one of my favourite games as a child. 

We’d set up a desk, break out Mum’s typewriter and invent high-stress corporate situations. Reports due by 5pm. Faxes that must be sent. Manila folders to be dramatically slammed on desks. You know, office stuff.

While most other kids were out riding bikes or swinging on monkey bars, I sitting inside was shouting into a toy phone about some very important reports I had yet to receive. 

I didn’t have an imaginary friend growing up; I had an imaginary assistant. Her name was Channel and you could only reach her by mobile phone.  

Anyway, while we may have since grown up and encountered actual office life (which, much to my great disappointment, is devoid of manila folders and fax machines thanks to the digital revolution) we still will occasionally slip back into Playing Office.

And we did that the other day. 

We decided that if she was going to actually write a column, she’d have to pitch it to me, A Very Professional and Totally Important Person. She’d need to have a presentation ready and I would have to give her feedback on it. 

So we set up meeting: a breakfast meeting on a weekday, obviously. 

On the day of the breakfast meeting, I set my alarm early and, rather than wear a t-shirt with characters from The Simpsons on it with a retina-burningly bright coloured skirt (AKA what I actually wear to work) I put on a white collared button up shirt and a pencil skirt (which, admittedly, was still retina-burningly bright coloured, but I reasoned that I was playing the part of a bold business woman who wasn’t afraid of a little colour).

Then we got to a café, pulled out our notebooks and started discussing ideas in our Professional Voices. 

I don’t know about you, but I generally don’t come off as the most professional in my day-to-day life. I’m nasally. I say “like” and “geez” a lot. I’ll sprinkle in a couple of swears and swear-substitutes like “dingbat” and “far out brussel sprout” for colour. My Professional Voice is deeper, less pitchy and sees me say things like “such as” and “regards”. It’s like I become a whole other person. So when I put on my Professional Voice, it’s very, very obvious. And not just to people who know me, but anyone around me.

And that became obvious when a bunch of cyclists rocked up and took up the table beside us. I could see in their eyes that they saw what was unfolding at the table next to them for what it was – a fake business meeting between two giggly adult sisters. And they thought it was weird. 

But, look, that didn’t throw us off our game (in the figurative and literal sense). 

We forged on with the meeting and came up with a plan. 

So, I suppose this is really just a long-winded way of me saying that, next week, there’s still going to be a Just a Thought column, but said thoughts will be coming from the head of someone else. 

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