"Dear Port Pirie Diocese Parishioners,
I write to express grave concerns for the mental health of your Bishop. Perhaps he has been guzzling the altar wine when nobody's looking. Possibly he sustained a self-inflicted concussion when swinging the thurible with excessive vigour, and sconed himself with it. Maybe someone's replaced in the incense therein with some prime Buddha heads, and he's totally stoned out of his gourd. My hypotheses stem from the absurd assertion he has offered that children of same sex parents will possibly feel like a 'stolen generation'. I cannot see how His Excellency can correlate a shameful period in Australia's history with children being raised in a loving home by two people who happen to be of the same gender. He apparently is concerned that children will feel denied the love of a parent of whatever gender is NOT the parenting set. His views on children raised by single parents, and therefore also bereft of a particular gendered parent, have not yet been ascertained by the author hereof. But she guesses because they're presumably not homosexual, it doesn't matter. The author is a tad perplexed at why His Excellency is so concerned about the well-being of children who are being raised by same-sex couples, when there are calls for his superior Cardinal Pell to rattle his dags out of Vatican City and get out here to answer questions before the Royal Commission investigating the vicious and systemic abuse of children left in the care of the Catholic Church. Surely the foul treatment of these children by Catholic priests and nuns is just a tad more important than kids being brought up by a couple who happen to be the same gender."
How does that sound, blog-browers?
Things To This Weekend: Well, it's the long weekend, and I've actually been rostered to work both Saturday and Sunday evenings, but I must find a way to keep the children amused for a while. It is difficult to keep a sulky teenager amused, but I think I know what I can do. I will track down the episode of 'The Brady Bunch' where they went to 'cut a record' (only being Yanks they pronounced it 'rekkid', and not 'rec-cord' like I would), and Peter's voice started to break. This meant Greg wrote a sappy thing called 'When It's Time To Change'. What has brought about this rather tangential line of thinking is whilst I drove my 14yo to soccer training yesterday, he told me he could no longer hit high notes. Oh, I know his voice is deepening; I have heard it for myself. I told him this, and mentioned I haven't heard him do a squeak yet, and asked had he experienced this phenomenon. He said he had, at roll call the other week. When his name had been called, he had answered 'Present!' like a castrato singing Handel's 'Hallelujah', so it seems. Wish I could have heard that. It got me thinking: when a boy's voice breaks, does his mother's heart also break at the loss of what was once her sweet little boy? He had such a pleasing, piping little voice. He would say, 'Mummy, I love you' with a sincerity,y and a vibrato, and an innocence resonant of a choir of seraphim. Now all I seem to get is a rather guttural sounding, 'What's to eat?'
Will my boy thank me for making him watch an episode of 'The Brady Bunch'? I'm guessing not, but he might enjoy looking at Marcia.
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