Some git picked the topic of "Boundaries" for our Writers' Group, which launches for the final session of this year in ninety-three minutes. Needless to say, I am only just beginning to type my thoughts into the alternative reality of my laptop. This post was designed to honour my Dad, given that he was born on this day in 1924. However, I have come to realise that there are a whole lot more different "Boundaries" that I want to discuss as well.
There are boundaries of taste. Who would have thought that smashed avo works with eggs, spinach and sourdough? Or maple syrup being divine with bacon? Or red wine and cheese as a mouth-watering combination? Or lemon juice added as the piece de resistance to just about any recipe, except for Celeste who is allergic to citrus? Or some milk chocolate added to chilli con carne for superb richness?
There are boundaries of behaviour. How would we like to be treated by others? What is acceptable and what is not acceptable? What behaviour can we tolerate from friends as opposed to strangers? Recently on "Reputation Rehab", hosts Zoe and Kirsten pondered a supposedly moronic rugby league player and a survival "Expert" both demonstrating drinking one's urine. Why was the footballer's behaviour over the top and the hunky nature presenter's au fait if you were reduced to consuming your own wee?
What about boundaries of banter? If we belong to a close-knit tribe, banter is inevitable and may often sail very close to the wind. When and why does banter cross the line? With friends, rarely, as a friendship circle is supposed to be a safe space. We are friends with others because we recognise their foibles and still wish to maintain an association with them on a social basis. A negative reaction to either banter or behaviour need go no further than a quiet word. Because friends should be both cherished and also cherish each other.
My darling Dad turned seventeen on 7 December 1941. That was a day when Japan crossed the ultimate boundary and bombed the American fleet at Pearl Harbour in Hawaii. My father was finishing school, working as a bookkeeper and waiting to be accepted in the Navy Officer Programme. Some ignorant fool decided that Dad wasn't pulling his weight and sent him an anonymous white feather in the post, the symbol for cowardice. During the entirety of his long life, Dad was never a coward. He was a facilitator, a peacemaker and maybe his ultimate fault was that he adored my Mum unconditionally. So she always came first and he often paid a bitter price as far as having a life of his own was concerned. However, he always knew that his choices had consequences.
Maybe that is the message about boundaries. We need to know where the boundaries are. We need to think about why the boundaries are there. We need to accept that crossing boundaries will impact us and others. Some boundaries obviously need to be broken. Others do not.
Food for thought.
Beautifully written as usual Kate.
ReplyDeleteI think you have surpassed yourself this time.
Just wonderful.
Thank you, Kaye.
Delete