I grew up in a fairly liberal household. I mean that in the true definition of the word, not the political party. We were encouraged to think for ourselves and share our ideas with the rest of the family. No topic was off limits.

Our most robust discussions often took place at the dinner table or while doing the dishes with Dad, a chore that was rotated each night between the three siblings. ‘The best conversations happen while you’re doing the dishes,’ was Dad’s catch cry, as for the 476^th time we questioned why we couldn’t use the dishwasher.

 

At the time I thought he was basically a modern day dictator moonlighting as my father. But now I think he was right. A lot got said during those ten-minute dish washing sessions.

Do you think there will ever be another war Dad? Why did that footballer get sacked? How come those willow trees in the paddocks are always cut to the same length? (Ha!) What do you think happens when we die? I don’t want to go to school tomorrow. Is yawning really contagious do you think? I’m so nervous about the maths test coming up. Did you ever smoke? Why do you think some people are gay? I love that new show, can we hurry up so I can watch it. Did you hear about Jane’s dad? I’m having trouble with my friends. If your last name was Hitler, would you get it legally changed? I would.

You get the gist. A lot of ground was covered over the years.

There’s something to be said for not having to look at someone when you’re sharing your inner most thoughts or testing your opinion. I guess that’s why they encourage parents to take their teenagers for a drive if there’s something important they want to discuss. It takes the pressure off.

Those little conversations, though mostly long forgotten now, undoubtedly helped to shape the person I am today.

Anyway, get to the point Eliza. Set the scene.

It’s a present day Saturday night. The little babes are tucked up in bed and I’ve settled myself onto the couch for a few hours of kid-free relaxation. Footy is on the television, providing some background noise while I scroll through social media and eat my takeaway. Fairly mind-numbing stuff.

But then something piques my interest, it’s the Indigenous Round. I refocus my tired eyes and tune in. And as I listen to the boys sharing their experiences and feelings about what this round means to them, I am taken back to a life lesson that was granted to me many years ago. Yep you guessed it, while I was doing the dishes with Dad.

I would’ve been maybe ten years old. I was standing at the sink with Dad, probably still in my bright yellow Little Athletics t-shirt, when I parroted to him something I had heard from another kid’s parent, ‘It’s not fair. The Aboriginal kids don’t have to pay for anything. The government just pays for it all.’

Yes, he should’ve flicked me behind the ear (his standard punishment for poor behaviour and it bloody hurt let me tell you). He should’ve shouted ‘How dare you be so judgemental!’ or ‘You’re only 10, what the hell do you pay for anyway!’ But he didn’t. He said six little words that have been imprinted in my brain ever since.

‘Would you trade places with them?’

Would. You. Trade. Places. With. Them.

‘Well, Eliza-Jane, would you?’

‘No.’ I said. Though my ten-year-old self couldn’t articulate why.

It sounds dramatic to say that the conversation that followed was life-changing. But for me it was. We went on to talk about Australian history, discrimination, equality versus equity and the adversity that still faces the Aboriginal people in Australia today. I could elaborate more on this, but that is not the point of my story.

I realised, probably for the first time, that outside of my little bubble there were people doing it tough. And I realised, as a white, middle-class, nuclear-family child, I knew nothing about discrimination and what it must feel like.

What Dad was teaching me was not about pity. It wasn’t a ‘they’re so unlucky, you should feel sorry for them’ conversation. It was about compassion, diversity, kindness and gratitude.

And I have applied those six little words so many times ever since.

 

As more and more refugees take extreme measures to reach our shores, it’s easy to think ‘Go away. We’ve got enough trouble here without saving you lot.’

But would you do anything to save your family?

Would you trade places with them?

That’s about compassion.

 

When the issue of gay marriage becomes a political football, it’s easy to think ‘Why do same-sex couples even need to get married?’

But can you get married?

Would you trade places with them?

That’s about equality and diversity.

 

When you see a mum or dad trying to parent their unique child, who perhaps doesn’t fit in the box that most kids fit into, it’s easy to judge.

But have you loved that child and worried for them every day of their lives?

Would you trade places with them?

That’s about kindness.

 

When you see that junior football coach making decisions, it’s easy to think ‘What’s he bloody doing?’

But have you had a go?

Would you trade places with them?

That’s about perspective and gratitude.

 

As a teacher, I can’t tell you how many times I have used that phrase when talking to students about their interactions with others. The best thing is – I don’t need to tell them anything, they answer the question themselves. And more often than not, it leads to a really genuine discussion that helps to move everyone forward.

Dad probably has no recollection of that conversation we had twenty odd years ago. And I hope it hasn’t sounded all preachy, because God knows I’m not always a pillar of kindness myself, it’s just that those six words have had such an impact on me that I figure it’s worth sharing.

My kids are too young for soul-changing life discussions but I really, really hope that as they grow I can nurture the same values in them that were embedded in me. And if they can be anything in this world, I hope they will be kind.

Our words, though perhaps not as strong as our actions, are weapons that can be used for good or evil. And at the end of the day, what legacy do we leave behind if not the lessons we teach our kids.

Goodness knows the world could do with all the love and kindness we can muster.

I’m not sure I can give up the dishwasher though.

Eliza xx