16 hands

Dear Trevor,

How are you? It has been some time since we have talked. Certainly before the incident with your mother. You have to understand that at an event like that, the possibly of...bad blood...was more than I had anticipated. There are too many tensions buried beneath the surface with your mother and I. Too much history. Perhaps I should've realised this and not attended. For my own part, I sincerely did not mean to have that physical altercation with your stepfather. I was there to spend a bit of time with you and have a few beers. And that's it. The problem with your stepfather is that he is one of these ‘A type’ personalities. Meaning that he likes to control situations and people. And the thing is Trevor, when someone starts making comments like he was making, completely out of the blue, basically, you’ve got 2 choices: you either roll over and take it or you defend yourself. And as we all know, I picked the latter option. Maybe I should've just walked away. Regardless it was an ugly scene for which i feel at least partly responsible. I suppose the one positive from this is we did clear the air a bit and we certainly all know where we stand now. (We also know your stepfather and I will probably never attempt to mix socially again. Which is fine by me.). Anyway, I thought (hoped?) enough time had passed for me to extend the proverbial olive branch. At least towards you and your mother.

Trevor, I know I haven't been the best father over the years but I am still your father. And as I get older, I think I'm starting to look back on my life a little bit more, you know, take stock and reflect on my actions, and the way I have treated certain people in the past. In any case, as you may or may not know, your mother and I had about four good years together before the arguments started and things became too volatile. Personality wise, we were just never going to get along. It entirely wasn't her fault and neither was it mine. I’m not sure if you know this but recently I've been going through some quite dramatic changes recently. I have sold off furniture, vehicles, art work, other personal items and finally I have ended up with very little. I know what people say about me, that I am no good with money, I don't happen to see it this way. Since the late 90’s I’ve have had a lot of bad luck which has severely challenged my financial stability. My incompetent accountant disappearing. Two marriages (very expensive, believe you me). Your grandmother going into age care for all those years. You and your brother being put through those private schools. All of these things have added up and contributed to the situation I currently find myself in. Imagine a line graph. After I graduated from university there were these usual peaks and valleys to be expected in a good economy. This continued over the years but around 1996 or ‘97, the line steadily started to decline, plateauing here and there, but overall, declining. And now I find myself…well…sitting in this van, writing this letter to you. The very same van I am currently living in and which contains the remainder of my possessions. This includes my clothes and few odds and ends. I guess I'm just trying to impress upon you that financially speaking, I am really not doing very well. Living this way is not that much of a hardship. Australia is not America. There is still the dole of course and we live in a safe, relatively crime free society. As you can imagine I know this area very well having grown up here. I could move on to somewhere else but I don't really want to. You tell me life up on the Gold Coast is less expensive, that your out of the rat race, that you are comfortable and happy. Sometimes I do think about driving up there, having a look around. The reality is Sydney is in my blood. I just can't  see myself living anywhere else. Like any place, it has its pros and cons. Of course, it does. Look I suppose I have a fairly strong need for a familiar context. The parks, the harbour, the ferries, the art deco architecture, the beaches and the pubs…it is part of me as I am part of it. And I couldn't really imagine myself living somewhere else. I don’t want to sound like a snob but I don't think I could adapt to living in suburbia.  

 The lack of money is a problem. Basically, once you're on the slippery slope it's very difficult to pull yourself back up. I know what this will sound like but…recently that I have started washing windshields at traffic lights to make ends meet. I have a specific corner which I share with Hugh (Hugh is the neighbourhood fruit bat. He is absolutely convinced that he can travel back and forth in time on a weekly, sometimes daily basis. He will say things like, “I talked to you in the future and you said…” This kind of thing.) He’s got swag in the park. Our spot is the corner of Oxford Street and Moore Park road. It is quite a lucrative corner. We have three lanes of traffic on both sides of the intersection. The lights are timed to stop for 2 1/2 minutes in each direction and if I’m quick, which I am for 49 years of age, I can usually finish four windshields during that time. That's a gold coin for each windshield (no one hands over silver). So that’s a minimum of a dollar from each ‘client’ (I have received up to a tenner but that’s rare). Considering the traffic lights cycle through five different configurations and that the people in these vehicles are heading to or leaving one of the wealthiest areas in Sydney…well…As you can imagine, there is a great deal of money making potential. The key is to look industrious. Look like you are serious about your work, that you have a purpose and for god sakes be careful with the windshield wipers (Hugh snapped one off the other day. It caused quite a commotion). Anyway, look busy but not too busy. That’s the ticket. Australians are alert to a layabout yet they are suspicious of overly exuberant service. You need to get the balance right. The only outlay is purchasing some sort of Windex product, a few rags and of course a decent squeegee. None of that two dollar shop stuff either: you need to use a quality tool otherwise you’ll be leaving streaks. So this is how I spend my Mondays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays. (Hugh takes the other more profitable days unless he is poorly). Settling for the less lucrative days is a concession I have to make if I wanted to work that corner at all. You do not want to get on Hugh's bad side, believed me. As you can probably imagine, it’s not just a case of people throwing gold coins at you from their car windows. There are the other variables. Many motorists do not want their cars touched and act aggressively when we approach. Many people sit there in sulky silence, their windows rolled up, and their stereos blasting Eminem or whatever shit people listen to in their cars these days. They ignore me. Occasionally a threat is directed my way. (Tradies and other high testosterone types are the worst). This is an aspect of the job I have to accept because the police only just tolerate us. If there is a scene we might lose a day’s income. There is a cheerful kind of passive-aggression to what I do. I understand this. Basically, I am forcing a service onto the community has not been specifically requested. I understand how certain people would get upset by this. I myself do not appreciate ‘the hard sell’ be it by charity collectors or salesmen. I try to make my approach as unobtrusive as possible. I wait on the traffic island and as soon as the lights turn, I am moving amongst the three lanes of traffic, getting those windshields clean. And believe me, there is a demand. Sydney is a dirty old city. The councils get away with the absolute minimum in terms of street cleaning. It astounds me.

 Anyway, there are moments, as I'm sure you can imagine, where I feel my dignity compromised. I have spent my entire life in Sydney, in the eastern suburbs, so as you can well imagine I know many people here. To approach a car, a Mercedes-Benz or Audi, armed with my little squeeze bottles and wiper, cheerful in attitude, only to realise I'm looking into the eyes of an old friend or the son of an old friend-well there are moments of doubt. I have cleaned the windshields of men my age who I went to school with. The same face and eyes from a photograph taken years ago, us all lined up on some well-clipped cricket field. All that promise and privilege. Only time has added creases around their eyes and grey to their temples, and the heft of good living to their bodies. I ran into one of these housemates a month ago. James Clever. James looked well. He still lived in Paddington, had kids who had been through the right education channels and were now lawyers or doctors or whatever. I got talking to him. I told him about how things had gone wrong. How while he was on the escalator heading up, I was slowly descending. And this guy, who I seem to remember in a very cursory way back in primary school, he seems to remember our relationship as something more. He seems to think we were best mates. Comrades in the playground. Anyway, we go off and have a drink after I've finished work for the day and I get him up to speed with what's been happening and he does the same. He has been living for the last 15 years in Hong Kong. He's become something of a financial wizard. He owns several properties in the Eastern Suburbs. He has climbed Everest in 2011. I don't tell him that I am sleeping in long-term parking. That I shower down at Prince Alfred pool. (I suppose I don't really need to because he's already seen me hustling). Anyway, he seems concerned for me. We meet up again. He even invites me over for dinner and I meet his wife.  

Which brings me to the horse. Now James wants me to come in on financial investment with him and a few of his cronies. What they call a syndicate. He has this trainer in Randwick-a mate of sorts-who is in the process of training up a colt: an animal that is already showing immense potential. This horse comes from a very good lineage. His father was a steady and lucrative earner, winning a number of prominent races and as a result, making a steady profit for the owners. The same thing was predicted for the colt. James and the trainer are confident of this. The trainer is a bit of a madman (a lot of them down here at the stables are) but he gets results. We went down there the other day and had a look. Our boy is a magnificent creature. 16 hands. Fast on the wet and dry. Like a bullet fired from a gun once those gates open. He’s currently undergoing a carefully planned out training program. As you know son I'm not really a gambler but this trainer explained a few things to me: skeleton strength, muscle mass, temperament. How these and other important factors which are too numerous to go into at this moment, have converged and arrived in our laps in the form of this thoroughbred.  

Of course, you don't know exactly what will happen over time and how a horse might perform. There is always that to consider. What injuries it may occur, how the animal will change as in ages. Whether or not bad luck will keep it from the winning circle. I suppose the point is you need to take a punt now and then in life. All of which brings me to the second reason of this letter other than re-establishing contact with you. As I mentioned, I have an opportunity to get in on an 8th share with this syndicate. This is a bargain believe me. What I’m asking from you is $2,500. This will give you the 16th share. Think about it. If you don't invest you will never have the opportunity to win. I know you have mentioned that you are content to steadily work towards paying off your mortgage and topping up your super. That you are fine in your little cubical job. That you are by nature a cautious person and that you attribute this to being your mother's son. (Christ, I do remember she was cautious to a fault. It was stifling at time, like with someone who was terrified of their own shadow...but I won’t go into that now). Anyway, you must have heard the expression: ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained?’ Have a think about it son. I have included a photo of the horse. Isn’t he a beauty?