In My Father's Footsteps

Sydney Morning Herald

Saturday November 4, 2006

MARGOT DATE

A parent's occupation is a path for some children to follow - and others to abandon.

HEAVEN HELP BINDI Irwin. Barely is her father buried than she is being touted as the next crocodile hunter, the face to lead the Irwin dynasty through the next generation.

Critics have argued she is too young to have such responsibility foisted on her tiny shoulders, but others born into dynasties have great expectations cast upon them at young ages. Many take to it with gusto. Just look at James Packer, the Olsen family in art, the Bell family in theatre, the Crean, Downer and Beazley families in politics.

But you don't have to be rich and famous to feel the pressure of your parents' occupations. Perhaps it's a midlife thing, perhaps it's because I am now a parent, but I keep thinking about the effects of growing up in an Anglican rectory in a small town, a kind of crocodile pit without the reptiles.

My father's life was filled with aiding people in their spiritual quests and in more mundane matters such as arranging christenings, marriages and burials - hatches, matches and dispatches. Those were the days when clergy were ranked near the top of those "most trusted professions" lists. As his only daughter, I was expected - not by him, but by almost everyone else - to be perfect.

My three brothers and I were seen as some sort of holy beings with a direct line to God. I'm not really sure what we were expected to do as there was no rule book, just that we were meant to be the goodiest of goody two-shoes.

That one of my brothers joined a rock'n'roll band and played at the local pub on Tuesday nights must have sent the believers into apoplexy. Now we all lead secular lives - although as professional musicians two of my brothers do like performing to a captive audience and my oldest brother includes a gospel hour in his country music radio show.

Jim Bright is a partner in Bright & Associates, a career development consultancy in Sydney, and professor of career education and development at the Australian Catholic University. He says children following in their parents' footsteps are common in trades, agriculture, fishing, sport, police, medicine and even pop music.

Bright says despite those patterns, Australia is sometimes described as the land of second sons. "The first son inherits and the second son has to go out and do his best."

In some ways, he adds, parents are happy for children to follow in their footsteps, especially if they have had a successful career. "Between 18 and 40, people become exceedingly conservative if they become parents. It is that natural inclination to want your children to be sheltered from the vagaries of life. We don't want to see our kids fail."

The best advice he can give parents of teenagers in booming economic times is to encourage them to be flexible and be willing to take risks. Parents need to recognise that they influence their children and be aware that they are doing so when it comes to careers.

If children choose the same profession, he says they go in with their eyes open. The children have grown up watching mum and dad at "chardonnay hour - 6 to 7pm" where they discuss and dissect the boss, colleagues, the change management process and everything else that happened at work that day.

Simon Crean, 57, never thought about being a politician when he was growing up. Neither did his brother, David, who worked as a doctor. Yet both ended up following in their father Frank's footsteps: Simon into federal politics, David in Tasmania. "I was born to a sitting politician," Simon says.

Frank Crean was a member of the Victorian Parliament before being elected to Canberra, where he went on to become treasurer in the Whitlam government.

"I used to get ribbed at school a bit because Labor didn't win. I retreated from [politics]," Simon says.

He was a Monash University student when the Vietnam War politicised him. He stood for Parliament in the seat his father had retired from in 1977, losing by one vote.

"I got into the trade union movement and I never looked back." He was general secretary of the Storeman and Packers Union before becoming ACTU president in 1985 and entering Federal Parliament as the member for Hotham in 1990. He has been a minister, Opposition leader and is now Opposition spokesman for regional development.

His father has been a "tremendous source of information and inspiration" and his mother Mary is still an active ALP member.

"Home was very active, mum and dad would have people around for dinner so you would always be meeting interesting people."

Crean and his wife, Carole, have carefully considered the implications of his political career on their two daughters, with every move recorded by the media, especially when he was leader. "It is very public, it is very intrusive. The job description and performance is rated daily when you are a leader. You have to just explain it to them and demonstrate how you are dealing with the highs and lows."

Robyn Connolly, 36, is another who grew up to do what her dad did, although she hadn't planned it that way. Connolly was a navy kid who had lived in six cities before her father left the RAN to settle in Cessnock.

"We had always moved to capital cities," Connolly says. "I did my HSC and university didn't interest me. I wanted to travel. I got a job in the travel industry, but there was not going to be any real amount of travel."

After three months she joined the navy, the only life she had ever known. "I had itchy feet. I really did have this desperate need to get out of town."

In 1992 she was one of the first women to go to sea. Connolly went to a war zone - Somalia. "It was a rude shock. We sailed three days before Christmas. I would ring up [Dad] and say 'I hate it, it's hard', but he talked me through it."

Connolly has been married to David, a navy supply officer, for 10 years. They have children aged eight and seven, and Connolly, who left the service when her second child was 18 months old, now works as a navy reservist. She and her husband have moved five times since they were married and she can't imagine not having that life. Most of their friends are in the forces. Her two younger sisters are also in the navy.

Chris Bushell, 54, has felt the satisfaction of having his children follow in his footsteps. Bushell joined the police force in the 1970s and worked his way up to chief inspector. When he was injured in a bicycle accident in 1995 he pushed on for a few years, then had to leave. He is now the course co-ordinator for the advanced diploma of policing practice run by Charles Sturt University for police recruits at Goulburn Police Academy.

To his great surprise and delight, both his children, Gavin and Stacey, have joined the force. They saw him missing family events, birthdays and school visits because of shift work and both tried other careers before joining the NSW Police.

Now Gavin is stationed at Redfern and Stacey, after spending four years on general duties at Penrith, has joined the fraud squad. "They are good kids and I am really proud of them," says their father.

Someone who was determined not to do what his father did is David Edghill, 34. The son of a doctor, Edghill says he could not believe the tall poppy syndrome he encountered as he grew up.

He was always known as "the doctor's son", which confused him. "My best friend was the son of a banana grower, but he was never called the 'banana grower's son'. You were expected to behave in a certain way and be loaded."

He says he was often asked if he was going to be a doctor, but watching how it affected family life - plus his total lack of interest in science - was enough to put him off and he has followed a career in the arts, working at the National Portrait Gallery in Canberra. As a youngster, Christmas and New Year celebrations were frequently marred by his dad being called out to emergencies, often horrific road accidents on the Pacific Highway that ran through the district where they lived.

Edghill says he is still surprised by the comments and attitudes of others when he was growing up. Even his teachers asked probing questions. "There was the perception you were living a different sort of life."

© 2006 Sydney Morning Herald

Back to News Index | Back to Home