Thomas Mann once said “War is a cowardly escape from the problems of peace”.

I don’t much like ANZAC DAY.. too many bad memories…

As I sit and reflect, my thoughts are of my grandfather, not a hero, just a simple man that embarked on an adventure 97 odd years ago.. He was wounded and returned home.. His adventure over. He, like alot of  young men of the time, changed his surname and added a year or so to his age, just to enlist. He achieved this, but lived to regret the decision for the rest of his life.. You see, it was like this…He, along with many thousands of others had no idea of what they had let themselves in for… We can’t even begin to imagine!! There are countless stories of this horrific time in our history. Nightmares that lasted a lifetime.. Families torn apart by the ravages of war.. How many times have we heard this? Thousands!!

Every year at this time, these memories are relived over and over.. My grandfather married a young lass from Victoria. Like  lots of young blokes at the time, they married quickly.. I once asked him why.. His answer..”We were in Love” Stupid of me really..of course they were in love.. He with the adventure and a married man to boot.. My grandmother, put through a living hell.

He went off to foreign shores, she not knowing if he would ever return. He was one of the lucky ones…He did return, but his life was never to be the same..  My recollection of him was that of a “hard bastard” with a deep dark secret, one I never really understood in my growing years.. His medals are confined to a display in an army museum and that’s where they will stay. He wanted no reminder of that time..  He moved to  New Zealand and was given a government ballot farm.. 100 acres of prime farmland. He worked it hard, raised a family and tried to put the past behind him.. He could not! Every year at this time, he was reminded of the brutality of Gallipoli, the landing, the slaughter, disease and infection, mud and trenches and “Johnny Turk”

As the years passed, his body slowed, but his mind never did…He never forgot! Every ANZAC day he cried.. I learned this from my father, something I could not understand as a youngster, but in later years, came to know the reason. His tears were filled with sadness and joy. Sadness for those he left behind. Joy, that he was wounded and his hell was over.

I met some of his mates… Hard men, scarred for life because of that horrendous time. Many had turned to booze to help them overcome their youthful adventure, sometimes described as worse than hell itself.. We all have our own stories from family and our own reflections of  ANZAC DAY.. The forging of mate-ship between equal men from both sides of the Tasman, fighting for their King & Country. A bond that is still very much alive today and will continue long into the future…

It brings me to a story  about a forgotten group of heroes, not from Gallipoli, but from a little known island in the Pacific..  It’s a  story, of  17 men who were beheaded on October 15, 1942, along with five other white men on Tarawa in what is now Kiribati.These men were Coast watchers. They had all been tied up to coconut trees in front of Commander Keisuke Matsuo house on Betio.

What happened at around 2pm on 15 October 1942 is not clear. Some say a US warship shelled the island and two aircraft attacked Japanese ships in the lagoon. One of the prisoners may have waved to the planes.

One Japanese soldier stepped forward to the first European in the line and cut his head off. The rest followed in quick succession. They were New Zealanders. Nothing was found of these dead men..

The Americans erected a small memorial to them. They were pretty much forgotten about until recently… But despite orders not to get close to the locals, the radio operators and the soldiers had relationships with the women of the atolls. And they left a number of children. Discretely the New Zealand Government paid for their education. Their many grandchildren can still be found in Kiribati. A monument was erected – paid for by the Australian Government – but had been unable to fend off continued vandalism. Instead of a solemn moment, it is stained with fish guts and human excrement.

The New Zealand bodies were never found although the US Army last year found human remains that may well be New Zealanders. Testing has yet to be completed to confirm it. There is one last survivor..John Jones. He is 91,  and will lay a wreath, driven by the passion that he is the only survivor of a unique group of men. Jones was also the first New Zealand Japanese prisoner of war.

He doesn’t much like Anzac Day either… too many bad memories.

Donald H. Rumsfeld, US Secretary of Defence once said,  “If you are not criticised, you may not be doing much.” 

As a double amputee in a wheelchair, access is paramount and something I am passionate about. Many a time I have been criticised for speaking out on this basic right… but here’s the thing.. most people tend to sit back and say nothing. I can’t do that.

For the past 6 months, I have spent a fair amount of time travelling. Access is a big thing to one such as myself… Hotels, airlines, trains, buses, footpaths, shops let alone bathrooms and public conveniences! Where do I start? Let’s just look at getting from the Gold Coast to Coolangatta airport for starters.  The airport bus works fine…when the bus is capable of lowering the ramp! Sadly this does not happen all of the time… They simply do not work! My argument here, is simple…they should not be on the road! They are defective. Same applies with “wheelchair taxis” if defective, they need to be withdrawn from service and repaired…simple as that! Now, I’m probably going to upset a few of you… Gold Coast Airport, as you know, has no air-bridge. Some will argue this is a good thing. Try it from a wheelchair and you soon realise it is not! It is that simple! For this reason, I choose to travel up to Brisbane and fly from there… The trains are fantastic and very accessible and personally, I have never encountered a problem. Now to the airlines… I could not believe that the particular airline I choose to fly did not have an aisle chair on board the aircraft…UNBELIEVABLE!! I immediately addressed the issue with this carrier and I am happy to say, whilst there is still no chair on board, they are working toward a solution.. You see, no one had ever bothered to point it out to them, so they were unaware of the problem. The thing here is, they took OWNERSHIP and are working to resolve this issue. I continue to fly with them and have nothing but praise for the way in which they have addressed the issue… No need to jump up and down and create a scene at the airport.. I just don’t have that chip on my shoulder…

Most accommodations these days, must provide an accessible room. The definition of accessible varies considerably and this is where the problem arises.. What you and I call accessible, I am sure is poles apart. It’s simple…Access into the bathroom, shower and wide enough to cater for most wheelchairs. With the Commonwealth Games upon us, we need to be thinking about total access now. I put my hand up to advise and assist the GCCC in this process.. It simply must be right! In the United States, nothing is left to chance…NOTHING! Ok, I grant you that the laws there allow for an individual to sue the pants off whoever gets it wrong.. They pretty much have it right. Sadly the privilege is abused when it comes to cruises, as laws there do not allow them to question your right to an accessible cabin on a ship. What annoyed me there, was the number of people that abused the right… Climbed into a wheelchair, just to get to the front of the queue, then walked to the buffet or took the lift, simply because they were obese, or just plain lazy.. Harsh yes, but fact! Did I get angry, speak out….absolutely! Was I criticised for doing so, yes! Would I stop and sit back and let this happen, NO! Again, here’s the thing, I don’t care too much about myself, I can and have been speaking out for nearly 40 years as a Broadcaster and  Journalist. I have helped implement change and am proud of that achievement. The people I care about are our “Diggers, the elderly & frail, those that can’t speak out, simply  because they are struggling to cope with their daily existence..

This brings me to the point I wish to hammer home…Right now, there is a lot of construction taking place on the Gold Coast. With the building of the “LITE RAIL” access for anyone is difficult, let alone those who are frail, elderly, young families with strollers and of course those of us confined to a wheelchair…  I have addressed the issue and whilst the authorities are concerned, sadly they just play “lip service” to the problem and throw a bit of hot mix over the paths with no consideration to those that have to struggle on a daily basis, just to get to their corner store… It needs to be changed…Attitudes need to change as does the planners thinking…

No doubt I will be criticised once again for speaking out, but as I said at the start of this article, quoting from Donald H Rumsfeld… “If you are not criticised, you may not be doing much.”

I hope I am doing something!

Bob Wells once said “Your true value depends entirely on what your compared with”.

I’ve just buried my dad to be exact, on the 25th of January. He was truly agreat man, top dad and granddad. You might recall, I wrote my blog about Fathers Day and it was a bit of a tribute to my “Old Man”. It was about getting in touch, calling your dad and just saying ” I love You Dad”.

I used that blog to form the basis of my eulogy at his funeral…

I want to share a little of Dad with you all. Over the past few days, I have reflected on his life and his achievements… Ronald Leslie Portland, less than ordinary really…or was he? He moved to Taumarunui, in the middle of  New Zealand’s North Island, a cold wet and drab place in the Winter, Hot and dry in the Summer. As a youngster, he grew up in the lush Waikato farming community of Matamata, known for it’s Thoroughbreds & Dairy farms. His dad, was awarded a ballot farm after WW I ended. His mother, our “Nana” hailed from the Australian state of Victoria, the daughter of a trucking magnate, hence my dads fascination with trucks. He was in the Fire Brigade and whilst there forged lasting friendships. Friendships that have lasted a lifetime. Met, wooed and courted my Mother, Ila, who no doubt was waiting with open arms to greet him. Probably telling him off for giving St Peter a hard time on the way through. He was a handsome bugger in his day, no wonder my Mother fell for him hook, line and sinker. She was a bit of a looker too (as most of you will remember)!

I recall, in those early days, he also drove a taxi and I remember some of the stories he told reluctantly about that time… The Tangiwai Train disaster, befriending a very young Trevor Rupe, better known to you as Carmen. No doubt they are reminiscing right now!!

Ron…as he was fondly known ran the Rangatira Service Station and became an institution, pumping petrol, dressed immaculately in his peak cap, green shirt and black bow-tie, White coat on special occasions, like the time the NZ film Commission filmed “Don’t let it Get You” with Lew Prime and Kiri Te Kawana. I helped out at the service station, hosing down the forecourt. He made me feel important! Helped myself to the takings too. He knew, and covered it up.

Then one day, in came this Jag…filled it up and off they sped. None other than the famous Gilles Ave bank robbers… He dined on that one for some time.  The tyre bay was his bar, flagons of beer consumed with the local police and Catholic Priest. He would buy Fr King the “truth” every week and they have a chuckle over a flagon or two and so life went on, just an ordinary bloke.

Then, it happened. Caltex flew him and his tanker driver mate, Bob Cooper to Sydney. Unbeknown, they went seeking permission to open a little canteen on the refurbished Service Station. This was basically the first food outlet in the country attached to a Servo and it put me through college. Not that I knew it at the time. Bonici Motors took a bus to the  Chateau every weekend during the skiing season and Mum & Dad cashed in on this. They would call ahead from Te Kuiti with an approximate time of arrival and whilst refuelling with diesel, the passenger’s would fill up on home made pies and soup. Something that became legendary over the years. They were the best of times, or so I thought, I was completely unaware of the hardships they were enduring, but never once did I see my dad loose it in front of any of us boys.

Oh, he knew some pretty important people too - Politicians, Film Stars and a whole bunch of other folk. Some I came to know later in life - Sir Michael Fowler, Sir Basil Arthur  Roy Jack, the Meads Bothers, those famous Kiwi All Blacks, police inspectors. And the list goes on. One of my fondest memories was the time we spent with McLaren & Brabam, those racing greats. Of course, I cannot leave out Tuesday Weld, a beautiful actress that I got to know in those formative years.

He loved to go camping and some of the fondest memories are of those times in the bush. Every Sunday we would go for a drive, an adventure really, drive for miles and miles in the Mark 2 Zephyr, then the Mark 3 and that famous Jowett Javelin… German precision, he would delight in saying. His dream was to own a Mercedes. I think he did get to drive one. Then there was the “Shop Truck” a 40’s something Ford, we loved those trips to the dump.

In the mid 60’s Dad decided on a career change. Right out of left field he became the Bailiff. A job he absolutely loved. There are so so many stories of that time, but a couple that stand out are the day he and Phil Van Duschoeten, a local policeman went bush. To this day, I don’t think any one really knows what happened but they had a hell of an adventure. That I do know. The other that stands out, is the day the two of them went to seize some live stock from the infamous Huti Barratt. They arrived at the Taringamoutu Farm, told Huti they were going to seize the livestock, painted a blue cross on the stock to be taken. Got a call around 5:30am from one very irate Ongarue Transport driver. You see, cunning Huti and his boys had painted a blue cross on every living animal in site, including the dogs. That put paid to the stock being carted off but he locked Huti up anyway! There are many many more stories that I’m sure will be told, some here, some there…where ever that may be.

Dad, one things for sure…you will never be forgotten. So while I was pondering my weekly column, it dawned on me that Fathers Day was upon us and vivid in my mind was the journey that my son Phil, and you and I took.

I’d like to read that column… It went like this….

Bartrand Hubbard said– “I’ve had a hard life, but my hardships are nothing against the hardships that my father went through in order to get me to where I started.”

My dad is in his mid 80’s now.  His body is telling him it’s nearly time, but his mind remains as sharp as the day. He grew up in a small rural community, riding a horse 10 miles to school every day.

A couple of years ago, I took my youngest son on a journey, to visit and spend time with his granddad. I wanted him to know about those early days. He remarked that my son was a walking magnet, with all the steel in his body, and that he had more ink on him than in the classroom he learned in (he has a couple of tattoo’s and at the time, two or three piercings).

So I wanted him to open up to my son… I asked him about those informative years. “Hard years” he said and started to open up. I learned as much as my son that day. You see, I thought I knew my old man. Turns out I only knew what he decided I should know.

I never knew about the beatings he regularly got from his ‘old man’, my grandfather. I did know about his brother chopping off his toe, whilst they were making Shang eyes. But not about being chained to the chopping block because of it.  I had always wondered about the truth of this, but when he started reminiscing with my son, I began to believe in the reality of life during the depression and those years that shaped my dad into the man he became.

He would over the years say to me on more than one occasion, “Your grandfather was a hard bastard…but a fair one!”

Somehow, that cliché ‘Like father. Like son’ rings in my mind. My old man was hard, but fair! I never really saw him show true affection to me or my five brothers all that often.. But then, I was not really around most of their growing years.

He did love us… unconditionally, protected us and kept us safe. Many times he covered my arse, I just did not know it! Not then at least.

I do now, but it was to be many years later that I learned the truth. We never came to blows, but there were many harsh words. He was, after all just trying to instil the values he had been taught by his father, into me. I really didn’t want to listen.. At 16 I knew it all and it was the dawning of ‘The Age of Aquarius’ and I had an adventure to begin.

Some years later, when he got the call that no father wants to hear “Your son has had a very serious accident and may not make it through the night…you best get here quick” he just downed tools and come hell or high water was going to be at my bedside. No questions asked.

He was there and remained until I was out of immediate danger. He cared not for his business or any other matter, apart from getting to the hospital to be at the side of his eldest son.

As we drove that August morning some 2 years ago, my own son began to learn more and more about this kind, loving and compassionate man…my father, his Granddad.

We stopped at a little country café for lunch and all my old man wanted was a cold beer and a plate of seafood chowder.

I have never seen that smile since.. He was in old man’s heaven.

We got back into the car and he proceeded to ramble on about his lunch for what seemed hours.. Issuing directions with military precision on how to get to the family homestead.. After an hour, my son and I looked at each other bewildered, as we were so certain we were just plain lost!!

Next thing, we are right outside the gate to the family farm.. He had let us to this gate with pinpoint accuracy.

It was about this time that he demanded we stop for lunch because he had not eaten since breakfast and he was hungry.

My son told him he had lunch an hour ago and couldn’t understand why he was getting so agitated.

My dad now lives in a very comfortable retirement home.. He has all his wants & needs met and is surrounded by loving family.

I hope the good lord allows me one more visit.

I for one will be calling my old man this Fathers Day, to tell him how much I love him.

Yes…he did teach me well. I hope through him, I have taught my boys well.

Dad…I love you. Ya old bugger… Rest in eternal peace.. I know you’ll be talking the hind leg of a donkey. And just don’t you ever stop mate.. Safe travels Dad… Lord knows you’ll be doing plenty of it!!

Over the past couple of weeks, I have been pondering a thought, after a conversation I had.  I found it a little weird, bordering on the macabre! Finally I have decided to share it with you.

Up until I lost my legs in a horrific train accident, (through no one’s fault at the end of the day) the world for a 21-year-old was pretty good. Fit and healthy. Full of life, one could even say ten foot tall and bullet proof. Weren’t we all at that age?

I don’t dwell on the past, never have. I’ll never forget a dear friend saying to me: “Look at where you’ve been to see where you’re going”. So very true! I adjusted pretty quickly to my new surroundings without legs. Just got on with it really. I like to think that I have a pretty positive attitude. Over the years, I have seen people having to prove some point or other by having to climb a mountain or bum their way up the “Kokoda Track” or somehow prove their normality.

Here’s the thing – I considered myself ‘normal’, my boys saw me as no different to any other dad. Oh, they quickly worked out that they could test me to the limit and knew just how far to push the boundary. My work colleagues didn’t take too much notice of the fact that I was legless and in a wheelchair, after all, I was another voice on the radio. Who needed legs to talk on air?  So on it went. I guess all things considered, I did ok. I had my share of ups and downs like anyone else. My own demons to deal with. I did that in my own way coming to a place of peace within myself.

Then, the other day it turned upside down!  I had a conversation with a disabled person who by choice had a leg surgically removed because this person did not like the way they looked and from what I gather, didn’t like the way other people looked at them. I reacted perhaps a little surprised when I heard this. Should I have reacted the way I did? I questioned the ethic of this. Yes, it is your body and I guess you have the right to decide. Then I read about an art exhibition called “SPARE PARTS”. This was a collection of prosthetics, all painted in a variety of colour and design. Innovative, I thought, until I did some further research. What I discovered is that these people nurture and caress these limbs in a way I personally find a little intriguing.

Is this normal, I asked myself?

Thomas S. Szasz sums it up rather well: “There are two kinds of ‘disabled’ persons: Those who dwell on what they have lost and those who concentrate on what they have left.”

Personally I prefer the latter…

Carl Jung once said  “The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”

I read of a relationship that to me had everything that Jung was talking about. Both persons transformed by love, emotion, sexuality, chemistry, commitment and that special bonding two people have. Unconditional love. Both are in their 60s – warm, intelligent, honest and completely open. They ran a successful business in a small, idyllic, sleepy seaside town, where people leave their doors open whilst they pop down to the beach for a swim.

Now, this couple is at the centre of a hate campaign. Their mail-order gardening business, that they built out of their love for horticulture, (after both leaving successful teaching careers,) was torched 6 months ago. The packing shed destroyed, along with the part-time jobs of 8 employees at the height of the season.

Now here’s the thing: it has cost them their business, and left them preparing to quit the beach-side community that they love.  But, more than this, it has caused them to question being openly gay!!

Between them, the couple has five children and 10 grandchildren who all know that their grans are in a lesbian marriage. They have both lived in heterosexual relationships. They married each other, celebrating their love and Lesbian commitment in a Civil Union ceremony.

In their time living in this tiny community, they have never had a bad word uttered against them. Now the hatred has escalated to crudely written graffiti scrawled across their cars, fences, sleep out and the walls of their cosy house.

People are disgusted and asking why them? There has been a gay presence, including a lesbian community, in the area for many years, without anything like this ever occurring.

So…why now?  They’ve never hidden their sexuality, or in fact their relationship.

They’re optimistic that the general ease with which they, as a gay couple have been accepted as any straight couple, will continue to be the hallmark of the seaside village in which they live despite the ‘homophobic’ attack on them.

It is a sad indictment in today’s society, where we are taught tolerance and acceptance that attacks of this nature continue to take place.

We don’t care that politicians living in a Lesbian relationship can become pregnant, or that a ’super-star’ and his partner can adopt a child, but when it comes down to this everyday ordinary couple, out pours the hatred.

Perhaps they are a much easier target for the cowardly, gutless person that has set out to destroy this unassuming couple in their 60s.

Many of my friends are gay and openly in loving relationships.  I love and respect their decision to commit to each other. Sometimes I look at them and wish that every couple had what they have. Sadly this is not the case.

There is still far too much hatred and homophobia on this Mortal Coil.

Even Pope Benedict has said the Catholic Church could not accept gay marriage and urged young people to root out evil in society and shun a lukewarm” faith that damages their Church.

He needs to take a long hard look inside His own house first!!

As my mother once said:

“Before you try to change other people, just remember how hard it is to change yourself.”

I was going to write about 9/11 but I have decided to wait until I visit Ground Zero later this year. I do not believe I can do justice to such a poignant event in world history without having visited and experienced for myself first hand. I particularly want to follow the Cross at Ground Zero as so much has been said and written about the significance of this piece of steel.

What I do know is this. The shape was oddly identifiable in the blasted wreckage of the World Trade Centre, standing upright amid beams bent like fork tines and jagged, pagan-seeming tridents. A grief-exhausted excavator named Frank Silecchia found it on September 13, 2001, two days after the terrorist attacks. A few days later, he spoke to a Franciscan priest named Father Brian Jordan, who was blessing remains at Ground Zero. Fr Brian has been asked countless times, “Why did God do this?” His reply has always been the same – he would say it had nothing to do with God, but it was the actions of men abusing their free will.

The 10^th anniversary has come and gone, but the memories will forever live on in all of us, one way or another affected by this destruction and innocent loss of nearly 3,000 lives.

We all know where we were on that fateful day. It is etched forever in our memory. The symbolic Cross has become controversial in itself, with the American Atheists, a non profit group, who sued to remove it, calling it an unlawful and “repugnant”.

Like it or not, the steel and debris of the World Trade Center has become more than just wreckage. It has been alchemized into relics, not just by fire but also by memory and trauma. Larger spiritual meanings have been attributed to it.

The Latin term for relic (reliquiae) means “remains” or “something left behind”.

Somehow among 1.8 million tonnes of debris, this cross rose from the rubble and caught the eye of Father Brian Jordan. I don’t know the reason or have any answers. Do any of us?

Ten years on, this I do know, much of the sacred steel recovered from Ground Zero has been held in Hangar 17 at John F. Kennedy Airport.

To this day, items are still being recovered: a rack of bikes, a battered shovel, a dented filing cabinet bursting with papers.

To quote Nancy Johnson, who directs the World Trade Center Artifacts project and has overseen the preservation of the Ground Zero wreckage since 2006.

“Wreckage becomes relic when it is associated with people and experiences that brought you joy”.

You can take the cross out of the World Trade Centre. But can you take it out of someone’s skin?

Father’s Day 2011

Bartrand Hubbard once said: “I’ve had a hard life, but my hardships are nothing against the hardships that my father went through in order to get me to where I started.”

My dad is in his mid 80s now. His body is telling him it’s nearly time, but his mind remains as sharp as the day. He grew up in a small rural community, riding a horse 10 miles to school every day.

A couple of years ago, I took my youngest son on a journey, to visit and spend time with his granddad. I wanted him to know about those early days. He remarked that my son was a walking magnet, with all the steel in his body, and that he had more ink on him than in the classroom he learned in (He has a couple of tattoos and at the time, two or three piercings).

So…I wanted him to open up to my son. I asked him about those informative years. “Hard years” he said and started to open up. I learned as much as my son that day. You see, I thought I knew my old man. Turns out I only knew what he decided I should know.

I never knew about the beatings he regularly got from his ‘old man’ – my grandfather. I did know about his brother chopping off his toe, but not about being chained to the chopping block because of it. I had always wondered about the truth of this, but when he started reminiscing with my son, I began to believe in the reality of life during the depression and those years that shaped my dad into the man he became.

He would over the years say to me on more than one occasion: “Your grandfather was a hard bastard – but a fair one!”

Somehow, that cliche ‘Like father. Like son’ rings in my mind. My old man was hard. But fair! I never really saw him show true affection to me or my five brothers all that often but then, I was not really around most of their growing years.

He did love us unconditionally, protected us and kept us safe. Many times he covered my arse – I just did not know it! Not then at least.

I do now, but it was to be many years later that I learned the truth. We never came to blows, but there were many harsh words. He was, after all just trying to instill the values he had been taught by his father, into me. I really didn’t want to listen. At 16 I knew it all and it was the dawning of ‘The Age of Aquarius’ and I had an adventure to begin.

Some years later, when he got the call that no father wants to hear: “Your son has had a very serious accident and may not make it through the night. You best get here quick” he just downed tools and come hell or high water was going to be at my bedside. No questions asked.

He was there and remained until I was out of immediate danger. He cared not for his business or any other matter, apart from getting to the hospital to be at the side of his eldest son.

As we drove that August morning some 2 years ago, my own son began to learn more and more about this kind, loving and compassionate man – my father, his granddad.

We stopped at a little country cafe for lunch and all my old man wanted was a cold beer and a plate of seafood chowder.

I have never seen that smile since. He was in old man’s heaven.

We got back into the car and he proceeded to ramble on about his lunch for what seemed hours, issuing directions with military precision on how to get to the family homestead. After an hour, my son and I looked at each other bewildered, as we were so certain we were just plain lost!!

Next thing, we are right outside the gate to the family farm. He had let us to this gate with pin point accuracy.

It was about this time that he demanded we stop for lunch because he had not eaten since breakfast and he was hungry.

My son told him he had lunch an hour ago and couldn’t understand why he was getting so agitated.

My dad now lives in a very comfortable retirement home. He has all his wants and needs met and is surrounded by loving family.

I hope the good lord allows me one more visit.

I for one, will be calling my old man this Father’s Day, to tell him how much I love him.

Yes…he did teach me well. I hope through him, I have taught my boys well.

Winston Churchill once said “Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference”.  How right he was.

I was reminded of this at the weekend, when I had coffee with an old work colleague.

He enquired, “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

He simply said, “Mate, I have always admired you. You don’t let anything get in the way of the road you walk. If it does…you embrace it! What is it that makes you the person you are?”

I just replied, “Attitude” and he nodded.

So…I started thinking.

Over the years, I’ve had a pretty good career as a broadcaster. The industry has been kind to me and paid me well. Sure there were the 4am starts and late nights, sometimes not getting home till after 10pm. The highs, the lows, but  to achieve what I have after losing my legs was no mean feat (I know, the pun!!).

I worked hard to prove to the skeptics that I could cut it with the rest of them. I also took pride in the fact that I was unique! After all, there was no-one else with no legs and in a wheelchair working in the industry at the time. I always had a positive ‘Attitude‘ no matter how good or bad I was feeling. I never let it drag me into the depths of despair. Sure, there were many times I rode a ‘Rocket to Hell,’ but I always remembered a conversation I had with a very dear friend just after I lost my legs. It helped every time.

I’ve never forgotten it.  I try to live by what he said and taught me to this day.

It goes a bit like this…

“Develop a positive ‘Attitude’, a sunny ‘Attitude’ and something wonderful happens. People will like you. People will welcome you. Through them, you will meet other people because you’ll be a pleasure to have around. If you believe it, you can achieve it. If you can dream it, you can do it. !!!”

He said, there would be times I would need to be bold in order to achieve. There would be times when I would have to take risks with my life’s direction. He suggested that fortune favours the brave and there would be times when I would need to be brave, even if I felt I couldn’t. He told me that people are everything and never to dismiss them just because they may look different to me. He suggested I find out what makes them tick…Once I’ve done that, I might be amazed at how much I learn and how much I can give back.

He taught me many years ago that understanding other people are one of the keys to success. He suggested that knowing what people want and why they want things and want to do things will help them towards their dreams. Once again, I was told that if I helped other people with their dreams they would help me with mine. How true this is! He taught me to take an interest in other people. He said we all have our own story and our own strengths. He put it to me, that if I took an interest in others, they would take an interest in me.

Here’s another thing he taught me.  Be kind to other people and try not to hurt them. Remember to be generous. Being kind and generous is far more powerful than hurting. The more you give, the more you’ll get back. Finally…remember this. If a person makes a mistake against you, forgive them. Don’t keep it in your heart. Your resentment will over time become bitter and bitterness is a bad attitude. If a person falls, help them up.

Remember, ‘Love’ always wins. It might take longer than evil and hatred, resentment and envy, but ‘Love’ always wins. Always trust ‘Love.’ Always know that no matter what – water can cut through iron.  His final words were: “Find out who you are. Know who you are. Know your strengths and weaknesses. Be proud of your strengths and laugh at your weaknesses. Be brave even if you are frightened. Value yourself. There is only one of you. Don’t worry if you feel different from everyone else. We’re all different.” Your new journey is beginning. Just embrace it with a positive ‘Attitude’.

I have never forgotten these words…

RIP my friend. You taught me well.

Steven Demetre Georgiou, remember him? Probably not.

I’m a huge fan. His hits just kept on coming, the albums sold millions. One of my favorites was Tea for the Tillerman.

Ahhh, now you’re remembering. Cat Stevens, that’s right the bearded hippy, folk singer that took the world by storm.

Then he just up and quit. Years later, Cat Stevens resurfaced as “Yusuf Islam”, acclaimed singer-songwriter, humanitarian and philanthropist.

Trouble was, he had become Muslim. Stevens’ decision to leave the music business, become a Muslim, and devote his life to humanitarian and educational causes is one that has often been greeted with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. Then, out of the blue he was back on the world stage, touring and thrilling thousands of fans worldwide. He looked every bit the Muslim, softly spoken and words well chosen, a humble man with a simple message.

Who really cared that this great singer had become a Muslim? We were more than happy to pay the ticket price to see him in concert and listen to his philosophy.

It was inspiring and uplifting and for many, provided an insight into the way of Islam. We were more than tolerant and happy to sit for 2 hours, to listen, be entertained and even learn a thing or two. Or have we? I read daily of the conflict between cultures, the hatred that is building, the clashes and violence happening with regular monotony.

Sadly we have seen the terrible result of one idealist in Norway. Right now we are witnessing the rioting in London and the effect it is having across the world.

(I remember listening to Enoch Powell’s so-called ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech, which was delivered to a Conservative Association meeting in Birmingham on April 20 1968 and thinking this will never happen. How wrong could one be?)

Questions are being raised as to how we could let these things happen. I don’t have the answer, but what I know is this, it has happened, for whatever reason.

I pity the hatred this Norwegian man has for Islam amongst other things. We as a society must learn tolerance. We might not like what we are confronted with, but somewhere within, we must accept it.

It is hard to forgive and forget, but over time, the scar fades.

We are coming up on the 10th anniversary of 9/11 and the haunting pictures are etched firmly in our minds forever. The destruction, loss, anger and pain suffered by everyone in their own way, will never leave us. But, here’s the thing, we have become tolerant and this tragic event for most, over time, has become a memory. It will never ever go away, but we learn to live with it. We live with the fact that Islam is here to stay, we might not like it, but somehow we tolerate it.

I learned to be tolerant a long time ago in fact, October 1973, the day I lost my legs. I’m well over that, but when I read and hear of how people of different cultures are being treated, I can’t help but wonder.

I have nothing but admiration for “Yusuf Islam,” aka “Cat Stevens”.

I will listen and no doubt I might just learn something!

I was asked to comment on the recent performance of Lady Gaga at her concert in Sydney, where she performed a number, using a wheelchair as a prop.

It seems this has outraged people in wheelchairs, their families and friends and has opened the floodgates, creating media frenzy with complaints to Anti-discrimination and other rights groups worldwide.

Look, to be honest, it didn’t faze me one little bit.

As a broadcaster in a wheelchair and someone that’s been in the public eye for the past 38 years, I got over the fact that people saw me as different a long time ago.

Truth is, I never saw it that way. Never have, never will.

Having no legs and in a chair certainly made me unique within the industry. It’s amazing the perception listeners have of you.

On more than one occasion, I was asked; “HOW DO YOU SPEAK ON THE RADIO WITH NO LEGS?” Once I stopped laughing and thought about it, I realized the observation that people had in general, when it came to someone in a wheelchair was draconian.

Education was in its infancy and public opinion was not very gracious.

Did I care? Of course I did. I decided to make it my goal to change public opinion.

I’ve lost count of the number of groups and organisations I’ve spoken to over the years. I coached my sons’ rugby team, shot hoops fished with mates, been the brunt of their jokes etc.

Did I care? No. I gave back as good as I got.

I was accepted as normal so much so that on one occasion as I recall, a group from the Radio Station where I was working at the time, went 10-pin bowling. Everybody was lining up for their bowling shoes and the manager (my best mate) turned and asked. “Porte, what’s your shoe size mate?” I told him and as he ordered my shoes, the person behind the counter stared at him with disbelief.

You see, the point here was simple. He never saw the disability. Just the person. That is how it was and still is to this day. However, there are still people that have a very narrow-minded view. That’s their right but sometimes I wish that those in a wheelchair that still have a chip on their shoulder, for what ever their reason, would take a step back, think about their attitude and the effect it leaves on others.

I never climbed any mountain, flew a plane or embarked on the hundreds of other challenges that people with disabilities have embarked on to prove a point. To say, “Look at me” I’m normal!

I am normal; I have my faults and failings just like you. But what I have is ATTITUDE. I really don’t give a monkey’s that I have no legs. I got a second crack at life and I have embraced it. It’s that simple.

Don’t get me wrong…

Dealing with a tragic accident or illness, is not easy, nor is the aftermath. The rehabilitation, the dramatic adjustment and realisation that things will never be the same are very real and do take time and their toll. I know it is a cliché but “it does get better.”

I actually like Lady Gaga, I think she’s branded herself into a pretty niche position and it’s working. Look, she’s not the first to use a wheelchair. She won’t be the last. Pink did it a year or so ago.

Some people really do need to get the chip off their shoulder and embrace their disability. Make the most of what life has to offer. As I said, I did.

I have no regrets whatsoever. At the end of the day, to be honest, it’s all about ATTITUDE.

The performance was nothing but brilliant and personally, I would hate to see her discard it”.