Recovered memory

Some very clever and interesting people like Mr. Barista have been talking about how our memory works recently.

I was born in 1971.* The first election campaign I can really remember is the trouncing of Malcolm Fraser, i.e. the victory of Bob Hawke.

My family was strongly atheist (later mellowing to agnosticism in my Dad) and fervently Labor. Branch meetings were on Sunday morning, at my primary school. Elections in the uber-Labor area that I grew up in were a cause of excitement: initially chippies and coke after letterboxing, later, sly grog at the big parties. I can remember the telly being taken downstairs and set up in the garage, the buffet out the back. My mum, until recently, had enough cheap cutlery and crockery to do a sit-down three course dinner for 200.

And I can remember all the people watching telly changing when that man came on the telly and cried. They were calmer, and happier. This effect lasted for years.

My desire is to see that moment for us, to have that dragon-slaying victory.


* Which puts me in the Year of the Pig. Pardon me for mentioning but.