More from
THE GRASS IS BROWN ON BOTH SIDES OF THE FENCE

THE AUCTION OF THE FILM POSTER

Incidentally the size of the huge poster was not only its asset but also its drawback.
Who would have a wall big enough to house it?

When I arrived at the auction house and saw it hanging there dwarfing everything else that was up for grabs I was disappointed.

Those that had restored it had made the mistake of making it look brand new. It was covered in a shiny lacquer that gave the impression it had been printed yesterday. Whereas, if they had restored it in a way that showed its age, it would have been so much better, as its age was its charm. It sold for $4500 and for a $100 outlay, and $650 for its restoration, I can’t complain - but how I wished that I had been there to oversee that restoration. It was at this time that my relationship with America changed. I had noticed for some years that the Australian interest in nostalgia for all things Western was drying up. Disco and Cowboy Boots were now passé. So, while it had been fun, I knew the time had come to close my stall at the Chapel St Bazaar.
No problem for me - it was a case of been there done that.

That whole year that I had spent in New Zealand had been rugged. But it had toughened me up and restored my confidence in my abilities.
I had time to think when I was there, and the combination of all that had bubbled up in my analysis, plus the recent events that had taken place in Christchurch, had combined together and were noticeably effective in dissipating the power that my father had over me.

Without my feelings of rage towards him swamping my reason, I was able to understand that he must have pretty well treated me the same way that he had been treated. It wasn’t pleasant to find out that I too had been guilty of handing elements of that legacy on to younger minds that were in my care.

My analysis was about a lot more than wanting approval, although it was certainly a linchpin in getting other problems to the surface. Early on I asked the doctor how we would know when the analysis would be over. His reply was it would probably be when we have nothing more to talk about.

ANOTHER SESSION. AND AS IT WOULD TURN OUT, MY LAST ONE

So, how are you?

Good, really good.

You seem in charge.

The play that I did in New Zealand was the toughest gig of my career so far. (And it would remain so until I retired). Being in New Zealand for a whole year toughened me up, and has made me realise that for a long time I have been adept at faking a confidence that I didn’t really feel.

SILENCE

I don’t know, something like that, but whatever the reasons my father no longer has any power over me.

No he doesn’t.

Doesn’t what?

Have any of that time-honoured power over you.

I know, but how do you know?

Because if he still had that power it would have been obvious to me in what you have been telling me.

In what way?

There has been no anger in your telling of it. None whatsoever. If he still had the power over you, at least some anger would have been evident.

So I’m OK then?

I think so. If it is to resurface as a problem, I think you will now be able to use what you have learnt about yourself, and find reasons in a rational way that will solve it.

SILENCE
SILENCE
SILENCE
SILENCE

I once asked you how would we know when the analysis would be over.

And I said probably when we had nothing left to talk about.

SILENCE
SILENCE
SILENCE
SILENCE
SILENCE
SILENCE

I don’t think I am being fair.

In what way?

Well all of my analysis has been subsidised by Medibank.

So?

Well, I just don’t think it’s fair when, in order to get my refund from Medibank, I have to weave my way through street kids who can’t even afford to get their teeth fixed.

YES

Kind Eyes response to what I had just said, coupled with the volume of his reply, startled me.
It was so unlike him, but I knew from his reaction that he had come to the conclusion that my analysis had reached the point where he thought it was time for me to go it alone.
The time was right to end it and he knew that, and I guess I knew it too. Although it would take me some time to get used to the idea.

Just like that it was over.
We talked on for a bit about things in general until, as usual, BEEP had the last say.

It was time for me to leave. Kind Eyes and I shook hands and I took that opportunity to thank him for all that he had done. He was quick to rebuff my thanks by saying that it was me who was responsible for what he thought was a good result. He said that I had seemed to use him in some way during our sessions, as if I had strong instincts about the right directions to take, in order to find the keys that could and would unlock, more often than not, what I needed to know.

I was to see the doctor Kind Eyes again. Six months later he would come and see a one-man show that I had written and performed. I was delighted when I saw him afterwards. He loved the show and said that although he had heard a lot of those stories before, it was great to revisit them again in a situation where he was allowed to laugh.

Analysis is never over. You have to be vigilant. Old habits will lead you down those well-worn roads. But if you can create a fork in that road that you can recognise, you can give yourself an alternative path. But you have to be quick, very quick, to spot it or else you’ll miss it and end up where you don’t want to be. But like all roads, you get to know them better the more you travel on them, and those detours become easier to spot. However, never take your eye off the road because as we know, that’s when accidents happen. You can repair minor scratches on your psychological duco, but for bigger bingles it’s sometimes wiser to seek the aid of a panel beater.
I’ve had my car repaired and resprayed quite a lot.

***********************************************************************************

I’d like to rate this chapter. Rate it

 

 

This is a private page, so to go to the website click here.