By Jakab Kaufmann
4am realisation. Whenever my parents and I drive anywhere, my father insists on driving the most ridiculous routes to get to wherever we’re going because he insists it’s quicker. He tends to be wrong because he chooses routes that were new in the 70’s so it’s a combination of nostalgia and a determination to assert his power that govern his decisions rather than logic. My mother, sitting in the front seat, will usually kvetch at and chide him for taking such a far-fetched route but he insists because he’s driving. I, sitting in the back, try to ignore the futility of the argument for the most part, occasionally piping in to point out that the argument is not helping even though my mother is right.
Oh and much like question time, the conversations in the car can sometimes be riveting, heated and interesting, but they can also be dull, repetitive or business-related. Except when my sister joins in and tells us her hilarious stories about pathology sample collections (let’s just say it involves cling-wrap). Or when my brother hands over a heavy metal cd to play. Parliament needs more heavy metal; probably got enough excrement.
God knows what to make of the fact that as soon as my father turns on to Belmont road, he takes his eyes off the road as he reaches for his keys, which are just next to the brake; the paid maternity leave scheme that the prime minister allegedly believes is a necessary step in the development of the country despite the myriad other problems that he ideologically cannot recognise? Sacrificing safety and efficiency for something that, in good conscience, could be taken care of moments later like when we even get to the garage.
I don’t know. Maybe this part of the analogy is far removed because at least we know that my father’s keys exist and we know for sure that he’s committed to getting them.
And I also love my father. I do not love Tony Abbott.