And this became a useful social lubricant. Yet I remained a devout Dees supporter, always up for a kick. Why you would want to watch one twice was lost on me. Years later, halfway through watching a taped copy of Muriel’s Wedding, the 1998 grand final came on – such was the urgency to capture a game in our household. Like other footy-loving households, we had little soldiers of VHS tapes standing to attention in case anyone wanted to re-watch a grand final from the last decade. Dad always tended our turf with great care. They would slink down the driveway after school and first thing Saturday to play with my brother and sometimes dad too, on our lush green lawn.
Neighbourhood kids, all boys, frequently commandeered our backyard. When I was a kid, having a kick felt like enough. Standing tall, pulling back my leg, letting it swing through to connect the ball with that sweet spot on my foot – sending it sailing into the air. Halfway through watching a taped copy of Muriel’s Wedding, the 1998 grand final came on I was a day-dreaming, stay-in-bed-all-day-reading sort of kid. But since I didn’t want to play, I didn’t bother to fight it. Even in primary school, this seemed a double-standard to me. We would watch the footy on the telly, scoffing meat pies or footy franks as a treat.ĭad thought footy was too rough for girls. He would be sombre after a loss, sunny after a win. My gentle giant of a father boomed when he watched the Dees, especially when they were losing. But after meeting my dad, mum became a Wag. Mum was a badge-wearing member of the Anti-Football League, a tongue-in-cheek organisation sparked by journalist Keith Dunstan in 1967, to poke fun at the obsession with Aussie rules and raise money for the Berry Street Babies Home. “He broke up fights, never started them,” she humble-bragged to me as a kid. My nanna kept a scrapbook of newspaper cuttings, now faded and glue-stained, showing pixel-ly photos of her son – my dad – going up for a mark alongside giants of the era. He played 23 games over four years for the Dees wearing No 25 and was paid $25 (a coincidence only) for each. We reached out to Meeter Elementary School Wednesday night to see if any other parents have come forward with flyers like these.In the late 1960s my father, Peter Weekes, was a 21-year-old ruckman for the Melbourne Football Club, back when players had full-time jobs away from playing footy. Red Bluff Police told Taylor they patrolled the area where the flyer was found, looking for any posters or the person responsible. "To make the community aware to make sure there are more eyes paying attention, and to make sure that our kids are safe," said Taylor. This parent doesn't want other families to go through this even once. "As soon as they saw it, they grabbed it and immediately thought of the kids that can see it, saving it from the brother." They took it down and kept it to tell their mom and make sure no other child caught a glimpse. Taylor says her boys saw the flyer purposely taped onto a power pole. "This time it was up on a pole and my 16-year-old said it was very obviously up there for people to see."
Of course, this is not suitable for television, so we had to heavily blur the flyer. The 16-year-old son brought it forward to his mom. "I jumped on Facebook, and that's where it got more attention, and it needs more attention because it needs to stop." "I did reach out to the police because I want it to be on their radar," she said. This second time around is two times too many. "They were very upset and said 'it happened again.' This is two times now."
Taylor, trying to wrap her head around why someone would put adult-only material on a pole just blocks away from her eight-year-old son's school. "I'm angry, I'm mad, that someone would just put it out there for children to see," she said.