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So my brother’s a hero again. He’s starting to get pretty boring that way. You know, running a fire brigade and running a dojo and raising a family (or at least not messing with with my sister-in-law too much while she’s doing it – which is kinda heroic for a guy) and ‘stilling his whisky and growing his pot and pretty much smashing through anything between him and a good time without even noticing it’s there. Or the bruises he got on the way.

He is so fucked up you could totally miss how together he is, if it wasn’t for how he does stuff. So Chunk comes through, being Chunk, so mellow it’s like he’s not even moving, and everyone is “WTF?”, “What was that?”, “How in hell can he do those things?”, “Why on earth would he want to?”.

He’s my step-brother really, if you’re into legalism. When I met him he was pretty small. But he was already Chunk. And he was already at it.

“Pick me up”, said the little kid to his new, full grown brother. So I did. Why not? It was an innocuous way for him to learn who was bigger and stronger. I put him down again. His eyes never left mine. He parted his feet, took a couple of slow, deep breaths and – I don’t know – sort of ‘centred’ himself. “Pick me up”. Was his voice coming from under the floor now? So I picked him up. Not. Do you think I could shift the runt one inch? His eyes never left mine. He was a little kid for chrissakes!

OK, his Mum was well through her judo black belts and she knows a bit of earth magic too. She’s a potter; though she’s getting on now and is more often apotter. When they came to evacuate her she stared them down. Then she went outside and stared down the firestorm. She doesn’t mind saying she’s in her seventies – especially after a narrow scrape – but don’t try telling her that. She lives alone with her animals in the house she helped build way out in the bush with no neighbours in coo-ee. That woman has no sense of stereotype. If she starts buying gingerbread by the metric ton I’m gonna put her away myself. That should be fun. Hmm. On reflection it’s probably important for the whole family to come together in moments such as those. And to stand well to the rear.

She’s a veteran firefighter of course. It’s not like Chunk sprang fully formed from a rock – though there’s something of the Monkey about him. But Chunk is definitely Chunk. Reality couldn’t sustain any more.

From → autobiography

  1. lisanicolehill permalink

    Pretty proud of the baby bugger and his ability to get shit done

    Liked by 1 person

    • Well Lise, as it happens he’s not the only baby bugger I was lumbered with who floors me with pride.

      Liked by 1 person

    • When you made your comment I got an email titled ‘Please moderate “Chunk”‘. At first I thought it was from the cops or courts or something.

      BTW, have you got any power lifting tips for weaklings? I wanna have another go at picking him up.

      (And for anyone checking out her gravatar image, my sister’s the one on the left.)

      Liked by 1 person

      • lisanicolehill permalink

        Ha, I don’t think even they could moderate Chunk. Take his knees out, he can’t centre himself if he’s not properly grounded

        Liked by 1 person

        • Take his knees out, he can’t centre himself if he’s not properly grounded

          Jeez Lise. Here’s me telling everyone you use your medical powers for good and you come along and blow it. I’m tryna build a legend here you know.

          Still, I suppose you could do a nifty job on his knees with an F1.

          Liked by 1 person

        • Ha, I don’t think even they could moderate Chunk.

          Yeah, gunning down a firey wouldn’t be a good look right now, even if he’s black with soot.


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