Lord knows, there have been plenty of occasions, these last two decades, to feel embarrassed, even ashamed, about being Australian, from the ‘Children Overboard affair’ in 2001, to Angus Taylor’s recent performance at the UN climate talks in Madrid, to the incomprehensible ramblings of Barnaby Joyce.
A lot of ordinary people, though, get it right. One evening in the week between Christmas and New Year, five members of my family participated in the annual ‘Roo Run’ held at Point Road Knight, just around the coast from Anglesea.
It was perfect weather – the sun was on its way behind the horizon, there was a little breeze and the tide was out enough to make the running-on-the-beach part of the track not too onerous.
We walked the couple of ks from our place to the start and on our way down the cliff path we were passed by the ‘grommets’ doing their race – a 1.6k run for kids. We chatted to the marshals on either side of the track, applauded and high-fived the kids as they flashed or panted past us, tiny sneakers raising tiny puffs of dust, sun smart caps bobbing.
Then it was the grown ups’ turn. Off the 4k runners went, to the end of the beach and back, up the cliff path to Anglesea, back along the shore. No sooner were most of them back than the 8k mob shot away.
All ages, abilities, shapes and sizes participated. Unlike at most sporting events, those who received the biggest ovation were the differently abled kids who came in long after the competition, many of whom were known to the gravelly-voiced commentator by name.
My crew – two doing the shorter race, three the longer – did themselves proud. I stood at the finish line and watched each one come in, with a lump in my throat and finally, when my daughter ran back, once finished, to run the last beach with her dad, tears on my face.
And there was an army of volunteers. As I observed them, I thought of another type of volunteer - the fireys and other emergency services personnel - risking their lives and working themselves to exhaustion across our burning land. Volunteers, from inner city to tiny town – the people who keep all the good things in our communities ticking over.
In the middle of such an anxious summer, I thanked all that is good for our volunteers. Sometimes, in our communities, the ordinary people get it right.
This was published in The Melbourne Age in early January