He saved me from fireworks
Anyone who knew me when I was in single digits knows what a wuss I was with so many things. I had so many crippling phobias (storms, cockroaches, roller coasters, snakes, etc) I wonder now I look back how I could even function. But among the most terrible was my fear of fireworks. I still remember one of the few times a family member came to collect me early from school – always an adventure for a little kid – when my brother was sent in to get me in fourth class while Mum and Dad waited outside in the car so we could all go to the Sydney Easter show. It must have been a battle getting Dad to take the afternoon off work but he did it, and off we went to the grand back entrance (probably Lang Rd, Moore Park), where Dad had some dodgy mate he knew from the automotive trade who opened some cruddy back gate so we could get in for free. For most of my young life I thought the entrance to the Easter Show was a swinging metal gate about eight feet high. I remember discord in my paren