Two weeks ago, I was done. Done being the voice that calls out poor practice. Done having to fight every time I wanted to do something normal. Just done.
And I meant it.
What’s happened since then hasn’t changed that view. I still don’t want to be the person who has to fight. I still don’t want to feel the need to say something publicly for the message to actually land.
But something’s shifted. I don’t know what exactly. Maybe nothing. Maybe I’m just able to look at this freshly and be grateful - for the effort, the execution, the great humans.
Maybe.
Here’s what’s happened.
After the car crash that was our last day out (see episode #44), I got everything out of my system and into Substack. Shared it on Instagram and LinkedIn - not for views, not for ego, but for ‘fuck it, it needs to be said.’
Normal escalation routes don’t work in society anymore. I still believe that. It’s a shame. Sometimes the only way change happens is when you say things publicly that need to be said. I hate that that’s the way. But it is.
And whilst this is a message of positivity, the data points stand true.
So I posted it on the Monday and left it exactly where it was. Got some beautiful messages from people who’d read it and were moved. I appreciated every one.
Then on Friday afternoon, as I was packing up in the city, I got a phone call from Variety Vic. They’d read what I’d written and were saddened by it. They didn’t want that to be our family’s lasting experience.
So they said two things. First - Hawthorn Hawks are keen to talk. Are you open to me passing your number on? To which I said yes. And second - hey, we’ve got our inclusion day next week at Marvel. Would you and the fam be open to coming along? And would Beckham want to join the players and run on as mascot?
Yes. Yes. And yes.
I was still pissed from the other week. But I wasn’t going to let that, or my ego, get in the way of giving people a chance and doing something the family could love.
As a kid growing up in England, I always dreamed of being mascot for Man United. Back in the nineties, that was a really hard thing to do. I never got close.
So to be able to tell Beckham - you can run out in front of 40,000 people, hand in hand with a player - that meant something. He does so much for Indi. He’s such a great brother. To honour that by giving him something this special? 100%.
And for the rest of the family - we don’t get to do normal things. It just doesn’t happen. Maybe, just maybe, this would be a chance.
So very excitedly, said yes.
Hung up. Half an hour later, another phone call - Adam from Hawks For All, the foundation arm of Hawthorn Hawks. We had a really good chat.
Adam was clearly moved by what had been written. Motivated to make sure the message got heard. And above all, acknowledged the impact and importance of having a voice.
Whilst it doesn’t make what happened okay - the gratitude from him for taking that risk, for putting time and energy into having a public voice, meant a lot. And understanding that when they create initiatives, it’s only when people speak up that they get the feedback to keep driving things forward.
Great chat. I had no idea as to the depth of where they’re going with their initiatives. I really appreciated it.
I went home that Friday very happy. Forget the free tickets. Forget the Beckham mascot thing. Sometimes feeling seen, heard - hearing from good humans - that alone can shift your outlook.
The next week was equal parts excited and nervous. Planning from Friday through to Saturday what it would look like for the family. Rocking up at 3pm for a big event like this - the planning starts days before.
We wanted to embrace the moment. So I went to Cotton On Kids and found the girls brown and yellow hoodies so they felt like part of the Hawthorn crew. Note to self: very hard to find brown clothes. But I think I pulled it off.
Saturday. Allie was at a midwifery expo all day in the city, so I was solo dadding. Got everyone ready on time. Pulled off two decent ponytails on the girls. Beckham was at the right level of excited - not going too crazy. Everyone in the car.
Beautiful car journey down. Drove along Beach Road playing AFL theme songs back to back to back the whole way. Got there, Allie was waiting, everyone in good spirits.
And that’s the point where I think our role in this ends and the role of great humans, great organisations, kicks in.
As we made our way to the gate, we stopped a few times to chat with Variety Vic people in their bright red shirts - kicking a ball through a hole, seeing how many free lollies they had. Just really nice chats.
Indi had a sunflower lanyard and her headphones. So it was pretty obvious why we were at that specific event, and people embraced it accordingly.
We found the gate. The giant red heart mascot was there. The kids loved him.
Everyone from Variety Vic was super welcoming. They understood what a family like ours needs to get from outside in - knowing the kids might not put wristbands on because of how they feel sensory-wise. Knowing they might need a lolly to make the journey. Offering time, help, a smile.
Just happy, smiley people who knew something. There was a level of kindness and empathy you can’t teach.
We went up to the Stark Suite in Marvel. It had been transformed into a giant sensory room. The stewards - that’s what you call them - had clearly been given the heads up that some people coming through might need additional time or space.
What I loved about them was they knew something, but it didn’t change who they were. They still acted real - jokes and all - but did it knowing the audience weren’t ‘typical’ or ‘normal’.
It was amazing. The sensory room had been made safe. There was stuff for the kids. A full array of families on different journeys - but in that moment, everyone felt like they were on the same one.
And the people running it - Variety Vic, the Hawks For All team, the inclusion project - you could just tell - everyone wanted to deliver an epic experience.
Beckham, his little friend, and I got taken downstairs with the other mascots and families. Met - I think it’s Hawker - the Hawks’ mascot, in the tunnel. Then I walked out onto the stadium for the guard of honour.
The kids lined up, and eventually came out, each with a player. Beckham walked out hand in hand with the Hawks captain, James Sicily. You could tell he was proud because he was doing his funny little face - the one where he won’t smile. Just a very straight face. It was very cool.
Back up to the Stark Suite for the rest of the game. It was great. The kids had what they needed. We had a great view of the pitch. From time to time, we could dip out into the seats in front and actually watch it.
I even got five minutes - while the kids were eating chips and the other adults were there - to go out and sit on my own. Watch the football. And, I don’t know, remember what life used to look like.
It was really good. And the game was awesome.
Halftime. The mascots of the inclusion project came up - their new mascots. And purely by chance, they’ve been named Ace and Indi!
Indi - our Indi - is affectionate to us when she wants to be. But not really to anyone else. If she gives you affection, it’s like some sixth sense kicks in and she knows something special about you. It’s a really cool sign.
When we walked her over, she saw new Indi and gave her the biggest hug. And not just once - she stood there for about ten minutes, going through her motions, her routines. Hug after hug after hug.
It was the absolute best bit of the day. I’m smiling so hard just remembering it. Almost welling up. It was really special.
Rest of the game, we stuck around. Kids doing cartwheels or - I don’t know - whatever they needed to do. By the third quarter, Indi was absolutely out of spoons. We scored a Milo ice cream to buy us fifteen minutes to pack up and get to the car.
But before that - Adam from Hawks For All came and said hi. He actually got to witness the Indi-meeting-Indi moment, which was really cool. Then Peter Bruce, the CEO of Variety Vic, came in and had a chat. Nice that he made a point to come over and say hi.
Very grateful to them both and their teams. The work they do is incredible. And when that work - the effort, the energy, the intent - is matched with the execution of great partners, the impact is huge.
Then - after we found our car (forgot what level we were on, so that took a bit of time) - we got home. Kids stayed awake the whole way. Happy. What a day.
Spent the week sharing photos, seeing other pictures posted. One of those days we’ll never forget. Very grateful it happened.
It’s one thing calling people out publicly when things go wrong. You can only do that if you’re also prepared to call people out publicly when things go right. This is one of those occasions.
So yeah - my two-week retirement from Substack is over. But I don’t intend to come back. I’m hoping I don’t encounter things that make me need to. Because I still don’t want be that person. I really don’t. But it’s here. If I need to be, I’ll have to be. And that’s okay.
Thank you so much for following along. Massive shout out to anyone who shared this. It clearly has done the rounds in the last couple of weeks and had an impact - and hopefully a ripple effect for other families out there.
Just a passing thought. For anyone sitting there wondering what they can do - what their organisation can do. From a chat I had with both Adam and Peter, about the one thing I think is missing.
When things go wrong, there always seems to be one thing in common. And it seems to me to be the easiest thing to solve, because it’s completely free.
It’s lived in experience.
In life, when we design things or produce things, we try to take on the perspective of the person it’s for. Cooking a meal for someone. Selling a product. You try to put yourself in their shoes. And nine times out of ten, you can do it pretty well.
You can sit there right now and empathise with the challenges of being a dad, a great husband, and having a job all at once. You can empathise with my wife around the desire to build a career matched with the guilt of wanting to be the best mum. You can empathise with all of it.
But I’m telling you now - if you do not have direct lived in experience of what this journey looks like, you cannot even begin to imagine.
And I don’t want to sensationalise this. I don’t wanna be overdramatic. It’s not me saying you’re not good enough. It’s me asking you to acknowledge a simple fact.
Unless you have lived this life, you simply have no idea. No idea of the grief. No idea of the trauma. No idea of the minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day challenges. No idea of the impact on relationships, or on your outlook on life. No idea how you plan the next day, let alone the weekend, let alone the rest of your life. No idea of the questions you have around when you’ll die and what will happen to your child.
You just have no idea. And that doesn’t make you a bad human. Not at all. It actually makes you a very, very lucky human. My wish for any new parent is that you never have lived in experience. Of this.
But you need to take ownership of that.
If you literally have no idea what it’s like, it’s ignorant to think you can then solve for it. It’s arrogant to think your wisdom is correct. It doesn’t mean your motivation isn’t there. It doesn’t mean you aren’t a great human with a great big heart. But don’t trick yourself into thinking you truly get it, when you can’t.
When I look at well-meaning things that miss the mark, it’s almost always the lived in experience. NDIS has a lot of money. Plenty, plenty of money. The issue? The people making the big decisions don’t have a clue. You can hear it in their speeches every time they open their mouths.
What happened to us at the MCG wasn’t through lack of trying. The sensory room there - built. Incredible. The effort they went to - incredible. What misses the mark? The lived in experience. Because if you’d asked me, as a parent with lived in experience, on some of that operational decision making, I would have pointed it out - before you wasted your time, effort, and money on something that just wasn’t gonna land.
So as you look at your own life or your business, ask yourself: do you have that lived in experience?
First - what would it take to get closer to some? That alone is really useful.
But more importantly - if you’re going to do things that impact a group of people, and you don’t have that experience, how do you bring it into your organisation? At all levels. If you’re a foundation, a commercial entity, or a charity - and you’re pointing at a particular group of people at a certain size - you need representation on your board with lived in experience. You need representation throughout your operational decision making with lived in experience.
If you don’t have it, do something about it.
And if you’re not willing to - absolutely fine. Absolutely fine. But get ready. Because you’re going to keep walking into issues where your good intent, your good hearts, your good energy, your time, and your money - ends up misplaced. Misused. Or wasted.
If you really, really care - get lived in experience into your decision making process. And if you don’t know where to start, come to me. I’ve got mums and dads with very strong opinions (and very very capable people) who are ready to help. Not to moan, not to complain. Ready to help.
So that’s all from me.Massively grateful to everyone involved.
Thanks for listening to my TED talk.
Orrin out - hopefully for the last time
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