My Big Three

Male role models.

A tribute to the men who made me.

A life, growing up as a boy raised by a single mum.

There are three men who I consider to be the major figures in my life as male role models, teachers, and guides. The idea of writing this article came to me after attending my grandfather's funeral and realising I only had one of the big three left. This is a tribute to those men, a reflection on male role models, and as always, an acknowledgement that my mother is the best person ever.

First things first. As I've mentioned in previous things I have written, and something I discuss semi-frequently is I was brought up by my mum. I'm one of four boys and around the time I was five, my household went from a team of six to a team of five. This was a necessary change, but it meant that my mum was left with four sons between the ages of 1 and 9, all of whom were varying levels of messed up. Parenting is hard even at its easiest. I see everyday as a teacher, parents who are doing their best, have "no additional difficulties" and are struggling with life the universe and everything. There is a reason for the adage, "it takes a community to raise a child", it's because it... takes a community to raise a child. Community can take many forms, but it used to be that it was an often local community of neighbours, ectended family, church or community groups, or some other form. It feels that this is missing now for a lot of the people I teach, and reflections on that will come at a later date.

My mother was a G.P. who mainly worked in womens' health (the irony of focussing on womens' health and having a gaggle of boys was brought up frequently). She was under the pump, she had a baby in nappies, and the other three of us weren't exactly capable of pulling our weight. This never defeated her though. Everynight we were read to, and got our own time. Mum made activities for us to do, she had us invovled in sports, and everything else she could have done. I cannot overstate how massive of an effort this was, how amazing she is, and what it means that with what she started with after a divorce and being left with four boys, how it all turned out.

This is not an article about my mother. This is about three men, Bill, Clive, and Frank.

The first of the big three:

Bill - The Grandfather, the team member and facilitator.

My grandpa was one half of the best team the land has ever seen. The other half being my grandma. They met in pharmacy school, owned and ran a pharmacy together for decades, raised five kids, had sixteen grandchildren, and a still growing number of great-grandchildren. That's a very brief list of what they achieved together.

Grandpa and grandma were a "get shit done" kind of operation. When my mum was first left with us four on her own, there was no option for giving up, because shit had to get done. The reality of this (as far as I know) linear time world, is that one can only do so many things in a day, and generally only one thing at a time. The first and greatest lesson my grandfather taught me, was that when help is needed, you step up. Within a year of divorce, my mother had children at two different schools, and two different daycare/kindergartens. Those of you who remember the start of this paragraph will remember the issue of linear time. Mum needed to work, because we wanted to eat, and live in a house. We needed to be at school or in care because of the law, and you know... that learning stuff. Grandpa was still working (getting shit done) well into his seventies, but his child needed assistance, so he just did it. School drop offs and pick ups became part of his portfolio. Now, through a period where most people are looking to retire and enjoy the harvest of the labours they have partaken through their career, they generally aren't looking for new part time jobs. The dozen or so hours each week that my grandfather spent chauffering my brothers and I around are ones I am eternally grateful for and have many fond memories of.

The next lesson I learned from my grandfather was what a team player looks like, and what being in a strong relationship should look like.

I have no illusions that my grandparents were working in a way that would pass all scrutiny of 2026 as I am writing. Gender roles were a big deal, societal norms were what they were, and I don't believe that (amazing as they were) my grandparents were perfect.

My grandparents met at pharmacy college. By all accounts, on first meeting my grandpa was very impressed, my grandma... less so. But off they went, grandpa did an honours year, grandma topped the class (women in the 1940s and 50s weren't meant to be topping pharmacy classes, I can only assume no one told her this). After uni, they went into business and Jackson's Pharmacy was set to become an institution in Westgarth.

I grew up watching my grandparents working as a team, they were in sync like Magic and Kareem, they dominated their domain like Elizabeth and Phillip (but without being unelected sponges), and they did it all with aplomb. There was never a challenge I saw them not overcome, there was never a person left unwelcome at their table, and there was never a meal that went without a healthy dose of Worcestershire sauce. Bill and Margaret were a duo that adapted with the times, were patrons of the arts, world travellers, trend-setters, and endlessly caring. I don't want to be part of any team that doesn't look like they did. Not perfect, but always looking to be better.

I am so lucky to have had the grandfather I did, and to get to have him in my life for as long as I did. Not everyone gets 34 years and 1 week with a grandpa. I got the best one, for a long run.

The second of the big three:

Clive - The coach and mentor.

It was my cousin Sam who introduced me into the world of lacrosse, he told me and my brothers he had started playing a sport where you whack people with sticks, we were all in.

Brunswick Lacrosse Club (Then Moreland LC) was where I met Clive. He was the founder of the club, the president, and the coach. Clive had founded the club when his son was coming to an age where he was ready for team sport but lacking a local lacrosse option. Years later, I wandered into the joint and the rest was history.

I didn't have a lot to do with Clive, the charismatic font of lacrosse and life wisdom, for my first few years at the club. I began to show a bit of potential in my lacrosse play, and when I ended up as a goalie, I inherited two mentors and a ticket to "goalie school". The senior goalie at the club and Clive spent the offseason working on their play. It meant each week I was down at the club seeing hundreds of reps and working on my technique. Goalie school was where Clive went from a mysterious lacrosse Yoda figure, to his own person. Goalie school led to life lessons, coaching opportunities, and a whole lot else. Clive had a knack for identifying the kids in need at the club. The kids who society found easiest to write off, were the ones Clive made sure had a safe space at the club. As I began to struggle with depression as I got older, Clive was always there. When outbursts happened, when meltdowns occurred, when the kids who just couldn't cope, or were at risk, or whatever else... the point is, Clive made a place for those people. He made a club where it was normal to talk about mental health openly, a long time before that was normal.

I once described my lacrosse club as "a place where the broken toys that no one else wanted to play with had a space to feel valued." That's what he made.

As with my grandparents, I have no illusions that Clive was perfect. But he was a genuine man, who did what he could for others, and at his funeral it became clear to many, just how long he had been this way. The young men who made it because he was there to shepherd them through, the ones who society had given up on, the people whose lives were saved by lacrosse, we all got to see that we were not alone in that.

Coaching is something to save for another journal piece. Suffice it to say. Clive gave me my first coaching opportunities, and once I got going, I haven't stopped. As a coach, I've been involved in a dozen national tournaments, dozens of club sides, four national championships, and I've had a chance to become the mentor and guide for a new generation of people who could otherwise fall through the cracks. All because a great man saw potential in me, and helped my chase my dreams.

The last of the big three:

Frank - the rock and the sounding board.

Frank entered my life after an administrative error (or something like that) resulted in my future best mate getting swapped into my class on orientation day for high school. I'd not particularly hit it off with any of my future classmates, and he was thrown into the group midway through the day. He ended up sitting next to me, and the rest as they say, is history. That was 22 years ago as of writing, and what a time it has been.

Frank is my best mate's dad, so I've known him for most of those 22 years. When I first started hanging out on Emma Street, Frank and his two sons were enjoying a long campaign of abruptly throwing random things to/at each other. The first time an egg arced through the air at me I thanked my lacrosse honed reflexes. I don't have the time to write all of the shenanigans I got to enjoy on Emma Street, but for the first time in my life I got to see the "dad" side of being a man. Grandpa was the man, but he was a grandpa. I got to see him being a dad to my mum, but that is very different, especially when you're young. Clive was a mentor and coach, his kids were adults by the time a young me appeared at the club. Frank however, was a dad that I got to see being a dad, and who included me. I was welcomed in for the bike rides, the back yard projects, the dinners, all of it.

There are no "dad" things that my mother didn't do. She learned how to be both parents during the trial by fire that was our upbringing. This is not a critique of her. I truly believe no one could have a better dad than my mum.

As I got older, it was clear not all was right in my home away from home. As happens with many people, work stress, marriage stress, an eventual divorce, retirement and aging have been taking their turn. In a new chapter, I hope that there are ways I can support Frank now that he has given so much to me in shaping the man I am.

The realisation that Frank was the last of my big three struck me in the wake of my Grandpa's funeral. While writing the grandchild portion of Bill's eulogy, I reflected on the loss of Clive a few years earlier, and how lucky I have been in my life to have these three amazing men. I was ten pin bowling with Frank and Staz two weeks ago (Frank scored 231, a real tour de force) when the idea of writing this piece came to me.

Not everyone grows up with their dad around, but what's worse is not everyone gets to have a male role model, very few are as lucky as I have been in my life to have three. Not to mention the uncles who supported our family, and the other amazing men in my life who I have been exposed to.

These days, one of my favourite things in this world is seeing my male friends being amazing dads. I am so lucky to know so many people who fit that bill and am of an age where we have new additions to The League of Extraordinary Fathers entering my life regularly. This however, is a tribute to the men who play that role for those who like me, could have turned out very different. The lost boys...

I hope that through my coaching, and my teaching, and maybe one day if my writing takes off and this blog goes viral, I can be something like the role model "the big three" were for me.

I miss you, Clive and Grandpa, and I love you Frank.