“Our loved ones don’t need to be given good grades or score goals to make us happy, and it’s not their job to make us proud. But it’s amazing how often they do.” ANTONIO DO DIO continues his “Short History of Kindness “. 

 IT was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Beautiful leaves on stately trees, a cracking Canberra sunset beginning, and a hall of soaring architecture. 

All the lovely things a person sees, they say, are sensed so much more intensely as they walk fearfully towards their execution, and I certainly had a hint of this every time before the Inevitable Interrogation. 

It was about 13 years ago, and it was parent teacher night. And the feeling was in no way different to standing outside Mr Bunton’s office at Macksville High in the early ’80s, waiting for the cane, the speech and the walk of shame wandering, desperate for the school bullies not to see you cry, back to a classroom that gestated your heinous criminality. 

In this case, the cane would have been infinitely briefer and merciful, as teacher after teacher in the educator speed-dating ritual struggled bravely to find something nice to say about a year 8 boy who’s attention span was as long as our family dog’s. 

Seeing my distress, Father Chris, the world’s scariest gentle man, asked what was up. I told him that this was disaster and shame, and could I just swap it for the cane and perhaps a detention. 

He smiled seriously in a way that the kindest men do when they’ve heard something stupid, and said: “Hmmm. Making a decision about someone’s character and conduct at the age of 13? It’s an interesting approach”. 

His head of hair trundled off like the mane of the MGM lion before the Roman and cowboy epics of my youth, but it was his smile that lingered longer than Charlton Heston’s after being cured of leprosy. 

With a back straighter than Phil the Greek and a voice deeper than Barry White, his intellect would have made Tommy Aquinas hide under the bed clinging to rosary beads rather than face him. 

He carried Authority in the palm of his hand, and God better bloody exist because who else could rescue Richard Dawkins in a debate with Chris’ vice-like grasp of the ineffable.

And you know what? It didn’t affect me at all. Sure he was school principal, but what would he know – he has some of the smartest, most brilliant offspring anyone ever did, and several of them I knew well enough to confirm this. 

What would he know of parental frustration? At least he made me feel becalmed enough not to strangle Charlotte and Karen, gorging on the praise their little Lachlan was getting every 7.5 minutes for being the Greatest Child That Ever There Was. 

Fast forward a few years and my batch seemed to have turned out lovely. Not in a competitive “Darius is climbing Everest on his gap year and Cheryl cured cancer last summer in the lobby waiting to get her Premier’s award” kind of way. Not that there’s anything wrong with that either – society needs this. 

My little monsters are doing fine from that external view, I guess, but that doesn’t matter much any more. It is the humans they’ve become that thrills me, not at quarterly teacher meetings, but every day. And in ways that matter to me. 

“Dad, I’ve learned to use a chainsaw. It’s unreal – and I’ve made you something with it” comes to mind. Not to mention being there for each other and for us (ever been carried home from the pub by one of your children? It’s awesome!), or when they read and paint and play sport for fun, not because they have to, or when they race to each other’s rescue in health crises, or when they take days or hours off to just enjoy each other. 

Or when they’ve had a terrible day and they have a phalanx of friends to rely on including that perfect little troll Lachie, who despite being brilliant at school, turned out wonderful, too.

Want to know about health? Keep your cholesterol low, your blood pressure average and your relationships spectacular. 

And when kindness comes along like Father Chris, listen. It will save you years of worrying about what does not matter, and allow you to enjoy every moment of what does. 

My parents and I shared a journey a thousand sunsets ago, and I cannot even remember most of the destinations. All I know is that all I have to remember them by is the journey. 

Our loved ones don’t need to be given good grades or score goals to make us happy, and it’s not their job to make us proud. But it’s amazing how often they do. 

Humans are pretty good, really. And the next time any of us come across life-changing wisdom from someone kind enough to share it, I promise to listen. 

Antonio Di Dio is a local GP, medical leader and nerd. There is more of his “Kindness” on citynews.com.au