Being Barry's Daughter

My Dad has spent most of his life sharing his opinions which means most people have their own about him.

I know when he's put one out that is particularly evocative because rebuttals will flood my timeline. I'll wade through these observations of my Father while scrolling through the news of the day. Understanding the criticism of his critique while checking off a bingo card of the greatest hits on his character.

He is largely unaffected by it. He has to be given how long he's played this game. Dad knows what he said and why he said it. It's rare that anyone can change his mind. We live in a democracy, he'll tell me. We are all entitled to an opinion.

So he shares his and people respond. It's a one way conversation. They'll speak past one another to their respective audiences. While my siblings and I sit awkwardly on the cross benches.

What's it like, having Barry as your Dad? The fundamental question I've been asked in varying ways my whole life. The most honest answer is that it's like the song that has your name in it that people will sing at you. It's the first joke that pops into their head upon first meeting that you must again smile through. It's the assumption of apples and trees. Never oranges.

I knew from an early age that some people would be weirdly impressed by him. I enjoyed this. I hated this. All the adult attention. The jostling on sidelines, the knowing looks, the fishing for gossip from a 10 year old.

When people heard my last name, I would be archly asked if I was any relation. A query driven first by custodial and then ideological distance. Twittering at my response, what dinner must be like aye?

It is really just dinner. Dysfunctionally joyful in all the ways I consider normal. More than occasionally interrupted by a call coming from inside the House. My Dad is always on. On again he goes about his latest frustration with politician or policy. And your point is? He'll tease, while making sure he belabours his own.

And in that way, I am just like him. Carving out a career in fixation. Talking it over and over to all within earshot. We are free and firm with our opinions. Holding the history in our heads. Fascinated by the yarns we can spin forth from these threads. Blurring the lines until it feels like we are never always working.

What's it like, having Barry as your Dad? The House is full of his colleagues. Faces that appear on the news are in the photos in his hallway. There again at his milestone birthdays. As a result, I grow to be unimpressed by authority figures. They're just that boring guy from Dad's work.

Without fear nor favour, I'll learn carry myself. The one in the group most likely to speak out. The one in the group least likely to back down. Belligerent. Brave. Depends whose asking.

I will write a history essay at university for POLS101 and cite only our personal conversation. Dad will get me the interview for my first job in politics. I will spend time working with people he lambastes. He will be proud of me. I will make bets with him on political outcomes and win all of them. I will walk him to the ATM to pay up.

People will know a lot about my family that I have never shared. They will make clumsy mistakes when it comes to my Mum and my brothers. Women's Weekly will cover his wedding. I will be quoted in the article but will step out of the family photo. People will talk to me about new siblings and will likely know more about their progress.

When he is in the hospital, I won't be afforded the respite of compartmentalism. Dad's health will make headlines so they'll ask about him at work. I will read to him as slips in and out of consciousness. While in my DMs, vague acquaintances will send me well wishes for his recovery.

What's it like, having Barry as your Dad? It means a lifetime of explaining that people aren't just limited to the context in which we encounter them. Knowing that he is hated by many people I like, loved by many I don't. That he has a public facing job but at home he's ours.

Barry is my Dad. It's as simple and complicated as that.

With you,
Alice

PS. I say all of this because Dad has now written a book about his life's work in parliament, One Last Question, Prime Minister. I have started to read it and it sounds exactly like all the yarns I've heard from him around the dinner table.

So if you have read this far as are still interested in with what dinner would be like, read it and stop asking me!