The Invisible Tarzan Rope

I remember the first time I spoke to a telephone counselor. I was eleven and my parents had split up about nine months beforehand. It was a particularly challenging time as my father had a new girlfriend and I hated her. We saw Dad every second weekend and whenever we did, she and her daughter were there and seemed to soak up all of our time with him.

My mother was finding it a bit difficult as well, naturally. Having had breakups of my own now, I can see how hard it must have been for her at the time. Back then though, I had no concept of anybody else’s hurt, only my own.

I don’t think some people understand just how hard it is for boys when their father isn’t around for whatever reason. I’ve never been a particularly ‘boyish’ boy and I’m not really a ‘blokey’ bloke. It’s not about being knockabout lads together, though I can’t really explain exactly what it is – it’s just about being there I guess.

So, the counselor. It was because of all this that I was sad a lot and felt pretty lonely. My brothers were around of course but they too were hurt. Besides, what I really wanted was a grown-up who would listen to me and tell me everything would be ok. We lived hours from my extended family and in a small country town. There was no one I could talk to at all. I had heard of the Kid’s Helpline though and seen the ads. I think the number was something like 008 757 008 (this was back in the pre 1800 freecall days). One day after school I found myself home alone. I have no idea where everyone was but I took my chance. I went into my mother’s room and closed the door, picked up the phone. It took me about five minutes to pluck up the courage and dial the number. When I did, I had to wait a few minutes, and then eventually a lady answered. She asked what my name was and for me to tell a bit about myself. I told her, and she listened before telling me her name. She has such a gentle and comforting voice that I just started crying. She said it would all be ok no matter what it was. It all got a bit much then and I started blubbering like a baby. I was bawling, snotty nose and raspy gasps. Warts-and-all crying. After a couple of minutes of this I felt a bit better and settled down a bit. The lady asked me why I was so upset and I told her. I blurted it all out at once and got everything off my chest. It was a relief to share it all, and especially to an adult who wasn’t adding their own stuff on top of it. She was genuinely interested in me and me alone and it was exactly what I needed. We talked for about twenty minutes and I was worried someone would come home and catch me, not that I was doing anything wrong, but I wanted to keep it to myself. I told the lady I had to go, and she said I could call any time I needed to, and to ask for her again. I said I would, and hung up. I don’t now recall what her name was, but I do remember it was a nice and caring name; it gave me comfort.

A few times since I’ve called that line and then the grown-up versions once I got older. Each time has been ok, but none quite as ‘perfect’ as that first time. Perhaps I haven’t needed it quite as much, or maybe it’s just because I’m older. Who knows.