IIn the weeks between school in Sydney and the start of university, I met up with my friend Chris who was busy forming a new youth group under the banner of St Vincent de Paul. I asked if I could attend and attended my first meeting in January 1989.
The others in the room were people who had gone to St. Leo’s Catholic Academy, including Mickey G., the tallest boy I’d ever seen, standing six feet seven inches – two metres. The language is colorful and the laughter is boisterous. As daring as these people are, here they are organizing blanket and food donations for locals in distress. Late at night, they were handing out sandwiches in Sydney. They have hearts of pure gold and they become my people.
In May, I received a call from a member of the Vinnies group. He was distraught – Chris and Mickey G had been in a car accident. Their minivan hit a four-wheel-drive vehicle head-on. It takes the jaws of life to free them. Chris and Mick were rushed to Westmead Hospital. Mick was seriously injured and stayed in the hospital for more than a month. I already knew he had a beautiful heart, but during the weeks he was in the hospital when he became the captive of this crazy girl who kept skipping college to visit, I learned everything I needed to know to fall in love.
Mick was one of six children in a Catholic family. He’s studying technology, has an earring, and a wicked mullet. He was very tall and painfully thin. Too cool for me, I thought, but the heart wants what it wants.
A full four months after the accident, Mick finally realized that I was developing a crush on him. Too nervous to make any moves, I continued to hang out with everyone, waiting and hoping. For a man who was otherwise so bright, Mick was certainly a bit dull when it came to matters of the heart. Sometimes, when we were hanging out at the RSL with friends, he would point out some girl to me and say, “She’s tall, maybe she’s the one?” At one point, I lost patience with him. I raised myself as high as I could and asked sharply, “Then why does she have to be so tall?” He responded in surprise: “Uh–I don’t know, it’s just that I’m tall?”
Then, on the night of his 19th birthday, September 1, 1989, he pulled off a move that his buddies had never let him down – but to me it was perfect. He made “Yawn.” It was at Celebrations nightclub in Hornsby RSL, after a few dollars’ worth of drinks, that he yawned and stretched, and when his arm came down, it rested tentatively on my shoulder.
Mick and I started spending more and more time together. It was so easy to talk to him. We laugh about the same things. We had some pretty lively conversations about football (I’m a Balmain Tigers girl, he a Magpies boy), politics and band. We are both a blue-collar family; we don’t agree on all issues politically, but our views and values are the same.
One night after we went out, Mick walked me home, kissed me goodbye (standing two steps away from me so I could touch his face), and then drove the 15 minutes back to his house. Then our phone rang – the big cord-rolling device in the front hallway, positioned so that everyone could hear every damn word you said. It’s Mick. “Get out,” he said. “Look at the moon! It’s huge! You should see its colors! You’ll love it!”
The call brought something to me, soft, like a blanket. An understanding, an understanding. Certainty. This 19-year-old boy was in awe of the moonrise and wanted to share it with me—he was my person. he came.
That was 35 years ago and he is still and always will be my person.
We, like everyone, have had our share of storms over the years. But we always got through it together, even the toughest moments.
It’s been such a fulfilling life and I’m loving Mick all over again at every new stage, which makes me so happy. As a young father and now as a grandfather to our divine little Delilah.
Sometimes I’m surprised when I see us in a shop window, in a mirror, or in a candid photo. We are a little weathered, a little gray, life has left its mark. I was surprised because in my heart I still felt like that teenager who looked at the moon and knew she had found the other half of her soul.
Your Time Begins Now: Food and Fame, Failure and Freedom: The Life Story of Australia’s First Chef by Julie Goodwin is out now (Ebury University, Australia) MSRP $36.99)
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