Meet Mick

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“The day that you’re born, the good Lord opens a book. It’s your book, and he gets his pen and he draws a line through one page in your book. Then he shuts the book and puts it aside. Every day that you live, a page gets turned in your book. You don’t know when that last page is gonna pop up. No one does. But when I saw the light, I also saw my sister, who told me to fuck off because she was having a cuppa with Elvis.”

Mick is one of the people who hang out at Mayfield Bowling Club.

I met him last night, and I asked him if it would be ok if I wrote about him. I took his photo, and now you can put a face to the name. This is Mick:

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Last year in April, Mick’s sister moved on from Earth and is currently hanging out (according to Mick) with music legends. Then in May, Mick had a brain aneurysm. Mick said that he has lost lots of patches of memory from around that time, but that he’s been told that his mates came and saw him in hospital. That they took him downstairs for coffee. 

It was awesome to see Mick telling the sign that states NO SWEARING to fuck off. The highest of compliments that come from Mick would sound offensive to other people. But you don’t doubt for a second the fact that Mick is genuine. Wise. Bit of a smart arse. Good for a chat. 

Mick is one of many people that I met last night, for the first time or again because we may have been a little too sloshed to remember. 

But the bowling club – Mayfield Bowlo – is the perfect example of the role of Clubs in our community. People like Mick, with their stories to tell and their beers to nurse and their jokes – they welcome each other like family. They matter to each other. And when one of them arrives, they are greeted thoroughly, offensively, happily – because they are, after all, family. 

And family is important to Mick. It was regarding family that he delivered another pearler: 

“I’ll always stand up for my mother, because my father stood up for me.”

Good on ya, Mick. Bloody legend. 

 

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