When Buzz Aldrin and Neil Armstrong took a giant leap for mankind in July 1969, it was a big moment.
For me, I mean.
We were watching on a small television and having survived the onset of puberty, there was a girl I fancied to my left.
I worked up the courage to put my arm around her while we were caught in the excitement of history.
One small step for man, maybe. But one hell of a lot of courage from Wayne who – to his surprise – found the girl reciprocating.
So we did what all good teenagers did in those days and went to the movies.
My best mate Geoffrey was the Casanova of the group and much more experienced than me. I’d yet to have my first kiss.
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was one of the movies, and I seem to recall the other being an Elvis film.
This was before Wanda’s time, and she’s probably grateful because right after the kissing scene, I tried my luck and wore spit from my top lip down to my chin. My spit, not hers.
I bungled it so badly, she never saw me again. There was no texting or social media of course, which meant it was much easier to avoid someone like me.
When I hear the modern term “ghosting”, I feel I may have been the one who invented it. I felt a bit like Michael Collins. That’s the third guy who was in Apollo 11 that day, the one inside the spaceship doing the control work who everyone seems to forget.
My point is, we remember what we were doing during big events.
I was young, but I remember the mood at school when JFK was shot, and I can pinpoint where I was when the news of Diana emerged, and when the Twin Towers were hit.
On the happier side, there were great sporting moments like September 1983 when we won the America’s Cup. It wasn’t so much about winning a sailing race as it was about national pride.
We were all extra-Australian that day, watching our prime minister consume Australiana for breakfast.
I was in a newsroom trying to find every party we could to feature in the paper the next day.
Expo 88 was similar. The event was fabulous, but more importantly it filled Brisbane with pride.
If only the girl who ghosted me 20 years earlier had known. I had tickets – lots of tickets.
The build up to the Sydney Olympics in 2000 was extraordinary. Thousands of people put their hand up to volunteer, just to be part of the event.
That was our chance to show ourselves to the world. And we did.
They say the current generation is the “me” generation.
But I think there’s always been a little bit of “me” in all of us. All those years ago, I took advantage of the moon landing to meet a personal milestone, albeit a miserable failure.
Now, in my later years, I look around at the things I find important – potholes on my way to the shops, opening hours of the shops, what sausages the butcher has made this week, features of the latest car models.
And I find myself wanting an Olympics for Brisbane.
People are finding the current costs of living hard. My grandfather spoke about the great depression. That was hard.
But it didn’t stop progress, and I can’t for the life of me see how a stadium, or a fast rail line, or a village for athletes, or two weeks of good times will put such a hole in the economy that we’ll all be eating two-minute noodles for the next eight years.
Olympics or not, there will be a housing crisis. There will be inflation. There will be a need for sporting venues and transport options for future generations.
When 2032 rolls around, I’ll be damn near 80. I do however, hope there’s enough life left in me to enjoy a gin and tonic in a city hotel overlooking the running of the marathon. Like Bob Hawke, I won’t care if it’s 8am.
Hey Wanda, how do you feel about catching a movie at the cinema?
