Every house has a central hub where the family gathers. Generally it is the lounge or the dining room.
Rarely is it the bathroom.
I think I can make this judgement, having lived with more than 10 different families in my life.
But let’s focus back to 14 years ago, when living at my foster home. The year is 2000. A glorious time for an Australian, I suppose.
Because it’s the Sydney Olympics, and only the second time the Summer Olympics has been based in the southern hemisphere.
An Aboriginal woman lights the Olympic torch (this is incredible even for today), rising swimming star Ian Thorpe cleans up with three gold medals and two silver medals (he’s 17-years-old), Grant Hackett recovers from a virus to win the 1500 freestyle, the Hockeyroos win gold after beating Argentina, and the water polo team beats USA 4-3 for the gold.
Most of those victories meant nothing to me at the time.
I only watched the opening ceremony because I heard there would be fireworks.
At my foster home we gather in my foster mother Hazel’s bedroom. Her back is sore so she needs a bed to lie down on, which is centrally positioned. The TV is in one corner, Baz’s couch in the other. Other chairs are lined between the door and Baz’s couch.
We have Austar.
This is where we eat breakfast, dinner, and socialise. This is where we watch the Olympics.
This is where I first watched The Fellowship of the Ring.
And this is where I watched the news and found out a plane crashed into a New York skyscraper.