fakery

Standing outside the hotel waiting for taxis after the three-day MM national project officers meeting finishes, my South Australian colleague asks if I was once a drama teacher. I don’t know how she knows this, but confess that indeed I was. I also confess that as a drama teacher I just stepped into classrooms with kids and got them to use their imaginations.

Principals asked what the school play would be and I told them I had no intention of producing one. I wasn’t into plays. I wanted kids to play. Looking back now I reckon I was faking the whole thing, as a teacher, as a drama teacher, as a ‘serious’ professional.

I have a feeling I’ve always been faking it, it being pretty much everything. Even as a school principal I was faking it, making it up as I went along. The first time I rode a motorbike to Melbourne and pulled at the lights and a fellow biker pulled up beside me and gave me a knowing nod, I was faking it, pretending to be a bona fide biker. I was a biking fraud.

When I padded up and went out to the wicket I was faking it, pretending I knew how to hold and handle a bat. I’ve never practiced enough, never studied enough, never prepared or rehearsed much. Every time I step out to present, I’m faking it, flying be the seat of my pants, pulling rabbits out of hats.

I reckon I’m faking my way through life and mostly life seems all too serious, and I’d rather it wasn’t. It’s easier to have no idea what I’m doing, or why I’m doing it.

There are some things I don’t fake. I’ve never lied when writing reports to employers or funders. I always tell the truth in plain English, no jargon, no padding, no flowery adjectives.

 

This afternoon I perpetrate a classic piece of fakery: the report to the government funding body. MM state co-ordinators must report to the federal department that funds us. Comrade S writes the bulk of the report. I can’t believe she believes what she’s written: it’s pure fakery. She loves a false adjective.

Today I play the game; my whole contribution to her report is bullshit, matching the fluff she’s penned. I’m not proud, but I can’t be bothered faking one second more that I take this seriously.

Rock on.