Brave dad Grant Stevens reminds us it is the little things that matter | Rebecca Whitfield-Baker
I once had the pleasure of meeting the “cheeky” boy whose tragic death at Schoolies last week broke hearts across the country, writes Rebecca Whitfield-Baker.
Opinion
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It’s said that it is the little things that count and if there was ever a time to count the little things it is now.
To be grateful for the things that matter most. To take a moment to appreciate what we do have, and not what we don’t.
To stop and pause and be thankful for, well, the little things.
Because the events of the past week or so remind us that life as we know it can change in a heartbreaking moment.
That the things we wish we had – smaller thighs, a less scraggy neck, a bigger home – matter little in the great scheme of things.
That it is the health and safety of the people we love and cherish that matters most.
Grant Stevens, the state’s police commissioner, selflessly reminded us of this during the week when he penned a heartfelt letter about his beloved son Charlie.
The youngest of five children, the 18-year-old tragically died after being struck by a car near Victor Harbor during the 2023 Schoolies Festival.
Referring to him as “101” – the one hundred and first lost life on South Australian roads this year – Commissioner Stevens sought, amid his family’s own unthinkable grief, to remind us of the preciousness of life. The exquisite perfection of the less than perfect that any parent can relate to.
“I am writing this sitting in a bedroom with dirty clothes on the floor, an unmade bed, six drinking glasses lined up on the bedside table, an empty KFC box next to the glasses, wardrobe doors left open … it is a mess and it’s perfect. This is where 101 lived,” he wrote.
“101 is Charles Stevens – Charlie, Charlie Boy, Chas, Links, Steve.
“You lived life and gave so much to so many. You were a force of nature and we will never forget your beautiful cheeky, disarming smile.
“Son, brother, grandson, uncle, nephew, cousin, friends, workmate, teammate. So much more than just a number on a tragic tally.”
I had the pleasure of meeting Charlie and witnessing first-hand the beautiful, cheeky smile all who knew him talk about, of seeing the twinkle in his eye and watching as he generously and warmly embraced others, the cool kids and shy kids alike.
It was just before heading to watch my 16-year-old play cricket that I learnt the awful news of Charlie, not able to comprehend it, or begin to imagine his family’s heartache.
Suddenly, it mattered little if my son made a 100 runs or none, if his team won or lost, all that mattered was that I’d get to see his cheeky smile and eye twinkle post game.
That I’d get to hear about the screamer of a day one of his teammates had, and another mate’s hilarious stinker.
The contentious umpire decision – there’s always got to be at least one.
To hear of the good-hearted sledging he’d given a friend playing on the opposing side out of earshot of the coach and his opposition mate’s clever comeback.
Most importantly, that I’d get to hug him, holding on a little longer and tighter than usual, suddenly relishing the task of again having to get the pesky grass stains out of his stinky cricket whites.
Ahead of the game, I’d made a batch of scones for our school’s regular umpire – his teatime favourite – as a pre-Christmas gift intended as a small show of my appreciation for his putting up with my boys the past few years – their eye-rolling, over-the-top appeals and on-field fun.
I was frustrated as I made them, somehow having managed to misplace between the supermarket and home the cream I’d bought for them the previous evening, sending me into a mini “how-come-nothing-is-ever-easy” meltdown.
It was mid tantrum that I happened on the devastating news of Charlie, abruptly shocked back to raw reality.
During the week we also learnt the faces and stories of the “fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers and friends” killed on SA roads ahead of Charlie in 2023 – their family and friends’ lives forever changed in the most harrowing of ways.
Too often we worry about things – and people – that don’t matter, instead of what does – time with our kids, laughter with our friends, connecting with good people. Treasuring the now, taking a moment to be kind, to smile at a stranger.
To smell the proverbial roses.
It was the creator of Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who famously said: “The little things are infinitely the most important.”
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