A family trip to Canberra proves to be child’s play
This week: The Murphys’ Cultural Trip To Canberra – or, How My Family Nearly Broke Our Nation’s Capital.
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This week: The Murphys’ Cultural Trip To Canberra – or, How My Family Nearly Broke Our Nation’s Capital.
It was ambitious, yes, my school holiday plan to power through as many civic attractions as possible in a day and half, with three youngsters and an overseas guest in tow.
Spirits were high as we set off from Sydney, and even higher once we’d visited the Big Merino at Goulburn and exited via its giant concrete butt, much to the perplexment of our foreign friend.
But at our first stop, the National Museum of Australia, the folly of my packed itinerary for smallish children became quickly apparent.
If our Canberra cultural tour had subtitles they would read like this: Don’t touch that. Stop climbing that. Don’t even think about touching that. Get down from there. Don’t even pretend to think about touching that.
It was indeed like herding cats, if you had a trio of slightly bored yet hyped-up cats who may or may not have been bribed with icecream before lunch.
The kids inadvertently stress-tested the security at several of our national institutions (you’re welcome).
At the museum, one set off an alarm by pointing too closely at a priceless statue; at the gallery one was warned for rapidly approaching a painting; and outside the war memorial they were sprung clambering all over an old tank.
By the time we got to the Royal Australian Mint, I feared my offspring would launch an Ocean’s Three-style heist, and briefly considered leaving them in the convict leg irons they’d tried on back at the museum.
That said, we loved every attraction. At the fascinating Mint they learned the true value of commerce when for $3 they could print their own $1 coin.
At Parliament House, I bumblingly explained to the kids the Westminster system of government as they flopped all over the public gallery seats, and then I opened the floor to question time. “Why is this side red and the other side green?” my eldest asked.
“The bicameral system, sweetie – we’ve already been through this.”
“But why choose red and green?”
I was saved from my ignorance by the other daughter claiming the lower house was blue instead, prompting the most colourful debate in the chamber since the Keating era.
Fatigue eventually set in at the excellent War Memorial, where we watched an 11-minute video on the hardships of the Kokoda Trail. In a monumental irony the seven-year-old refused to stand up afterwards because her “legs were so tired”.
Over dinner that night I asked my five-year-old son what he’d learned on our journey of knowledge.
“That wishes don’t come true,” he replied solemnly.
My heart broke in two. Had I exposed my child to the harsh realities of life too early via our great civic and historical institutions? “Why, darling?”
“All the adults in this room,” he gestured in a meaningful arc, “wished when they were kids that the world was made of candy.
“But it’s not made of candy, is it. So wishes don’t come true.”
I couldn’t fault the logic. Another educational holiday activity triumph.
Miranda Murphy is a mother of three and a journalist at The Australian.
Follow her on Twitter @murphymiranda
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