I won the lottery of life with my public housing upbringing

Bernard Salt‘s Terang house in 1960. Picture: Supplied

There was a time in my life when I regarded my childhood experience growing up in public housing in country Victoria as being somewhat deprived. In my late teenage years (and even into my early 20s) when I moved to Melbourne for university, I saw differences, which I interpreted as unfairnesses, between my life experience and that of others.

How wrong-thinking was I! I had the most fortunate of upbringings. I won the lottery of life. I was raised in a loving family with a present mother and father who contributed to my childhood experience. I was never cold or hungry or frightened as a kid. I was not abused. I was loved, unconditionally. And I knew it.

I experienced the warmth, the fun, the energy of a large family of six kids. There is something comforting being No.5 in a clutch of siblings all attending the same school. Siblings paved the way; gave me a “position”.

We would eat as a family, all eight of us crammed around a kitchen table that dad had handmade, sitting on benches he also made. The table was topped with linoleum, an offcut from the same linoleum that lined the kitchen floor. After dinner, an older brother and sister would stand on the tabletop (shoes on) and sing and dance “There’s a hole in my bucket.” We all squealed with laughter.

Bernard Salt, aged12, and Robert Salt, aged 15.

I never asked my parents later in life, but I wish I had. Were they aware of the sheer exquisiteness of that moment they created? I suspect not. I suspect to them this was just life. It was nothing special. But it was special. It was a defining moment in so many ways. It was a snapshot of an average family making the most of whatever resources they had.

This feeling of belonging, of being loved, of feeling safe and secure extends beyond the family. These are feelings that can be bestowed by a functional and loving extended family including aunties and uncles, and by involvement with sporting clubs, schools, churches and more.

I was a sporty kid, as were all my brothers and sisters. With sport there was a sense of fitting in to a broader, welcoming community that involved other families, other faiths, other financial capacities. However, in the country town sporting arena all that mattered was how well you played, how fast you swam, how many goals you scored at netball.

With sport there was a sense of fitting in to a broader, welcoming community.

At that time sport was the universal leveller. It united and it galvanised entire communities. Not just the players and their families but the coaches, the trainers, the timekeepers, the lady who washed the footy jumpers and proudly hung them on her clothesline for all to see. We all had a place; we were bound together by family, by community, by common values.

These perspectives come into focus with startling clarity later in life when it is possible to see what matters and what doesn’t in life. I was fortunate in being born into a family and a community that shared common values. This is not to say that there weren’t fault lines (often around religion) but they didn’t seem to impact everyday behaviour.

Which leads me to conclude that while there are challenges we all face in life, some more than others, with the support of family, however defined, and strong communities, the pathway forward is made that little bit easier.