A Few Good Men - The Other Fathers

I grew up without a dad. Most of you already know that. I have written about it many times. Sometimes just a memory. Sometimes a letter. And sometimes just a mention here or there.

It wasn’t always easy but it wasn’t catastrophic either. Of course, my Mum had a lot to do with that. She was our Mum and our Dad and she did an incredible job. In many ways I believe I have grown to be the woman I am BECAUSE of my absent father. But that’s a whole other blog post!

So today, on the figurative eve of Fathers Day in Australia I am writing about the ‘other’ fathers in my life. The men that taught me all the good things that I needed to learn about all those dad-things. My experience has taught me that fathers come in many forms and wherever I can I like to acknowledge and celebrate that.

Uncle Arthur

The most constant male role model in my young life was my Mum’s younger brother Arthur. I’ve written about him before here but what I want to say about Uncle Arthur is this. He was only ever in my life as an Uncle and only part-time, as Uncles tend to be. My Opa [his father] died when I was very young and my other Uncle, Marcel, lived away so Uncle Arthur became the ‘man’ of the family by default. He would never have admitted it. That was just the way he was. But he did all the ‘man’ stuff required for the family. He moved the furniture and serviced the cars and fixed the houses. He was gruff and scary when he was grumpy. You did not fuck with my Uncle Arthur. But he was a strong and caring man who taught me many things, without even trying, about what life could throw at you and how best to dodge the shit. 

He was also pretty cool. One night, driving down Marion Rd in his Buick [he had THE COOLEST cars] a carload of hoons excitable young men pulled up next to us at the lights. I was in the front passenger seat and they started revving the engine of their souped up piece of shit car and yelling out lurid comments compliments at us. Uncle Arthur smiled at them and turned to me and said ‘You ready?’ ‘Yep’ I answered wide-eyed and unsure of what I needed to be ready for. And then the lights turned green and it was on like Donkey Kong. Those poor bastards blokes didn’t know what hit ‘em. It was exhilarating. He was shifting gears like a racing car driver and had his signature look of determination on his face. I was so excited that I was squealing and giggling and being totally not cool. At all. And then he slowed down and laughed and his dimples seemed deeper than ever. Like a little boy. As a girl I never understood the treasure that moment was. But as a woman, when I remember that time, I see how it impacted me. It has stayed with me for thirty years so far. He showed strength and fun and vulnerability and an unwillingness to back down that I’m sure made a mark on me. 

He has his own kids and grandkids who have missed him every day since he died eight years ago.  I know they will feel his absence this Fathers Day, as I do too, but they are so fortunate to have had that man as their father for the years that they did.

My Step-Dad Sal

Mum started dating Sal when I was a teenager. Before Tinder and RSVP.COM you had to meet people in person. Often by chance. I remember the day she came home and told me that she had ‘seen’ this man who worked a couple of boutiques down from her. “He’s GORGEOUS!” she gushed and I rolled my eyes. I was a teenager – that was the standard response to anything my Mum said. So their relationship began like a fairtytale. Really. They courted and went on dates and there was this new man in our life who had never been married or had his own children. But nothing phased him. He stepped into our ready-made family with a willing and generous heart. The relationships between my brother and I and Sal developed naturally and organically and as a result he has become the most present male in my life. He rode in the car with me and walked me down the aisle at my wedding. And then he handed me over [with enthusiasm and relief probably] to my husband. He only just managed to get through his speech as father of the bride because he cried like a baby. Really.

When something is absent from your life for such a long time, it’s often hard to recognise that you ever really needed it… or missed it. I managed to build quite a thick skin when it came to yearning for any kind of paternal support or contribution to my life. I just figured I was surviving without it, so couldn’t really need it. The simple logic of youth. But having such an engaged step-father softened me. He taught me the virtues of good, reliable men and he restored my faith in their existence. After years of going without, I finally had someone else to lean on. And his shoulders were so broad that he could take everything I threw at him without buckling. I can’t tell you what that does to a young woman’s self-esteem, because I don’t really know. What I do know is that I’m confident my opinions of men in general changed, for the better, because of my relationship with Sal.

My sons are his grandchildren as if bound by blood. He was at the hospital while my first son was being born and then in the birthing suite with my mum when he was less than an hour old. My boys call him Nonno and even though they know he isn’t my ‘real’ dad, to them there is no ‘realer’ grandfather. So they are second generation Australian with a French, Dutch-Indonesian, Ukrainian heritage and an Italian grandfather. #mongrels.

When I was growing up, we celebrated my Mum on Fathers Day. It just seemed appropriate. But then she got married to my replacement Dad and it’s always been Sal’s day ever since.

My father-in-law John [JP]

I miss JP. His death five years ago has left one of the biggest holes in my life. I hit it off with JP from the moment I met him. Truth. When Mark brought me home to meet his parents for Christmas dinner, JP poured me a vodka shot and we immediately fell into a rhythm with each other that stayed with us until, literally, the day he died. Even on his actual deathbed when he was beyond words and I gently cooled him with a damp cloth during his last hours, I felt our connection. And I had already begun missing and mourning him.

It’s hard to explain exactly what it was about him that I resonated with so much. By all accounts he was a kind man who worked hard and liked a joke or three, but it wasn’t that. I met him the year he retired so he was very present and perhaps that helped lubricate our relationship. He was always just around. Helping Mark out around the house, fixing and renovating and gardening. He helped set up the liquor store and then when we sold that he helped out in the warehouse – packing up orders ready for freighting. He knew all our staff by name and they all loved him.

Mark spoke to him nearly every day and that really made an impression on me. They touched base on everything. Family issues and developments. Church politics. International politics. What Mark was ‘wasting’ his money on that week. What Mark was ‘neglecting’ that week. If he ever called and I answered the phone, he was happy and willing to talk to me before and sometimes in lieu of Mark. He’d also happily tell me what I was ‘wasting’ money on or ‘neglecting’… as if I was one of his own. In fact, I always felt like one of his own.

When our first son Nathan was born – he was nameless for nearly a week. Somehow in the preceding 9 months of hell pregnancy Mark and I hadn’t agreed on a name yet so we were scrambling in the days before we left hospital to come up with something. We consulted with both sets of grandparents. ROOKIE MISTAKE. Do not EVER consult with grandparents about the name of your child. JP called me morning and night in hospital after scouring borrowed baby name books and the internet [he was VERY tech savvy] with ridiculous helpful suggestions of popular traditional Ukrainian names. He was so earnest and committed and I treasure those moments we shared. He made me laugh and then he laughed with me because he never took anything personally and was never scared of rejection. It made him very easy to be with. He put himself out there with us as a family all the time and made himself available to us as often as he could.

When I brought Nathan home it was JP who would drop around during the day and bring me food. Usually some soup he had made or his famous Bolognese sauce. He would invite himself over and rug the baby up and sit him outside in a rocker and talk to him as he tended to the garden. “Why don’t you go and relax?” he would tell me “Nathan is fine with me.”

He would make me cups of tea and stand in the doorway with his back to me chatting as I breastfed. He adored his grandsons and couldn’t get enough of them. He took them for walks and fed them some of their first solids and held them until they fell asleep. He played with them and talked to them and showed them everything he could. And I believe he nurtured Mark’s role as a father by pure example.

When he was very sick and going through treatment he moved in to our home with my mother-in-law and I was honoured to wait on him for those weeks. Every day I made him breakfast, morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner and supper. I have always shown love by cooking for and feeding people and I showered him with as much love as I could. It was heartbreaking watching him die but the impact he made on my heart is significant and I will always be grateful for it.

So this Fathers Day I do have a lot to miss but so much to celebrate and I give thanks to the other fathers in my life.

How to Become a Man

Let’s talk about boys.

I’ve got a tough job ahead of me. With two sons making their way through the world, my burden is heavy. Because my boys are on their way to becoming men and men, well, men have been getting a bad rap lately.

Men are controlling and misogynistic and sexist. Men are demeaning. Men are overpowering. Men are entitled. Men are violent. Men are abusers. Men are murderers. Men are rapists.

I am confronted, daily, with all these indictments on men and as I look at my sons I wonder how am I going to raise the man out of them? How do I stop them from becoming a man as our society sees men?

Of course, the truth is my boys are not rapists. Nor are they murderers. My boys are already showing all good signs of becoming impressive, engaged citizens of the world. At 8 and 10 I haven’t yet had to sit down and have the ‘consent conversation’ with them because, well I’ve been teaching them those lessons their whole life. I can’t imagine there will come a time that I need to specifically teach my sons to not rape. Just as my husband was never specifically taught that lesson.

There are good men in this world. Almost every man that I have chosen to have in my life, is a good man. Which is not to say that I haven’t come across my share of bad men. I know a few of them too, some of which triggered an instinct in me very quickly but others that travelled where all the scariest people live – just under the radar. I learned my lesson with those men the hard way. But I still learned.

But violence against women will only stop when men stop perpetrating it, right? We just need to teach men not to hurt women. Well… it’s not that black and white in my view. Should that philosophy also then apply to paedophiles? We just need to teach them to NOT be sick fuckers. Oh right! I wish I’d thought of that. Because it’s our children’s RIGHT to be safe in this world. We shouldn’t have to protect them or teach them to be safe because that is VICTIM SHAMING. Do you see where I’m going with this?

Let's just be clear. It is never the victim’s fault. Whether they are girls, women, boys or men. It is never their fault. The blame must always lay firmly and squarely on the shoulders of the bastard that hurt the victim. It is always the perpetrator’s DECISION to rape/molest/torture/murder that is responsible for the crime and never the victim’s choices, no matter how vulnerably they may lay themselves bare. Vulnerability should never be an invitation for violence or trespass. Just because a car is unlocked does not mean that the contents within are free for the taking. Theft is still theft, regardless of the circumstance. But here’s the thing. We still lock our car doors because while 99%* of the community will recognise the morality of that situation, it is the 1%* that we must all worry about. The opportunists. The deranged. The evil. The psychopaths and the sociopaths. The outliers. For these minority of cockroaches no amount of TELLING them NOT to hurt or steal is going to work. No measure of EDUCATION will protect us from them.

“But we must teach our boys” is the message we are getting loud and clear.

Teach them what exactly? As I help my boys navigate their way through their lives I am acutely aware of the confusion surrounding their journey… not the least of which is my own. 

My generation of men was raised differently to the generation of my sons. Boys were to be tough. They were taught to stand up for themselves. If someone hits you, hit ‘em back. But not a girl! Boys must never hit girls. You can be forceful with them though, especially if the girl is asking for it. Tarts ask for it. In all other times, treat them like a lady. Do well at sports. Don’t wear pink. Don’t be gay, it’s gay. Don’t run like a girl. Don’t cry, only girls cry. Be brave. You don’t need a hug! A good tousle of the hair should be enough for you, young man. We don’t want to mollycoddle you! Be the man of the house, even if you’re only a boy. Man up. Have some balls. Don’t be a wimp. Be reliable. Sow your oats while you can. Then find a good woman. Be a good husband. Be a provider. Don’t beat your wife. You wear the pants.

It sounds pretty ridiculous and dated BUT it’s also pretty easy to follow. My generation of men and the generations before them were not confused. There was one path for them to follow. It was not, by any means, the right path for all men but it was widely known as the man’s path nonetheless.

My sons are fortunate enough to be born into a generation with infinitely more choice than the generations before them. But you know what else comes with great choice? The pressure of having to make a decision. The bravery to go your own way. The strength to commit to a path that is scary. And confusion. Confusion is the enemy of choice.

Never before have men as a whole been as confused as they are today, nor as depressed. According to the ABS, suicide is the 10^th leading cause of death for males in Australia. Our men don’t know how to cope with all this confusion. For we have focused so intently on some of our greatest advancements to empower women that, in doing so, have disempowered men.

Woohoo!!!! Victory! That’s the fight we’ve been fighting isn’t it?

Well, yes. And no.

You see when it was just me, woman, pitching against the collective man I was passionate in my cause. What do we want? Equality! When do we want it? Now!

But now that it’s me, mother of two growing men, my perspective has shifted. And so has the notion of equality. 

I watch and I read and I try to interpret the multitude of mixed messages that are thrown at men every day so that I can deliver to my charges the most concise lessons in manhood possible. I don’t do this alone. I discuss, at length, all the lessons and the directions and values with my husband – their, very present, father. But he struggles too. He is an old-school man. Strong and reliable. A good husband and capable provider. Handy on the tools and short on affection. It is the way he knows. It is the way of his father. It is not the way of today though, so in teaching our boys he is learning a new path too. And so now I am on the path to today’s manhood with three boys… and none of us know what the fuck we’re doing.

What I do know though, is that all those bastard men that have killed, raped and abused women [and men!] were once little boys too. 

Did their mums also stay up until the early hours of the evenings wondering how best to turn their sons into men? At what point did their path deviate? What opportunity was missed to teach those valuable lessons? Is it as simple as that? God, I fucking hope not. Because if it all comes down to one lesson that I need to teach my kids. One missed opportunity that will shape them into a rapist or not. Then I’m never sleeping again.

* I HAVE NO EVIDENCE THAT THESE PERCENTAGES ARE ACCURATE. I’M GENERALISING.

Raising Men

It’s not so easy to be a man today. What is a good man these days? Do you know? Do you think your son knows?

I have always had my feet planted firmly in the raising adults camp as opposed to the raising kids playground. It just makes sense to me. Start as you mean to go on and all that kind of logic. Having two sons means that I am deeply entrenched in the business of raising men. Good men. Men who will succeed in love and life and happiness and self. It is one of the greatest challenges of parenthood to have the foresight to teach the right lessons for an outcome that may not even exist.

I am constantly, CONSTANTLY thinking about the right lessons to teach my boys but, to be perfectly basic, it’s just so confusing. I am an empowered woman. I am empowered because my society has empowered me. Our focus has been and is to teach girls that we can be anything we want to be. Anything. Because the greatest power you can bestow upon someone is freedom. Choice. Independent thought. I know what a good woman is. A good woman is anything you want to be – unless you’re a bad mother. That is the mother of all sins in womanhood... pardon the pun. You can choose not have children. You can choose to adopt your children out. You can choose multiple fathers for your children. You can even choose to end a pregnancy to avoid having children. But if you’re shit at raising them... god fucking help you. 

I digress.

How can I teach my sons to celebrate their own selves when there is very little room to do that? 

Consider this – a young girl doesn’t like to wear dresses so much. She prefers to rough and tumble in a pair of shorts on the soccer field. Her parents are so proud and delighted that she’s so strong willed. They call her a tomboy. She’ll be able to do anything when she’s older, their friends say. On the other hand there’s  a young boy who’s not so keen on sport. He prefers to play music and dress ups and have tea parties. He likes pink. He’s interested in mum’s make-up and likes the feel of silk on his skin. His parents try to channel his masculine spirit into any sport then can. They downplay his creativity. They call him different. He’ll probably be gay, their friends say. As if that's a destination or a definition.

A strong willed girl is going places. A strong willed boy will have anger management issues. An emotional girl is understood. An emotional boy is a cry baby. A boy who gets into a playground fight school is aggressive and a trouble maker. A girl who gets into a playground fight at school is tough and can ‘hold her own’.

Don’t mollycoddle your boys is the message I get loud and clear. They should be strong. Why are you crying little Johnny? Only girls cry... are you a girl? So, girls are allowed to cry and fight. They’re allowed to be girlie and tough. But boys? Boys are expected to act like men.  

And how should a man ‘act’? In this age where the traditional family unit is predominantly non-existent, there are no more villages to raise our children and we have CONSTANT access to every type of media, our boys’ role models are confusing. And, I suspect, confused. How does our society focus on our men today? By adoring massive sporting idols covered in tattoos who drink too much, take drugs, mistreat women and believe in their own infallibility so much that they jump from the sky expecting to survive. By glorifying our criminals in ridiculous television franchises like Underbelly. Today’s male tv sitcom characters are socially inept geeks, bumbling idiots, overtly camp or useless husbands berated by their wives. Our male politicians are represented as sexist, racist, backstabbers or just dickheads.

What the fuck happened to our men?

For me to raise good men I must be able to explain what a ‘good’ man is. I think this will mean explaining to my sons that, like their female friends, they also have choices. They can choose their own paths too. To be sporty, to be musical, to be creative, to be tough, to be emotional, to be open, to be loving, to be scared, to be brave, to dance, to be true, to cry, to be shy, to sing, to be competitive, to be alone, to be honest, to like dressing up, to be a reader, to be dependable.

Could a 'good man' simply just be a grown-up 'good boy', after all?

30 Lessons in Love

Dear Boys,

because mummy loves you, I'm going to help you out with a few tips. Well, thirty actually. It's not a complete list but it's a good start. You can thank me later xx

1. If she’s just broken up with her ex – stay away for a while. The rebound guy never wins.

2. Be chivalrous

3. If you ask her out – you pay... for everything.

4. If you pick her up, go to the door and knock. Don’t sit in the car and beep.

5. If you drop her off, walk her to the door or front gate. The same goes for when she leaves your place, walk her to the door or the front gate. It's manners.

6. If you love her – tell her. Many times and in many ways. There is no shame in love.

7. If you love someone else – you shouldn’t be with her.

8. If she lives at home, do not call after 9.30pm.

9. If she’s studying – let her. Encourage her even. You may end up spending the rest of your life with her.

10. No really does mean no. All the time. When she’s pissed. When you’re pissed. Even if your hand’s up her top. Or her bra’s undone. Or you’re half way through. You do not have the rights to her because she’s your girlfriend.

11. If she wants to hang out with her girlfriends don't whinge that she'd rather be with them than you. Be thankful that she has her own life and for the time you can hang out with your mates.

12. Don’t be too eager. It’s gross.

13. If you need to cry, that’s ok. Just don’t make it that ugly cry. That’s a huge turn off.

14. Go clothes shopping with her. It’s more fun than you think.

15. Don’t try to be one of the girls. Her friends will think it’s weird. And yuck.

16. Don’t talk to her in a stupid baby voice.

17. If you’re gonna have nicknames for each other, make them G rated. You’d be surprised just how easily they slip out at the worst possible times.

18. Orgasms are a joint venture. You should be aiming for a win/win result.

19. Brush your teeth.

20. Do not expect her to be responsible for contraception. Wear a condom. I’ll buy them for you if I have to. And don’t let me hear that you won’t because it doesn’t feel as good. Know what feels worse? Months WITHOUT having sex because of your BABY. Oh and herpes. If it’s not on, it’s not on.

21. These girls are not options – your friend’s mum. Your friend’s daughter. Your cousin. Your teacher. The emo [too much baggage]. The goth [too black]. The gold digger. Your brother’s girlfriend. The one that’s rude to your mum.

22. Hip Hop music is fun but it ain’t no way to treat yo woman... dawg

23. Don’t fart in front of her. Or on top of her. Or in her face. Or in bed and then put the covers over her head.

24. Don’t say anything if she accidentally farts in front of you. She’s probably DYING inside.

25. Be respectful to her parents. Both of them. Whether they’re still together or not. And DO NOT swear in front of them.

26. If you expect her to play some video game of mass destruction with you then she can expect you to watch a chick flick with her. Do not roll your eyes or sigh or say ‘as if’ or ‘gay’ or spoil it for her. Just hold her hand. It will earn you massive ‘love’ credits.

27. If she’s silly enough to send you nude photos of herself, do not show them to your mates. Even after you’ve split up.

28. Your erection is not her responsibility. Even if she’s responsible for it. Carry a spoon around in your back pocket if you can’t sort yourself out.

29. When she says "It’s not you, it’s me"... agree and move on. She’s probably right.

30. Do not get a tattoo of any girl’s name. Unless her name is ‘Mum’.

DISCLAIMER: where appropriate, please use ‘boy, ‘he’ and ‘him’ in place of ‘girl’, ‘she’ and ‘her’  ;)

Dear Men

Hello, my name is Tan and I'm a sexist.

No really.

If anyone unintended read my personal text exchanges with my friends [who are also sexists], I would never get another job, according to the recent backlash afforded the Australian ex-speaker, Mr Slipper.

And before any of you get all up in arms about it, this is not a political post. I am not sharing my political opinion and I'm not interested in yours. I am, however, using his recent scandal as a segue to my confession of being a sexist. Which I am. And because I like to be topical.

Men, this is why you shit me:

1. Shut the fuck up about women nagging you. You are being nagged because you don't fucking listen. If you did, you wouldn't have to be asked again. You either have a hearing problem or you're an idiot. Either way, it's annoying.

2. You are not allowed to use the term 'man-flu' in defence of your ridiculous inability to cope with a cold. We made that term up as an insult to you.

3. Ditto the term 'boy's look'. OPEN YOUR EYES. If there is a pile of stuff LOOK THROUGH IT. If it's not in your drawer LOOK IN THE LAUNDRY. If it's not in the laundry LOOK ON THE CLOTHES LINE. If it's not on the clothes line it's probably still on the bedroom floor NEXT TO THE CLOTHES BASKET where you left it.

4. An impromptu display of affection does not mean you're 'in'.

5. Zara = Bunnings. Got it?

6. FYI, your sexy bits ain't that attractive either... and at least we don't have ours out at every opportunity including, but certainly not limited to, drunken social events.

7. YOUR arse looks fat in those jeans. If you gave a shit enough about how you looked and asked us, we'd tell you.

8. Your woman bending down in front of you is NOT an invitation to dry hump her. What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you an animal?

9. Hey moron in the corner office with the inflated salary... who'd YOU sleep with to get there? 'Cause you certainly didn't earn it with your personality or intellect.

10. Do you like the way your home looks and feels? It's because of the throw cushions - GET OVER IT.

11. What makes you think you need to keep your back to the wall at a gay function?? Straight women aren't interested in you so you can bet the far more discerning gay guy isn't going to be either. Probably due to point number 7.

12. Porn is porn. The articles are irrelevant.

13. When I hear that you like women's southern parts to be hairless it makes me think you like little girls. Do you?

14. The Godfather Trilogy are movies not a religion. Reciting lines from them doth not a gangster make.

15. Our current Prime Minister is a woman. She earned that role. She worked hard doing what she believed in and reached the top of her career path. She is the boss of our country [as described by my 7 year old son] swimming against the testosterone tide with her head held high and I'm proud of her. Because she's a woman. So shut up.

16. Strippers, exotic dancers et al are SOMEONE'S daughter. They could be yours one day... especially if you teach her that men are attracted to that type of behaviour and they can earn good money from dancing, semi-naked on some bloke's lap.

17. Women menstruate. Every month. It enables us to bear YOUR children. Be grateful.

18. What do we SEE in Brad Pitt and Daniel Craig??? pfft.

19. You are not doing us a FAVOUR when you bring the clothes in off the line or do the grocery shopping or make the bed. Unless you are a GUEST and then you should refrain from farting in front of us and give chocolates and/or wine to thank us for our hospitality.

20. Taking half an hour to take a shit is revolting. How can it be comfortable to sit on the toilet with your pants around your ankles and your arse in the breeze for that long? And don't start with that bullshit about the only place you can get peace. Please refer to point number 1.


OH and just in case my boss is reading this [Hi H!], please don't sack me because I'm a sexist. I promise it won't affect my performance at work xx

Body Love xx

This image came up on my Facebook newsfeed this morning...

It resonated with me BIG TIME. As I have grown up [and out] I have really learned to appreciate who I am, what I've done and my authenticity.

As a younger woman, I struggled with all that. I hated so many things about me from the things I thought to the way I looked to the things other people thought and to the way they saw me too. At various times I was too skinny, too fat, too dark, too dimply, too Asian. My breasts weren't big enough. My bum was too big. My teeth were too crooked. My toes were too long. My finger nails weren't long enough. My hair was too straight. My arms were too hairy. My tummy was too flabby. My thighs were too stretch-marked. I wasn't funny enough. I wasn't rich enough. I wasn't smart enough. I wasn't popular enough. 

So, guess what I did?

I faked it. I tried to fit in. I tried to be the person I thought everyone else wanted me to be. Sometimes it worked. Most times it didn't. Almost every time, it meant a compromise of my authentic self. It made for bad choices, unhappy times, crazy fashion mistakes and toxic relationships. I know you know what I'm talking about. It's called teenage-hood.

Now... I couldn't give a shit and that feels AWESOME. 

I don't have daughters but I want my sons to grow up knowing that their mum loves herself. I want them to become men who think the most beautiful women are the real ones. The ones that know themselves. The ones that don't compromise their authenticity for anyone. I want them to see the most influential woman in their young lives being comfortable in her own skin. Being unapologetic about her body, her feelings, her fears and her love. Not in a creepy Oedipus way but in a 'my mum's cool and happy' way.

So, here goes. 

I LOVE my body... I love that I'm soft. I love that my hips are wide enough to bear children without complication. I love that my tummy has a pot. I love that my breasts bear the signs of nourishing two babies for years. I love the freckles I've earned from time outside in the sun. I love my shoulders. I love my hair. I love my strength. 

Are you brave enough to say what you love about your body??