ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
There was a time when Michael Steele didn’t have a care in the world.
But that was a long time ago.
Trust with the school run this afternoon by wife Beverly, when the 49-year-old picked his three boys up from St Lockyear’s Primary School around 3 pm, he knew trouble wasn’t far away.
Brayden, 7, was the first to pipe up after the rounded the bend onto the Mt Leonard Bypass.
“Dad, can we stop and get something to eat? Please, I’m starving!” said the year one student.
“You’ll have to wait until we get home, boy. I’ll put some potato gems in the oven for tea. Mum’s working late tonight,” replied Michael.
Brayden let out a short sigh, accepting his fate.
It could’ve ended there, but it didn’t.
“Why are you always hungry? You’re getting fatter every day, your belt is basically the equator!” said Beverly Junior, 10 years old and the couple’s only daughter.
“Shut up! Don’t call me names you stupid bitch!” shouted Brayden, his voice starting to crack.
“Fuck you Brayden you piece of shit!” Bev Junior said in reply.
“Oi!” shouted Dad.
“I’ll pull this car over and smack you both in the breakdown lane in a minute! Do you want that?”
Silence fell over the car, Michael Junior sitting in the front seat smirking.
“I’ve had it up to here [points to his temple] with this shit. Just be nice to your brother, don’t call him names and mate, don’t let her bait you like that!”
Michael maintained his eye contact with Brayden and Bev Junior in the back seat until the light went green.
“Dad, go. It’s green,” said Michael Junior.
Silence.
Michael then gently pushed the late model Falcon out into the intersection and not another sound was heard coming from the back seat until they pulled into the driveway.
More to come.
