A FAMILY AFFAIR

Proof of identification is something you need when flying out of the country on an international fact-finding tour of strip clubs. But now it seems you need a screaming kid sitting next to you on the train as proof that you really are from a working family, writes MICK CARTONNE.    

Former Federal Treasurer Peter Costello once advised families during the budget that they should have three children - one for Mum, one for Dad and one for the country.

In other words we should all subscribe to his famous last election slogan and "go for growth" in the bedroom.

Never mind the fact that this would erode our savings because future governments at the state level would be able to save us by giving birth to policies using terms and conditions built on a layer of highly ambiguous phrases.

The family is the one social fraternity everybody is automatically initiated into albeit not by choice. Thankfully there are no creative swearing-in ceremonies such as midnight nudie runs in underwear worn by your grandparents in the eighties.

Sadly, though, it appears the NSW State Government has a narrow definition of the type of families that deserve what is virtually a free ride on public transport.

With polls riding the big dipper since the NSW ALP's re-election in 2007, a rare thing happened one day in the nation's most populous state run by the least popular state government; The government governed. 

Taking some time-off from the factional feuds, the then Premier, Nathan Rees, announced that families could enjoy a fun day out with unlimited travel on Sydney’s buses, trains and ferries every Sunday.

So if you had 27 kids and 10 wives, you probably couldn't afford to go on any of the rides at Luna Park. But you could afford to travel there and watch those who could. 

This vision was christened Family Funday Sunday. 

For $2.50 per person, your family could travel from the Blue Mountains to Manly as many times as you liked on the day of the Sabbath. 

But as with anything too good to be true, there's always a catch when it comes to catching public transport cheaply. 

The travelling group had to be related (obviously) and there had to be one child and one adult. A child is classified as someone under 16 years of age. How very convenient.

It is in the eyes of those responsible for bringing us into the world, that the age of a child does not change its role in the family. We're still little angels to our backseat procreators.

In a society that teaches us we're only as old as we feel, why won't MPs (Morons of the public order) give big kids a break as well?

It was Aussie larrikin Paul Hogan who reminded viewers in the film Flipper, "You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family."

And that includes the size of it, the demographic make-up and the tempestuous personality traits that tag along for the ride.
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Some families are small (2 kids and 2 parents), others not so such as the one my mother was born into starring three sisters, one brother and two adults (aka mummy and daddy) for a total of six people living under the same roof. 

No, they did not appear on Sylvania Waters.    
  
There are those that get along like the Brady Brunch where problems are solved by baking each other cakes if one sibling accidentally steals another's boyfriend or girlfriend. 

Meanwhile in the real world, the rest of us can't wait to turn 18, get a job and declare independence day by moving out of home into shared accomodation with drunk friends who end up depending on you to pay three-quarters of this week's rent.

Some don't move out of the nest until their thirties while those in their forties getting taken to the cleaners by the ex-wife, they give the expression homecoming a bad reputation. 

The point being? 

Families and the situations that exist within them are all different. According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics, family composition and structure is in a constant state of change. 

That would mean we're all part of some sort of family, right?

There are those who share so many rent-free, intoxicated moments at their best mates parents two-storey home, that they consider themselves as having a "second" family. 

Those giving their genealogical roots the silent treatment because they wouldn't give them their slice of the will at age twelve, they consider themselves as part of the human family minus the specific details. 

A sister may earn a six-figure salary while her brother takes home $25k per annum before tax.

Yet if the sister has three kids, two cars and a double storey house in Vaucluse, she is entitled to a "discount" on Sunday. Why? Because there is no means-test to determine if that person is fit for help from the government.

Meanwhile her less well-off sibling, and that's being kind about it, is required by law to pay full-fare if he is invited out by his sister to join them on an outing.

Further proof that if you don't have kids, can't get laid, and you're an economically disadvanted child in their thirties, still living at home and only earning a part-time income, basically the government won't be offering you change you can believe in. 

How can you be a child if you're 30 years-old?

If you're asking that question, you've obviously never argued with someone (usually female) who has let fly with the best retort of all: "You're acting like a child" to which those with an unlimited volt of wit reply (to the detriment of their health), "Well, dah! I am one".

Mensnewsdaily.com has also recently reported an even stranger occurance: a men's movement accusing women of being children.

And didn't anyone in the Department of Transport see the film "Stepbrothers" with Will Ferrell and John C.Reilly?  

You'd be hard-pressed not conclude that working families bring more future taxpayers and voters into this world and are considered an asset to the government.

But Battler's without Brats (BAB's), you're not pulling your weight because you knew how to properly read the instructions inside a packet of four seasons condoms, therefore you are a liability on the balance sheet. 
  
So I guess most of us will have to stay involved in that unhappy long-term love-hate relationship with a railway ticketing machine, unable to push the fun buttons because if we do, the fat transit cop won't believe you when you inform him that little Johnny just hopped off the train to spend the day with his mother.  

I suppose somebody has to pay for all the ministerial cars used by public servants to escape journalists interested in unveiling their secret night-time habits on the evening news.

NSW Families. Are they on the right track? I'm not sure. I can't afford a ticket.