I Can Jump Puddles

1. Childhood Dreams Shattered by Polio

My father bent and looked through the window to where the dark, green barrier of the bush stood facing the cleared paddocks. ‘I’ll make him a bushman and a runner,’ he said with determination. ‘By God, I will!’

A promising start. Born into a rural Australian family, the narrator's father, a horsebreaker from outback Queensland, harbored grand dreams for his son: to be a bushman and a runner. This aspiration was a stark contrast to the reality that would soon unfold. The family, including his older sisters Mary and Jane, eagerly awaited his arrival, with his father even naming him Alan before his birth.

Sudden affliction. Not long after starting school, the narrator contracted Infantile Paralysis (polio), a devastating epidemic sweeping through the country. He was the sole victim in his town, Turalla, and the news spread dread, with many associating "Paralysis" with idiocy. The community's reaction was a mix of fear and pity, with neighbors avoiding their house and anxiously watching their own children.

Physical transformation. The disease rapidly took its toll, causing his leg muscles to shrink, his back to curve, and his knees to lock in a kneeling position. This physical deterioration was a painful reality, especially for his mother, who desperately sought a cure. The once vibrant dreams of running and bush life seemed to vanish, replaced by the grim reality of his condition.

2. Father's Defiant Love and Unconventional Wisdom

That boy’s back was never made for the burden, and, let me tell you, this won’t be a burden either.

Rejecting fatalism. When the baker, Mr. Carter, piously declared the narrator's illness "God's will," his father reacted with savage contempt. He vehemently rejected the idea that his son's life was meant for such a "burden," asserting that he would ensure it wouldn't be. This defiance underscored his pragmatic and protective nature, refusing to accept a predetermined fate for his son.

Horseman's philosophy. A lean, bowed-legged horsebreaker, his father viewed life through the lens of his profession. He saw horses as individuals, some needing gentle handling, others firm. This philosophy extended to people, and he believed in understanding and working with their inherent nature. He often criticized God, but his actions, like binding up the dog Meg's shoulder, showed a deep, practical care.

Unwavering support. Despite his initial dreams for a running son, his father's love adapted. He brought a puppy, also named Alan, to the hospital, a gesture that instantly brought immense joy and comfort to the boy. He encouraged the narrator to "forget your legs" and to "fight and run and race and ride and yell your bloody head off while you’re looking on," instilling a spirit of resilience and active engagement with life.

3. Mother's Quiet Strength and Enduring Care

I’d like to kiss you but there are too many looking so we’ll pretend I have.

Silent suffering and sacrifice. The narrator's mother bore the brunt of his daily care, including the agonizing task of forcing his locked legs straight on the kitchen table. This ritual, performed with her eyes tightly closed to hold back tears, highlighted her immense courage and love. She sought medical help tirelessly, even when doctors offered little hope.

Practical affection. Unlike his father's boisterous nature, his mother's affection was often subtle and practical. She understood his embarrassment at public displays of tenderness, offering a whispered "I'd like to kiss you but there are too many looking so we'll pretend I have." Her care was constant, from ensuring his hygiene to providing comfort and provisions like eggs during his hospital stay.

Resilience and heritage. Descended from an Irish mother and a German bassoonist father, she possessed a quiet strength. Her weathered face, untouched by cosmetics, reflected a life of hard work and resilience. She was the steady anchor of the family, managing the household and providing a comforting presence, even when faced with the matron's insensitive remarks about her son's "adaptability" to a life on crutches.

4. The Hospital: A World of Diverse Characters and Self-Discovery

I was always pleasantly surprised to see the effect my illness had on those people who stood beside my bed looking down at me with sad faces and who saw my sickness as some terrible calamity.

A new perspective. The hospital, initially a frightening place, quickly became a fascinating world. The narrator, the only child among fourteen men, observed his surroundings with keen interest. He found a strange satisfaction in the pity of adults, which made him feel "important" and "contented," even though he didn't perceive his illness as a "terrible calamity."

Fellow patients as mentors. He formed bonds with the men in the ward, particularly Angus McDonald and Mick, who became his "mates."

• Angus, the "original McDonald" windmill maker, offered practical advice and shared his eggs.
• Mick, the talkative Irishman, provided humor and a cynical view of authority.
• The drunk, suffering from DTs, offered a glimpse into a different kind of vulnerability.
  These men, despite their own ailments, offered companionship, jokes, and a sense of belonging.

Challenging perceptions. The narrator's unique perspective often clashed with adult assumptions. He was called "brave" but felt he hadn't earned it, knowing his own fears. He was amazed that others believed he would never walk again, as he harbored clear intentions of breaking in wild horses and writing books. This period in the hospital, despite the pain, was a crucial time for developing his self-identity and resilience.

5. Imagination as a Realm of Unfettered Freedom

I created dreams, for in these I could roam as I willed, unhampered by an unresponsive body.

Escaping physical limits. Confined by his paralyzed body, the narrator discovered the boundless freedom of his imagination. In his dreams, he could transcend his physical limitations, running tirelessly, leaping effortlessly, and moving with a grace he observed in men, dogs, and horses. This internal world became a vital sanctuary, offering a powerful counterpoint to the laborious reality of his waking life.

Merging with nature. His dreams often placed him in the Australian bush, where he transformed into a dingo or a dog, running with his nose to the earth, following animal tracks, and becoming "part of it and all that it offered." This deep connection to nature, experienced through his dreams, allowed him to feel powerful and unburdened, a stark contrast to his crutch-bound existence.

A dual existence. The narrator lived in two equally enjoyable worlds: the world of reality, which "forged" him through its challenges, and the world of dreams, where he "swung the blade" of his unhampered spirit. This dual existence provided him with both the stimulus to face reality and the necessary escape to maintain his spirit, demonstrating the profound power of the mind to overcome physical constraints.

6. Challenging the Label of "Crippled"

The crippled child is not conscious of the handicap implied by his useless legs.

A different reality. The narrator firmly believed that while "crippled" might apply to others, it didn't truly apply to him. He saw his legs as "inconvenient or annoying" but never as a barrier to his desires. This self-perception stood in stark contrast to how adults viewed him, often with pity and sorrow, which he found puzzling and even irritating.

Children's acceptance. Children, unlike adults, made no distinction based on his physical state. They asked him to run, complained when he was slow, and included him in their games without reservation. He embraced roles like the "donkey" in circus games, enjoying the "four legs" and the opportunity to kick and buck, seeing his difference as desirable rather than shameful.

Active defiance. He actively resisted being treated as "different." When children were told to be gentle with him, it confused them and angered him. He developed an "aggressiveness" to counter what he saw as "unnecessary and humiliating concessions," preferring to fight in mud battles or stick fights, even if it meant falling, to maintain equality and earn respect.

7. The Hard-Won Journey to Walk with Crutches

I will get there, I thought, and waited, not knowing exactly what muscles to call upon, conscious that the crutches beneath my armpits were hurting me and that I must move them forward and take my weight for a moment on my good leg if I wanted to walk.

First steps to independence. After his operation, the doctor presented him with crutches, calling them his "front legs." The initial attempt to walk was a moment of profound uncertainty and physical pain. He had to consciously engage muscles, balance his weight, and endure the discomfort of the crutches digging into his armpits.

Developing strength and technique. Over weeks, he practiced relentlessly, developing disproportionately strong arms and tough armpits. He experimented with different "gaits" – trot, pace, canter, gallop – and learned to fall in ways that protected his bad leg. These falls, though painful, were accepted as a normal part of his new way of moving, not a consequence of being "crippled."

Exhaustion and determination. Walking on crutches brought a new acquaintance with exhaustion, a constant concern for cripples. Yet, he pushed through, cutting corners and traversing difficult terrain to reach his destination. His clumsy caperings, expressions of joy, were often met with pity by adults, but he would resume his "happy world" once they were out of sight, driven by an unyielding spirit.

8. Mastering the Horse: A Symbol of Independence

I had made up my mind to ride, and even as he spoke it pleased me to think how happy he would be when, one day, I galloped past our house on some arched-necked horse reefing at the bit as it fought my hold on the reins.

Defying limitations. His father, with genuine concern, explained that his legs couldn't grip a horse, making riding impossible. Yet, the narrator's internal resolve was unshaken. He envisioned himself galloping past his house, proving his father wrong and bringing him joy. This internal conviction fueled his determination to find a way.

The perfect pony. Starlight, an Arab pony owned by a schoolmate, became his symbol of perfection and the vehicle for his ambition. He offered to take Starlight to water daily, a task that allowed him to practice. Initially, he clung to the saddle, but he soon realized he needed to learn balance without his legs, to ride without holding on.

Innovative adaptation and triumph. Through persistent experimentation, he discovered a unique grip on the surcingle beneath the saddle flap, allowing him to balance and guide Starlight. This breakthrough transformed his riding, enabling him to canter and gallop with confidence. His first gallop, a "magnificent experience," was a profound moment of freedom and control, proving that adaptation and will could overcome perceived impossibilities.

9. Lessons from Bushmen and the Value of Resilience

You’ve got to be like her. Fight and run and race and ride and yell your bloody head off while you’re looking on. Forget your legs. I’m going to forget them from now on.

Father's tough love. His father's advice, inspired by a beloved kangaroo dog named Bessie, was a powerful lesson in resilience. Bessie, despite a crippling injury, remained fiercely engaged in the hunt through her barking and spirit. This taught the narrator to "fight and run and race and ride and yell your bloody head off while you’re looking on," emphasizing mental fortitude over physical limitations.

Swagmen's wisdom. The swagmen who camped at their gate, "travellers" with hard lives, offered a unique perspective. They never pitied him, instead seeing "brighter things ahead." They taught him about resourcefulness, the art of getting by, and the importance of not being "abject." Their stories, though sometimes exaggerated, instilled a sense of adventure and a lack of self-pity.

Peter McLeod's influence. Peter McLeod, a teamster and a man of the bush, became a significant mentor. He treated the narrator as an equal, taking him on a trip into the "maiden bush." Peter's stories of fights and resilience, his pragmatic view of life, and his respect for the narrator's spirit further reinforced the idea that true strength lay beyond physical perfection.

10. Embracing Life's Fullness, Beyond Physical Limits

I could jump any puddle.

Unwavering spirit. From a young age, the narrator possessed an indomitable spirit that refused to be defined by his polio. Even after his operation, when he was told he would be "crippled," he maintained a conviction that "with me it didn’t matter." This internal strength allowed him to find joy and purpose in every aspect of his life.

Active engagement. He actively sought out experiences, whether it was hunting rabbits with Joe, exploring the crater of Mt. Turalla, or learning to swim in the dangerous lake. Each challenge was met with determination, and he found immense satisfaction in overcoming obstacles, often through innovative adaptations or sheer force of will.

A life of purpose. His journey was not just about physical recovery but about a profound redefinition of what it meant to live fully. He learned to value his arms and chest, which developed out of proportion to his legs, as his "pride." His ability to ride Starlight, to swim, and to engage with the world on his own terms, all contributed to a life rich in experience and unburdened by self-pity. He truly believed he "could jump any puddle," a testament to his enduring optimism and resilience.

Last updated: February 24, 2026