Ten Steps to Nanette

by Hannah Gadsby

When I was a kid, I used to feel sorry for Dad. We all did; and sadly, Mum knew this and that must have been painful. Dad’s preference for fence-sitting has been a near-constant source of frustration for Mum. As a child I couldn’t at all comprehend why, but now, as an adult, I can see the immense pressure she must have been under. Essentially, when it came to emotional labor and decision-making, Mum was operating as a single mother of six (five children and one adult man). But whenever things went wrong, which they frequently did, Mum would suddenly be married again and having the anatomy of her mistakes explained back to her by the very man who’d refused to help in the first place. In terms of fodder for my comedy, I am ashamed to admit that I have positioned my mum at the butt of my jokes to a far greater extent than I have my dad. This is unfair to both of them. Dad was the calm to Mum’s storm, and so it was just too easy for me to believe that it was my mum, alone, who was responsible for packing my emotional baggage. It is only now, after a significant chunk of life has passed since, that I can recognise that Mum was not always the right target, she was just the easy one. So, I would like to ask that if you find yourself judging my mother harshly, just keep it in mind that I can be a lazy hunter and Dad is a parental gazelle.