Performance Anxiety

What's worse than fearing for yourself? Fearing for your own perhaps?

Most editions of Lighting the Path deal with an aspect of my family’s 2016 or 2023 journeys to the northern hemisphere; sometimes both. But occasionally, as is the case here, some intervening event compels me to digress.

It is said that one of the most common human phobias (shared, apparently, by around three in every four amongst us) is the fear of speaking and/or performing in public, and of the associated judgment that inevitably - or so most of us seem to believe - comes with doing so.

Another strongly held fear, for many people, is that something awful will happen to someone they love - their partner or children, for example.

That being the case, surely it must feel doubly sickening when you apprehend that one of your kids might just be heading for a major case of public embarrassment.

March 2026

I’m definitely no slave to my social media accounts, but I’m certainly willing to admit, perhaps somewhat sheepishly, that like many of us I can be found browsing/scrolling on Instagram or Facebook (or both) for some small period of most days. And, of course, I usually find those anniversary posts - you know, the ones that remind you of what you were doing, and who you were doing it with, exactly x number of years ago - compelling. This is especially true when the memory/event in question relates in some way to our younger son, Ben, who passed away as a result of a tragic accident that occurred at a party on Australia Day 2019.

Last month one such memory grabbed hold of me in a way, and to an extent, that few others have. Because it reinforced to me yet again how much I miss Ben’s bright-eyed mischievous good humour, his unquenchable optimism, his zest for life, and the lost opportunity to watch on from the sidelines as he continued to explore the seemingly limitless bounds of his gifts and talents for decades to come.

By way of background to the story that follows I should perhaps explain that from their mid-teens onwards – ie once we thought they were old enough to appreciate and enjoy them – my wife, Linda, and I had attempted to give our two sons, Ben, and his older brother, Tim, a taste of the wonderful world of showbiz in as many of its forms as possible. That is to say, not just movies, but concerts, plays, musical theatre, as well as a couple of cabaret-type shows that were, and remain, a little harder to pigeonhole. I guess we hoped that by exposing them to as many entertainment genres as possible, they would be able to make their own informed decisions down the track about what they most wanted to spend their own hard-earned cash on.

The magnificent Sydney Opera House - one of the world’s most celebrated buildings and venues

Club Swizzle, which premiered at the Sydney Opera House in the early part of 2015, was one of those hard-to-classify variety shows ‑ incorporating singing, dancing, comedy, acrobatics, clowning, sword-swallowing, and more ‑ that we dragged the boys along to, in company with a number of other members of my extended family. Little could we have imagined, as we gathered excitedly in the early evening shadows cast by Sydney’s CBD, and its Big Coathanger, how the night would unfold.

Upon our arrival at the Opera House’s Studio our group of ten or so was warmly greeted by Club Swizzle’s androgynous MC, Murray Hill - dutifully working the room like any diligent host does. “Well, well, well … I like what I see” was Murray’s opening line; seemingly addressed simultaneously to all of us, and none of us. What we didn’t realise then, but were soon to discover, was that Murray was scouring the crowd for potential talent in preparation for an audience participation segment that was to feature during the second half of the show.

All I can say now is that Murray clearly knows his stuff. It is doubtful that any more than two (or perhaps three, at a pinch) of our group would have accepted an invitation to take the stage. What is indisputable, in the light of subsequent events, is that the selection of Ben to do so was an educated master-stroke.

Murray Hill and the team from Club Swizzle getting ready to do their thing

Before the show began, by which time we were comfortably ensconced in our seats, with a couple of bevvies on board, Murray approached us again - this time to enquire as to Ben’s age, and to establish his willingness to step up and be part of the as-yet undisclosed onstage activity. Ben being still then only 17 years old, parental consent was obligatory. The width of his smile, and the glint in his eye, left us in no doubt that our youngest was up for the challenge.

I wonder whether Ben regretted that decision when he discovered, an hour or so later, that he was to be one-half of an impromptu amateur pole-dancing competition. What I know with certainty is that I was seriously concerned for the battering his ego looked likely to take when the first competitor – a striking, slender woman in her late 20’s ‑ delivered a compelling performance that hinted at misspent youth but, in any event, confirmed a high degree of confidence and flexibility.

There was a moment, as she completed her routine to the sound of generous and genuine applause, when I experienced that feeling with which most parents can probably identify; namely, an overwhelming desire to protect my offspring from unnecessary hurt and embarrassment. But what could I do? By this point Ben was backstage, preparing for his own introduction to a well-lubricated crowd awaiting his arrival with eager anticipation.

The moment of truth - MC Murray Hill introduces Ben to the Opera House patrons

I undoubtedly underestimated our youngest child many times throughout the course of his 21 years. But never was I happier to admit so than that early Autumn night back in 2015. My heart filled to bursting point, and seemingly beyond, as I watched him embrace the moment, bely his youth and relative inexperience, and take the audience on a sensual hilarious journey that simply demanded their acclamation.

And though, much to his disappointment, his age prevented him collecting the winner’s prize of a bottle of Champagne, there is no doubt in my mind that the boy who has held our hearts in his hands for decades won a host of new fans that night in the role of a cheeky Chippendale at one of Australia’s greatest entertainment venues.

Encore, Ben, encore.

P.S I am greatly indebted to my sister, Julie, and my niece, Aja, for having the presence of mind to record this performance in a series of still shots - that now live on for us as a glorious souvenir of one of those many moments when Ben exuberantly imposed his unique style and infectious joie de vivre on the world around him.