Be A Good Human

I’ve got this old T-shirt.
It says: be a good human.
It’s faded. It’s got holes. It’s one wash away from becoming a cleaning rag. Leith thinks it’s absolutely done. I disagree.
I love it.
Just before the cyclone hit Brisbane last year, an old au pair of ours from 10 years ago, Silvana, came around for lunch. She’d been travelling with her boyfriend, Maurice. Rooftop tent. Campground. Living the dream.
A few beers on the deck and next minute Leith has convinced them they’re moving into our spare room for a couple of nights. Freshen up. Wash some clothes she said.
Then the cyclone hit.
Suddenly the “couple of nights” plan felt wildly optimistic.
One thing led to another and six weeks later they were part of the furniture.
Maurice started jumping on shoots with me, carrying cases, wrangling gear, slowly becoming indispensable. Silvana landed a role with a mate at a building company and suddenly had early starts and steel caps by the door. Somewhere along the way the language shifted. It wasn’t “they’re crashing with us”. It was more “what time are you two home for dinner?”
Recently Maurice and I were up in Cooktown on a job and it came out that when they came for that lunch they were down to their last 50 bucks and genuinely had no idea what they were going to do next.
Fifty dollars...
Since that day we introduced them to rum and coke, dragged them on trips, partied properly, and generally folded them into whatever chaos we were running at the time. They moved to Coffs Harbour for a stint, but we couldn’t shake each other. They kept coming back to visit, slotted straight into birthdays and Christmas like they’d never left, then we jumped on a plane and did overseas together. Somewhere in all that life happening, they got engaged.
Yesterday, before they left to do their final stretch across the desert to Perth, I shot a few engagement photos for them as a parting gift. Not my usual gig. Them in love, standing on the edge of whatever comes next.
I’m going to miss them.
Because this is LinkedIn and I have to pretend there’s a takeaway, so here it is.
You never really know where someone’s at when they’re sitting across from you having a beer.
Sometimes the biggest shift in someone’s life starts with something small. A spare room. A casual “just stay.” An open door that stays open.
We didn’t overthink it. We didn’t run it past a committee. We just made up a bed and in return we got friendship, loyalty, laughter and two absolute weapons of humans in our lives.
That old T-shirt isn’t fashion. It’s a standard and I'll be keeping it I think.