queen of common sense.

How were you parented?

I’m a 1955 baby, so anyone born in the ’50s and probably early ’60s was raised with very firm parenting. My mum, particularly, was extremely quick with the clip around the ear. The shaming and criticising we got in bucketloads, too. At the time, that’s exactly what was the social norm. If you weren’t firm with your children, they would turn out terrible.

It was interesting because Mum wasn’t a maternal person. They often say that the trauma of your childhood becomes your gift to the world. The first story I told myself was that my mum didn’t love me. When, in actual fact, all us kids had the same kind of perception, because she just wasn’t a tender, demonstrative mum. She was an amazing cook, a great gardener, took great care of my dad. All of the things that were very traditional then. I must have given her nightmares—I was a feisty girl, her fifth child. I was a rooster, and I questioned her, and I questioned the choices.

I had a beautiful, tender dad I escaped with a lot; it gave me the capacity to really be immersed and marinated in the male view of the world. And my youngest brother, four years younger than me, was a lamb.

I actually grew up knowing there was a tenderness in boys. It was the perfect environment for me to grow up to be who I am, and do what I do, and know what I believe in.

You coined the idea of children either being roosters or lambs. Can you share this idea with us?

If you can imagine, there’s a continuum, and at one