10 12 2012
Tony 2002

Tony 2002

G’day. I’m Tony Robertson Welcome to my collection of sites about us blokes! By way of introduction, I’m a post-war baby-boomer, White Australian, Gay Christian Male with a commitment to non-violent living.  And in all that I find the joys and hopes the grief and anguish of life!!!

I am also a Community Jester and Ritual Maker. Some of my life is lived here in the cyber-world of open speech and free expression which I hope you will share.

This site is dedicated to my father, Alexander Robertson who inspired my social awareness and my commitment to social change for those on the edge of our community.

I welcome your visit and your engagement with this site.


Movember 2017

1 11 2017


Yes, it’s time to grow the mo again in #Movember.Now as a senior male I continue my passion for men and their health. Please join me in this fun and vital campaign. I have chosen to raise $500 this year. You can contribute to my goal by using the fundraising link below. Your donation could get you a framed copy of this amazing image!!!!

Tony Robertson Movember Appeal 2017

Thanks for your solidarity.


9 November 2017

8 11 2015

The Living Years (Rutherford/Robertson)

Every generation
Blames the one before
And all of their frustrations
Come beating on your door

I know that I’m a prisoner
To all my Father held so dear
I know that I’m a hostage
To all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

Alex Kath and 3 week old Tony

Alex Kath and 3 week old Tony

On this day in  1992 my father, Alex, died. It was the end of a long period of loss in my life that haunts me still. I really “lost” my father when I was a young teenager. We just stopped talking and I began to learn to live alone without an adult mentor. In August 2012 my mother also passed away. To  honour them both I have published this image of my parents holding me at three weeks.

Say it loud, say it clear
You can listen as well as you hear
It’s too late when we die
To admit we don’t see eye to eye

I wasn’t there that morning
When my Father passed away
I didn’t get to tell him
All the things I had to say

My father was my hero. I was the eldest son and I cherished that early experience of “first IMG_0139claim” to his love and attention. In the shrine I designed to his memory there are two photos of Dad and me, just the two of us. They are the only photos ever taken of just us two. In one he is holding me  as a new babe and gazing down into my eyes. The other is a classic of Dad supporting me on his old “28 inch” bike with me in a baby dress of a typical one year old of the era!!! The bike was a great symbol of those early years. I have so many happy memories of Dad taking me for a “dink” sitting on the bar while he peddled. I still remember the nervous thrill of riding that same bike before I could even reach the seat. Somehow, once I learnt to ride on my own everything changed.

My father gave me inspiration. His faith was a traditional Catholicism with a passion for the poor and the marginalised. He would often take me with him to his voluntary work at the night shelter for the homeless in Geelong. Later in my teens I remember being in awe when I heard a testimonial to Dad and stories I never knew were made public of his commitment to the work of “Vinnies”

Our relationship was a  bonding through unspoken words. I was a headstrong adolescent with a fiery temper that must have worried him. I was also an inquisitive young gay boy which I suspect he knew and carried inside with great anxiety and fear. Our religion and our culture didn’t allow us to explore the curiosity and libido inside me.

We shared a love of music and it was his collection of jazz and musicals that I played over and over.He read widely and from his bookcase I discovered the writings of Thomas Merton, Banjo Paterson, Boris Pasternak and so many more.

I miss my Dad, I miss all we could have been for each other. As he lay dying the  “Living Years” lyrics were all around me like a spirit calling me to face the loss of so much. His funeral was a great tribute  with some music from Bing Crosby as well as a passionate version of “Come to The Water”. as we gave him over on the final journey  nearer to his God.

Though like the wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone,
Yet in my dreams I’d be
Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer to thee!

I am like my father in many ways. I have his strength and resilience. I have his passion and I suspect I share much of his quiet reserve about his inner life………..yet in a way this writing is a long step from “quiet reserve”!! He served in Borneo and  PNG during WWII. He never marched in an ANZAC parade and never really spoke of what happened to him during those frightful years. We both hide much of our lives deep inside where no-one has access, except perhaps the spirit of healing who alone can break through the heavy heart.

RIP my loving Dad. I miss you still.

Healthy Bodies For Blokes

8 06 2014

The Voice of Youth

13 05 2014

Think before You Say “That’s So Gay”

4 07 2012

Spirituality and Masculinity Resources

30 09 2008

My collection of online resources:

Masculine Spirituality By Richard Rohr, O.F.M. September-October 1988 published in Praying – Spirituality for Everyday Living printer friendly (PDF 8 pages)

Remembering the power of sacred creation Attuning to masculine energy through the labyrinth

Remaking Men Jungian Thought and the Post-Patriarchal Psyche David Tacey

Manhood online

Welcome to Men Transforming Men Australia