My parents, Hetty Johnston's nightmare

When Gam and I were in Kempsey, we teased my Mum about having child porn hanging on the walls. Mum, never one to really keep up with the news, was a bit bemused, until we explained the recent uproar over artistic depictions of naked kids, with the likes of Hetty Johnston labelling them pornographic, and the ridiculous Joe Tucci claiming that a naked picture taken of a six year old could come back to haunt them when they ran for the presidency or wanted to become a teacher. Or some such rubbish. Even after we explained, Mum still seemed a bit bemused. And who could blame her?

My Dad used to be a photographer. One of the pictures we had hanging on the studio wall was a large print of my then baby brother laughing and sitting naked in an antique wash-basin with a matching jug next to it. Customers would see it and ask for their baby to be photographed in the same setting. It was a great photo. Also kicking around the house are numerous photographs of my brother and I in various stages of undress, some in frames, some in the family photo album.

While flicking through the family photo album, as I do almost every time I go home, I decided to document the litany of abuse that occurred throughout my childhood, from the naked and semi-naked pictures taken without my 'consent' (because I was under 18, remember), to clear evidence of physical abuse and neglect. It's shocking:

Without proper feeding, at times I was forced to eat dirt in order to quell the pangs of hunger...

Forced to sleep rough, a garbage bin was often my only shelter.

Occasionally I would be able to steal cat biscuits- often these would be my only meal for the day.

I suffered neglect and a lack of adult supervision...

But try as I might, I was never able to escape the clutches of my abusers...

Nude photographs were often taken without my signing a consent form...

Sometimes photographed in poses that paedophile freaks and Hetty Johnson-types would see as arousing...

In Winter I would scrounge clothes from garbage bins.
They may have fit poorly, but it was the only way to survive.

I was often left at the mercy of wild animals.

Though I was forced to live in a garbage bin, occasionally the bin would be brought inside to enable me to take part in family photos. My brother and I, both naked here, would feign happiness for the camera. Really, we were dying inside, knowing that if such photographs ever came to light our chances at running for president or becoming a teacher would be ruined.

There you have it. Evidence that people who take naked pictures of kids are evil and abusive. And despite my apparently happy demeanour, I am in fact scarred for life. No, really!