Why I love bogans

I have seen people disagree with their pastors about many things... the length of the sermon, the layout of chairs in the church, the songs played and even what temperature the heater should be set.

Who'd be a pastor huh?

I have no such issues (love you Pastor!)

But I do disagree with my pastor on one particular issue:

Bogans.

I freaking love 'em.



I believe a lot of the issues people have with bogans, is a misunderstanding of who they are.

People wrongly think bogans are ferals - crime committing, child neglecting, drug taking ferals.

But bogans aren't ferals.

To me, the best definition of a bogan is someone with a complete lack of pretence.

And that's why I love bogans.

Pretentiousness seems to be the order of the day.
Pretentiousness is everywhere - with social media enabling our obsession with aesthetics.

Being seen in the right places, wearing the right things, with the right people.

It's all so... shallow.

With their lack of pretence, bogans are able to accept people for who they ARE.

A bogan will not only give a mate the (flannelet) shirt off his back, he will also buy him a beer and throw a barbecue in his honour.

Case in point:
A few weeks ago both heaters in our house broke. It was unfortunate timing - we had many bills due and weren't due to be paid for quite a while (small business is like that).
We were relying on one little electricity-guzzling electric heater from Woolworths to heat our house.
It wasn't working too well.
While many of our friends expressed concern, it was our very bogan friend, a super-bogan if you will, who went into his shed, got his spare gas heater and presented it to us freshly cleaned.

There is a simple code of honour amongst bogans: a mate is a mate is a mate.

Good stuff.

Another example:
As a rookie journalist, I met Mr Bogan and Proud himself and he quickly became a great source.
I met him when I was writing an article about a proposal he had to transform a dodgy part of our city into markets (an idea the council sadly rejected and the site remains dodgy).

But.

I made a mistake in the article.

I wrote the wrong street name. My editor was appalled and had it been any other person there would have been quite a fuss.
Making a silly mistake in print does not go down well.

Mark didn't mind. Instead he continued to be helpful, giving me good stories to write, helping me out with other information and he again forgave me when I called him 'notorious' in another article.

Oops.

And.

Here's another thing.

If Jesus came back to earth tomorrow, who do you reckon he'd be hanging out with?

I reckon he'd head straight for Kwinana.
Or Dandenong. Or Moe. Or any other bogan spot.

Jesus was working class through and through.
His earthly dad was a carpenter. A tradie.

He didn't have much time for the so-called elite.


So.
In conclusion.

Yes, they may wear black a lot. Yes, their taste in music may be at times questionable and yes, the mullet may be worn long after it should have been retired, but give a bogan a chance and he will be the best mate you will ever have.

And that is why I am bogan and proud.