One afternoon when I was 9, my dad told me I'd be skipping

The words of Hugh Jackman, “One afternoon when I was 9, my dad told me I'd be skipping school the next day. Then we drove 12 hours from Melbourne to Sydney for the Centenary Test, a once-in-a-lifetime commemorative cricket match. It was great fun – especially for a kid who was a massive sports fan,” shine with the warmth of memory and the sacredness of shared experience. They are not only about cricket, nor even about sport, but about the bond between father and son, about the moments that shape the heart more deeply than any lesson in a classroom. For in this recollection we see that what lasts in memory are not the routines of obligation, but the journeys of wonder undertaken with those we love.

The origin of this thought lies in the childhood of Jackman, long before he was known to the world as an actor or entertainer. In the simple act of his father saying, “You will skip school tomorrow,” there was a breaking of routine, a holy disruption of duty for the sake of joy. The 12-hour drive itself becomes a symbol of devotion—the willingness to endure distance and weariness for the sake of something extraordinary. And when they arrived, the Centenary Test was not merely a cricket match, but a celebration of tradition, history, and pride—magnified in the eyes of a boy whose heart was already burning with love for the game.

History is filled with similar tales, where a single event, shared with family, transforms the life of a child. Consider the story of young Abraham Lincoln, whose father once took him to a gathering where fiery speeches on freedom and destiny were given. Though Lincoln was but a boy, the memory lodged itself in his soul, shaping the voice that would later move a nation. In Jackman’s story, it is cricket, not politics, but the truth is the same: a child lifted into a great moment of collective passion carries that fire into his future.

The mention of sport is not accidental. For sport, as Jackman himself has often reflected, is more than competition. It is a metaphor for life, a theatre where nations and communities gather to see courage, perseverance, and skill embodied before their eyes. For a boy of nine, to be present at such a spectacle was to taste belonging in something vast and enduring. The noise of the crowd, the clash of players, the weight of history being honored—all these were lessons as profound as any to be found in books.

The lesson here is that not all education happens in classrooms. Sometimes the greatest lessons are learned on long car rides with fathers, in crowded stadiums, in the shared laughter of family, in the rare moments when duty yields to delight. To skip school for a day is to remember that life is more than obligation—it is also joy, celebration, and the building of memories that anchor us when years have passed. What mattered most was not simply seeing the match, but being present with his father, with the game, and with history itself.

Practically, this teaches us to make time for what matters. Parents, do not imagine that every lesson your child needs comes from books; some of the most important come from adventures, from being together, from choosing wonder over routine. Children, remember that joy is sacred, and that when given the chance to witness greatness, seize it with both hands. Life will always return you to its duties, but you must not let duty rob you of memory and wonder.

So, beloved listener, let Hugh Jackman’s memory remind you: skip school once in a while for the sake of something greater. Drive the 12 hours. Sit in the crowd. Cheer with your whole heart. For these are the moments that will remain when ordinary days are forgotten. The child who rode with his father to the Centenary Test carried not only the memory of cricket, but the lesson that life’s greatest victories are found in love, in shared joy, and in the courage to step outside routine to embrace what is truly unforgettable.