Draft of Memoirs...

Arriving in Australia, unfortunately, at four years of age, most all is a blur. I remember being very tired and mum rushing my sister and I as if we were unnecessary baggage, and as children do, we went with the flow. This is understandable, though, as she had missed Australia and her mum and dad so much.

This was all mum was prepared to do.

Scanning again, I sense only a scent, strong cologne, and a gentle hand. Grandpa picked me up in his arms and my fear and severe introspection diminished for a moment. This would be a memorable relationship that would last too short in time. But he was a hard man to get to know and had very high standards, but eventually, we would meet in the middle, after my sixth birthday.


Jack (grandpa) knew certain people, understood their weaknesses and strengths, a wholly religious man, really only concerned about his family, his daughter and the one he truly loved, his wife, grandma.


As a little boy, living with grandma & grandpa was nothing like being with dad and mum. It was different in many ways. To be with two people so much in love made everything okay. Let’s face it, a stress free environment, love and caring, where we at least could be free of shouting and chaos and move towards a safe place where young children can live and dream, is an ideal context for pre-school children.


I heard my mother one night shortly after arriving in Australia, ranting about my father, how he spent all his time at work, etc...


As children are treated, we were sent to bed, my eye on my sister, as this was the first time we had been separated since father’s departure. At this point in time, I didn’t trust anyone. I screamed again to tell them that Louise was not supposed to be put in another room; that we had began as friends and would continue despite everything.


Grandpa seemed to understand, carrying Louise back to the room in the bed by the door.


I remember that my head felt like it was about to explode, the blood rushing upwards, my heart racing like a demon. My only concern was Lou. We did not need to be separated, like everyone else in the family. I began to cry, as did Louise, because they tried to separate us, and in the end, we were permitted to sleep in the same room.


(Of course, writing this memory is from that little boy's perspective.)


As we learned later, Mum was simply about living her own life, “chasing dreams”, working hard, and ignoring her children as if we never existed. It was only later, that dad called, reconciled, and came to Australia. It was only then that we felt life would actually start over– and be a family again.

Looking back to childhood from the perspective of a middle-aged man, that very young woman who was and is my mother, had and has a tremendous amount of courage, she always confronted life head on, engaged, feeling every pain and pleasure. These notes are simply my memories and must not be taken as the literal truth, as memory can never be trusted.

*


Lou and I had been sent to a Catholic school, “Our Lady of Perpetual Sucker” in the suburb of Box Hill. Despite the esoteric name of the school, it was my first school and one I would never forget.


There are only five lasting images of this time period: the perceived vileness of bread, the slight beating from a Nun in 2nd grade,, and the sixth grade boy’s carrying me on their shoulders as we were about to move back to the U.S. The other two images, too hard to remember, is the other beating from the Sister, slamming my knuckles for laughing out loud; this included a trip to the Head Sister, standing in front of the sixth grade class, humiliated, embarrassed and confused. And the last image, the thermal underwear which grandma made to fit under my school uniform’s short pants. As the thermal underwear was slightly made too long, they slid down, revealing something to be reviled and made fun of… this certainly happened, knocked about like a test crash dummy, wondering why life can be so cruel and painful.


Lou and I slowly adapted to the situation, loving our grandparents and experiencing a new life.


The slightly retarded boy, at school, chomping on his sandwich with his mouth open, constantly revealing the contents of his half eaten food should have put me off bread forever, but time heals.


My corporal punishment(s), made to turn my knuckles in the way of the stick, slammed for speaking, I’ll never forget, because, these acts of cruelty have remained in my memory, a lasting disappointment, a reminder of the harshness of society, and ironically, performed by a Nun whom, at the time, in my innocent perceptions, could do no wrong, makes the world, even now, feel like a terrible place.


As I look back to that time, those mere two years were a blessing in disguise. My grandparents were there at that crucial time of human development, the shaping years, and I would not trade that time for anything as this time has moulded my view of the world: kindness, discipline the harshness of reality and…home.


*


The age of six is much harder than anyone should remember.

During this magical space in time, my first Holy Communion, first Confession, and given my first prayer book, that smelled, in my young mind, just like heaven.


Remember so holy, my white shirt and tie, my new Epistle, and grandpa in the back ground, proud of his grandson achieving and meeting this crucial stage in life.


During this short period, we began seeing much more of mother.


Before she would flit in and out like a butterfly on steroids. Suddenly she was around more; to then tell Lou and me that dad was coming over to see us.


I thought, “Dad, really… dad is coming back.”


I was ecstatic, Lou was silent.


When my father finally arrived, I truly believed he would be exactly like my grandfather, but was soon disappointed