I was around 8 years old, a divorce when I was 7 left it with just dad and me, we did it tough, living on the hill I still cant recall the exact location of it, all I know is that I could see Albury, Wodonga way in the distance, and with no neighbours for 100 miles, to a kid it felt like we lived at the end of the world. Dad picked me up from the baby sitters as usual it was dark, he honked the horn and I would come running out and jump on the front seat. Our old car was a Kingswood that we called boing boing, because it had no suspension to speak of, and this ensured that we would feel each and every bump and pothole on the road. The hill was a steep unsealed dirt road, we had to drive down a winding road with dense bush on each side and cross a small rickety bridge that was above a creek, that led up to the hill we would live on top of. Many times in winter when the rain was heavy we would attempt four or five times to get to the top, to no avail, I remember sitting there watching dads face as he guided the car as best he could, the back end would slide out and we would fish tail, he would swear and curse the rain, and the car, he was 64 red haired and had a fearsome temper that went along with red heads reputation, I knew better than to offer any advice, or moan about it, I just sat there looking out the window. Most of these nights we would just sleep there in the car, no food, unless I had something left over in my school bag, no light, no blankets, just us, a bitterly cold car, foggy windows and darkness, that was only interrupted by the occasional boom and crack of thunder and lightening. There were nights that we would leave the car and walk the hill, it was steep, my shoes would get stuck in the thick mud and made the trip even more miserable than it already was. On a good night dad would turn the car around and head back to a friends place in town, even though it was a long drive, I was excited to know that a warm bean bag and a meal would await us at our destination. The next day we would do the same thing again and attempt to get to our house, our house, if you could call it that, was very small and sparsely furnished, we had no electricity would have so there was no tv, no electrical appliances, no lights, none of the luxuries that most people took for granted. You walked up to the front door, reach down and fumble around to grab the gas lamp, as dad lit it and lowered the glass lid, the door would come into view and in we would go. As you entered there was one small room, this served as our kitchen dining and lounge room, there was a open fire with a metal grill above it, the backseat of a Holden was our lounge, an upturned wooden crate, the kind that fruit pickers put their fruit in was our kitchen table, and plastic crates were used as chairs, bricks stacked on top of each other with a plank of wood across it was our cupboard, pantry, and shelves for everything else. Dads cooking was simple, and not necessarily nutritional, but it filled a hungry stomach, I remember Rice a Riso, and Dinner Winner, these little sachets of dried veggies n shrimp, that you added to rice. We ate rabbit, kangaroo, snakes, goannas, yes I said goannas, I was convinced that anything alive that ran across my dads path would soon end up on our dinner plate, baked rabbit, stewed rabbit, fried rabbit, you name it we had it, till this day Im sure if I was starving and all I had was a rabbit I would surely die. Dads room came off the lounge/dining/kitchen, and mine was right next door to his, our rooms were identical small and bare, each consisted of a bed, dad had a double me a single, there were no cupboards or dressing tables, no drawers, I had two garbage bags that held my clothes, dad had a few as well, they sat in the corner of the room, I had a plastic crate that had some toys in it, mainly matchbox cars a doll, and a handful of comics, there was the usual comics like Ritchie Rich, MIckey and Goofy, I remember Jughead and Archie, then there were the horror ones that dad gave me, I dont know why I read them, they terrified me, vampires and ghouls, zombies with flesh rotting off them filled the pages, but I still read them, dad being dad and a guy thought nothing of it, I was after all his kid, and Im sure he thought of me as a boy, because thats how he treated me. There was no dresses and bows, no girly shoes, and pretty things, that year my dad got me a .22 rifle with a scope and all, for my birthday, we rarely celebrated birthdays, dad wasnt really a believer in the silly tradition, but I think most of the time he just forgot or we couldnt really afford it, I didnt care. He made sure that I knew it wasnt a toy, he taught me how to handle it responsibly, and on the rare occasions that a friend would come stay over I was forbidden to bring it out. Even so I knew he copped some grief from the school and the child welfare people when I bragged about my rifle at school, word got to the teacher and they out up a big fuss. I remember someone coming one day to inspect the house and stuff, dad made me put a dress on, the only one I had it always came out when a new girlfriend or someone special was coming around. I hated it and would tug and pull at it complaining constantly that it made me itch. He would wash my face and cut my nails real short, so they looked clean. I even brushed my hair. Well they came and looked around, they asked loads of questions, and before I knew it I was being asked to pack some clothes up, she asked for my toothbrush, I just looked at her puzzled, I dont think that brushing my teeth was part of my daily regime. I sat on my bed listening to dad and the woman arguing, I peeked out through my door and was very impressed and surprised that this little 5 foot nothing woman was standing toe to toe with him, I had after all witnessed my dad knock down fully grown men with one punch. I left with that woman that day, with my dad pulling one arm and the woman the other, he kicked a sizeable dent in the door of her car as she pushed me and told me to lock the door. Ill come get you Bubs dont worry was the last thing I heard him say. 8 weeks later, he kept to his promise and come to collect me from the home. I was filled with mixed emotions, the bed was warm the food was good and they had a tv and lights and a flushing toilets, but he was my dad, my hero, so I took his hand and went back with him.
Posted on: Fri, 04 Jul 2014 00:42:46 +0000
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