It’s hard to catalogue the events of a year. I’ve tried before; when I first began this blog I commented regularly on what I had been doing at that time the year before. It was easy, in many ways. Easier than it is right now, at any rate.
A year ago I was about to begin my second year at Pioneer School, knowing that by Christmas I would be in Australia. The funny thing is that, other than the students I taught, I don’t really remember a whole lot about the four months leading up to my departure. I vaguely remember trying to organize our house, trying to plan lessons for the teacher who would take my place, trying to make sure animals were taken care of, and trying to complete paperwork and police checks for visas and schools and various other governmental agencies… but I don’t really remember much about life during those months.
I remember the students, though.
I think, in many ways, that is what I will remember most about Australia, too.
I thank my lucky stars that I opted to participate in two very important, but dramatically different, extra-curricular supervision activities while I have been here.
First, I was invited to participate in the Muswellbrook High School Performing Arts Tour. Like so many things in life, it was more through luck than good management that the opportunity arrived.
It was suggested by someone (probably through the ATA exchange program meeting) that we join activities we enjoy. I considered asking to coach rugby, but I kind of felt that I might be a little out of my depth there. As much experience as I may have as a coach (both for football and for rugby), I think that any Canadian would find it humbling to see the sheer extent of involvement Australians have with rugby. I can only compare it to hockey. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, has played it here – to one extent or another. Even the most unenthusiastic kid knows how to pass the ball. It’s as natural to Australians as ball hockey is in Canada. The kids at the high school have been playing since they were four or five years old (or possibly earlier). Most won’t ever go pro, but like so many Canadian kids dreaming of scoring the winning goal in the Cup Finals, almost every kid here has dreamed of scoring the winning try in the State of Origin. I knew before I arrived that I would be in rugby country, but I didn’t understand the extent… or the difference between Union and League. Once I realized just how out of my depth I truly was, coaching here became unrealistic (besides, how could I consider coaching a game which has no rucks or line-outs?!).
Then one day, in the daily notices, I read an invitation to students to join the “Guitar Ensemble”. I was intrigued. Back home, at both WCHS and Pioneer, I offered introductory guitar lessons during REAL time. I don’t consider myself a good player, but I have several guitars and I know enough chords to keep kids busy. I went down and spoke with the teacher in charge of the Ensemble. She encouraged me to show up, so I did. It was awesome. The sheer talent of the kids involved blew me away. I was the least skilled person there, but I kept showing up. We practiced weekly (I practiced nightly). Then, about a month in, the teacher in charge asked if I wanted to participate in the Performing Arts Tour. I said I did without knowing what it was, just eager to be involved in something different from anything else I had done here.
Yeah, I’m with the Band.
We rocked a tour along the Gold Coast. Every venue we played was packed… standing room only.
I got arrested.
(You laugh, but… well, let me tell you a story…)
It was the final day of the Tour. We were in Tweeds Head or King’s Cross… I don’t really remember. We had just finished our last set and were chilling on the beach, staring across the white sand beach at the sinking sun. A couple of the kids came up and asked to go to the 7-11 which was just up the street.
Now, back home (at least at WCHS, where the kids are 14+) I think I would have simply said, “Sure… just be good.” Then again, maybe I would have insisted that an adult accompany them. As it was, when in Oz… CYA. As a teacher, you don’t let kids go anywhere on their own… ever. It’s a duty of care issue. Frankly, I believe both Canada and Australia have gone too far in this particular aspect – we have become so afraid of what could happen (in a worst-case scenario) that we refuse to let kids have the freedoms we, ourselves, would have taken for granted at their age… still, as I have observed before, I don’t make policy – I just abide by it.
So I said I would escort students, in groups of 10, to the 7-11.
It seems like a simple thing.
The walk to 7-11 was uneventful. I told the kids that I wanted no more than 5 students in the store at any time, so the clerk wasn’t overwhelmed and so that other patrons could access the store effectively. Five waited outside, five went in. I stood just inside the door where I was accessible to any of them as needed.
As I stood there, a scruffy-looking fellow walked in. He was long-haired, long-whiskered, and long-overdue for a bath. He walked over to the coffee-maker and got a cup. Then he glanced up at me.
He stared at me for long enough for it to make me uncomfortable. I gave him one of those, “Hey, how’s it going?” nods and tried to pretend his staring was polite.
Then he walked closer to me and said, “I know who you are.”
He was intense.
Have you ever stood in front of someone you could say with absolute certainty was crazy? If you have, you might have a sense of what his eyes were like. His entire demeanour was enough that, from that single statement, I saw three of the girls back by the pop cooler stop and move further away from us, shrinking into themselves a little.
I laughed.
“I doubt it, mate,” I said, trying to use an Aussie term to diffuse what I saw as a potentially hazardous situation.
“No, I know you,” he insisted. “I saw the footage. I know your face.”
“I think you’re mistaken,” I told him calmly, thinking from what he’d said that maybe he had mistaken me for a celebrity.
“No. I know your face. From the ______ massacre. The footage was clear. It’s you. I know your face. Do you know who I am?”
I was stunned.
He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open… to a backwards driver license. “My name is ____, and I’m placing you under arrest; you have the right to remain silent…”
At this point I gestured to three of the remaining girls in the 7-11 to wait outside. Two others were far enough away that, if things became violent, they wouldn’t be at risk. “Look mate,” I began. “I think you…”
“I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest,” he insisted, getting close enough that I actually braced, getting ready to fight.
“Hey!” a new voice called out. “You!”
I glanced over to see the clerk charging over at us. I couldn’t tell who he was yelling at, but I was bracing myself for the worst. The two remaining girls looked at me in what seemed like terror, knowing something was wrong but not sure what or why.
“What are you doing here?” the clerk demanded. “Last time I had to call the cops! Get out! Stop harassing my customers!”
“I’m arresting…”
“No!” the clerk yelled, then when the scruffy man hesitated, he snapped, “I’m calling the police again.”
“I was just trying to get my coffee…” the man whined, then bolted for the door, cup in hand.
The clerk watched him go, then turned to me. “Sorry, mate. He keeps showing up in here and pulling shit like that.”
So yeah, that was the time I got arrested by a dero (an Australian term) in Australia.
Frankly, having replayed the event over and over again, I really think he was just angling to get a free coffee…
The second excursion was very different.
My second excursion was to Goodooga. It’s a small village in the far north west of New South Wales. It was to attend the Aboriginal games. Like the first excursion, I lucked into it.
As many of you may remember, I wrote a blog a long time ago about my interest in exploring Aboriginal culture and comparing it to First Nations experiences. Early in my time here, I had the opportunity to mention that interest to, and then discuss comparative experiences with, the coordinator of the Girls Academy and the Aboriginal Resource Centre. At a lunch event months later, she mentioned that an opportunity to go to the Aboriginal Games had opened up. They needed a male supervisor. She was looking at me when she announced it, and I eagerly took the opportunity.
I don’t know what I expected.
It was a long trip to a very, very flat part of the world. I know just how flat. I did a 10km run there. All I saw was dead animals, dying trees, dry earth, and a brilliant blue sky. It was beautiful, in a dry, dangerous kind of way. It looked like someone had flat-ironed the land itself.
The Games were fun and engaging, but it was the sheer diversity of the people who identified as Aboriginal that really stood out to me. I know that there must be a similar range of people back home who identify, actively, as FNMI, but it was still startling to see the acceptance of difference in appearance here. People didn’t seem to judge, but seemed to accept. Now I know that is a broad generalization, but I wonder how accepted a similarly diverse group of people would be at a First Nation event in Canada. I would like to believe that there would be no discrimination, but I just don’t know. Of course, as a school event, I know I only saw a slim section of Aboriginal culture, but I was impressed by the openness and acceptance that I saw. I only wish we saw the same everywhere.
Again, however, in both excursions, it is the students that stand out. In the performing arts tour, it was the sheer talent and respectful behaviour which stood out. The kids were amazing. They performed beyond expectation, and were wonderful to spend time with. On the Aboriginal games tour, the kids (which ranged in age from 10-16) were joyful and energetic, excited to be involved and brimming with enthusiasm. I could not have asked to be part of better excursions, and it is the kids who will remain in my memories.
As I draw closer to the end of my time here, I know that I will treasure these kinds of things… the moments when I stepped outside of the classroom with students from the school, where I saw kids doing what they were best at, what they loved, what they were born to do. I am so honoured that I got a chance to see that, to be a part of it.
I know, without a question, that a year from now, even ten years from now, I will remember these months.
A year ago I was about to begin my second year at Pioneer School, knowing that by Christmas I would be in Australia. The funny thing is that, other than the students I taught, I don’t really remember a whole lot about the four months leading up to my departure. I vaguely remember trying to organize our house, trying to plan lessons for the teacher who would take my place, trying to make sure animals were taken care of, and trying to complete paperwork and police checks for visas and schools and various other governmental agencies… but I don’t really remember much about life during those months.
I remember the students, though.
I think, in many ways, that is what I will remember most about Australia, too.
I thank my lucky stars that I opted to participate in two very important, but dramatically different, extra-curricular supervision activities while I have been here.
First, I was invited to participate in the Muswellbrook High School Performing Arts Tour. Like so many things in life, it was more through luck than good management that the opportunity arrived.
It was suggested by someone (probably through the ATA exchange program meeting) that we join activities we enjoy. I considered asking to coach rugby, but I kind of felt that I might be a little out of my depth there. As much experience as I may have as a coach (both for football and for rugby), I think that any Canadian would find it humbling to see the sheer extent of involvement Australians have with rugby. I can only compare it to hockey. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, has played it here – to one extent or another. Even the most unenthusiastic kid knows how to pass the ball. It’s as natural to Australians as ball hockey is in Canada. The kids at the high school have been playing since they were four or five years old (or possibly earlier). Most won’t ever go pro, but like so many Canadian kids dreaming of scoring the winning goal in the Cup Finals, almost every kid here has dreamed of scoring the winning try in the State of Origin. I knew before I arrived that I would be in rugby country, but I didn’t understand the extent… or the difference between Union and League. Once I realized just how out of my depth I truly was, coaching here became unrealistic (besides, how could I consider coaching a game which has no rucks or line-outs?!).
Then one day, in the daily notices, I read an invitation to students to join the “Guitar Ensemble”. I was intrigued. Back home, at both WCHS and Pioneer, I offered introductory guitar lessons during REAL time. I don’t consider myself a good player, but I have several guitars and I know enough chords to keep kids busy. I went down and spoke with the teacher in charge of the Ensemble. She encouraged me to show up, so I did. It was awesome. The sheer talent of the kids involved blew me away. I was the least skilled person there, but I kept showing up. We practiced weekly (I practiced nightly). Then, about a month in, the teacher in charge asked if I wanted to participate in the Performing Arts Tour. I said I did without knowing what it was, just eager to be involved in something different from anything else I had done here.
Yeah, I’m with the Band.
We rocked a tour along the Gold Coast. Every venue we played was packed… standing room only.
I got arrested.
(You laugh, but… well, let me tell you a story…)
It was the final day of the Tour. We were in Tweeds Head or King’s Cross… I don’t really remember. We had just finished our last set and were chilling on the beach, staring across the white sand beach at the sinking sun. A couple of the kids came up and asked to go to the 7-11 which was just up the street.
Now, back home (at least at WCHS, where the kids are 14+) I think I would have simply said, “Sure… just be good.” Then again, maybe I would have insisted that an adult accompany them. As it was, when in Oz… CYA. As a teacher, you don’t let kids go anywhere on their own… ever. It’s a duty of care issue. Frankly, I believe both Canada and Australia have gone too far in this particular aspect – we have become so afraid of what could happen (in a worst-case scenario) that we refuse to let kids have the freedoms we, ourselves, would have taken for granted at their age… still, as I have observed before, I don’t make policy – I just abide by it.
So I said I would escort students, in groups of 10, to the 7-11.
It seems like a simple thing.
The walk to 7-11 was uneventful. I told the kids that I wanted no more than 5 students in the store at any time, so the clerk wasn’t overwhelmed and so that other patrons could access the store effectively. Five waited outside, five went in. I stood just inside the door where I was accessible to any of them as needed.
As I stood there, a scruffy-looking fellow walked in. He was long-haired, long-whiskered, and long-overdue for a bath. He walked over to the coffee-maker and got a cup. Then he glanced up at me.
He stared at me for long enough for it to make me uncomfortable. I gave him one of those, “Hey, how’s it going?” nods and tried to pretend his staring was polite.
Then he walked closer to me and said, “I know who you are.”
He was intense.
Have you ever stood in front of someone you could say with absolute certainty was crazy? If you have, you might have a sense of what his eyes were like. His entire demeanour was enough that, from that single statement, I saw three of the girls back by the pop cooler stop and move further away from us, shrinking into themselves a little.
I laughed.
“I doubt it, mate,” I said, trying to use an Aussie term to diffuse what I saw as a potentially hazardous situation.
“No, I know you,” he insisted. “I saw the footage. I know your face.”
“I think you’re mistaken,” I told him calmly, thinking from what he’d said that maybe he had mistaken me for a celebrity.
“No. I know your face. From the ______ massacre. The footage was clear. It’s you. I know your face. Do you know who I am?”
I was stunned.
He pulled out his wallet and flipped it open… to a backwards driver license. “My name is ____, and I’m placing you under arrest; you have the right to remain silent…”
At this point I gestured to three of the remaining girls in the 7-11 to wait outside. Two others were far enough away that, if things became violent, they wouldn’t be at risk. “Look mate,” I began. “I think you…”
“I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest,” he insisted, getting close enough that I actually braced, getting ready to fight.
“Hey!” a new voice called out. “You!”
I glanced over to see the clerk charging over at us. I couldn’t tell who he was yelling at, but I was bracing myself for the worst. The two remaining girls looked at me in what seemed like terror, knowing something was wrong but not sure what or why.
“What are you doing here?” the clerk demanded. “Last time I had to call the cops! Get out! Stop harassing my customers!”
“I’m arresting…”
“No!” the clerk yelled, then when the scruffy man hesitated, he snapped, “I’m calling the police again.”
“I was just trying to get my coffee…” the man whined, then bolted for the door, cup in hand.
The clerk watched him go, then turned to me. “Sorry, mate. He keeps showing up in here and pulling shit like that.”
So yeah, that was the time I got arrested by a dero (an Australian term) in Australia.
Frankly, having replayed the event over and over again, I really think he was just angling to get a free coffee…
The second excursion was very different.
My second excursion was to Goodooga. It’s a small village in the far north west of New South Wales. It was to attend the Aboriginal games. Like the first excursion, I lucked into it.
As many of you may remember, I wrote a blog a long time ago about my interest in exploring Aboriginal culture and comparing it to First Nations experiences. Early in my time here, I had the opportunity to mention that interest to, and then discuss comparative experiences with, the coordinator of the Girls Academy and the Aboriginal Resource Centre. At a lunch event months later, she mentioned that an opportunity to go to the Aboriginal Games had opened up. They needed a male supervisor. She was looking at me when she announced it, and I eagerly took the opportunity.
I don’t know what I expected.
It was a long trip to a very, very flat part of the world. I know just how flat. I did a 10km run there. All I saw was dead animals, dying trees, dry earth, and a brilliant blue sky. It was beautiful, in a dry, dangerous kind of way. It looked like someone had flat-ironed the land itself.
The Games were fun and engaging, but it was the sheer diversity of the people who identified as Aboriginal that really stood out to me. I know that there must be a similar range of people back home who identify, actively, as FNMI, but it was still startling to see the acceptance of difference in appearance here. People didn’t seem to judge, but seemed to accept. Now I know that is a broad generalization, but I wonder how accepted a similarly diverse group of people would be at a First Nation event in Canada. I would like to believe that there would be no discrimination, but I just don’t know. Of course, as a school event, I know I only saw a slim section of Aboriginal culture, but I was impressed by the openness and acceptance that I saw. I only wish we saw the same everywhere.
Again, however, in both excursions, it is the students that stand out. In the performing arts tour, it was the sheer talent and respectful behaviour which stood out. The kids were amazing. They performed beyond expectation, and were wonderful to spend time with. On the Aboriginal games tour, the kids (which ranged in age from 10-16) were joyful and energetic, excited to be involved and brimming with enthusiasm. I could not have asked to be part of better excursions, and it is the kids who will remain in my memories.
As I draw closer to the end of my time here, I know that I will treasure these kinds of things… the moments when I stepped outside of the classroom with students from the school, where I saw kids doing what they were best at, what they loved, what they were born to do. I am so honoured that I got a chance to see that, to be a part of it.
I know, without a question, that a year from now, even ten years from now, I will remember these months.