Tuesday, June 9, 2009


Went to my new place of employment today - faffed about, took charge of the rose garden. Had a ball.

As most of you have guessed, my dilemma the other day was due my Aboriginal heritage. I do not, nor will I, use the word Indigineous (and I am sure I spelt that wrong) to describe my heritage. Pop was part Aboriginal, I copped 'Abo' when I was a kid, and I am NOT going to back down from that, to keep some politically correct drongo happy. I am what I am, and I will call it what I like. Rant over.

Or not, I am on a roll. I get sooooooooo angry when I hear people who have no Aboriginal blood, telling me that 'They are not Aboriginals, they are Indigineous Australians." Ummm, hello? I'm not a bloody Indigineous Australian, I am an Australian, with Aboriginal heritage THANK YOU VERY BLOODY MUCH!! Now get the Hell away from me!

Ok, now I have finished ranting. I feel better. Sorry about that.

So yeah, we are going to, for the first time ever, officially acknowledge our Aborignal heritage. Gah! Big step. F*ck me! I am feeling angry, guilty and emotional, all at once. I am entitled, I am more than entitled, my children are entitled by blood, and yet.............. it feels wrong.

We were raised to never take a handout, and this feels like that.

It goes back to where I grew up, Abos (yes, I know, shut up) were scum. Take anything that wasn't nailed down, sell their kids for a drink, plead poverty so they could buy their smokes/grog/have a bet, no idea of how to keep a job/look after their kids. Some members of my family did those things, yes. They deserved a good solid smack around the head, and those who haven't managed to kill themselves with grog, still do - I cannot forgive the things that happened to the innocent, due to their refusal to control their urges, or even make serious effort. And so, the rest of us were tarred with the same brush. In a small, isolated community (or rather, several small, interlinked communities) this made life very difficult. The rest of us, the ones who didn't do those things (the very few), were forever struggling against that negative image. And it sucked. So, I don't like to claim my heritage, because of the negative memories.

My husband has no idea just how far this went, I don't talk about it. He lived with mainland Aboriginals for a while as a child (as well as having the bloodline himself), and travelled a lot around the Outback, so saw a lot of the problems that these communities faced. He grew up in Melbourne, so his experience was more from the outside. He has no hope of understanding. And I have no inclination to try to get him to. Our world views are too far apart. And I get too worked up. You may have noticed.................

Case in point on that; told him Mum was going to take us out to the Centre, to get it sorted. His response? "You can do it, just tell them who you are, that's all you have to do."

Ummmmmmmmmmmmm NO!! I mean, yes, I could do that, but it's no the way it's done. That's like - I don't know, turning up to your best mate's wedding, at the most expensive venue in town, where black tie is the only look permitted at any time, in old thongs, faded Chesty Bonds bluey and ripped boardies, with a tinny in one hand, and a half-naked, three quarters pissed Ralph centrefold in the other. You just do not do that - there are (unspoken) rules. I would get away with it, but it'd be no less wrong. Thankfully Mr20 understands the etiquette, his response to the same thing was "Pffffffft, nah!."

So yeah, I am a bit up and down at the moment.

And for that reason (and the fact that I have been ranting no-stop in this post) we will no longer be discussing my heritage.

Thank you.

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