Mention “Australia” and certain images are instantly evoked: emus on a car insurance commercial, Crocodile Dundee, Outback Steakhouse, Keith Urban and Nicole Kidman. This list is long.
My story is probably only half as interesting as the previously evoked images. In short: I grew up in Australia.
When I say grew up, I mean with the exception of kindergarten which I completed in southern California, and I have the certificate to prove it, the rest of my pre-college education occurred in Australia. My high school diploma, or more accurately, higher school certificate, is from Australia.
Today I tell the story on my own terms, if at all. But years ago it was very difficult to avoid the topic. When asked where I went to high school, the only answer was Australia. Then came what seemed like an interrogation. Why did I go there? Was my dad in the military?
No, he was a high school science teacher. That answer evoked blank stares. Why would a high school science teacher from California end up in Australia? The short answer: Australia had a math and science teacher shortage and they were recruiting qualified teachers to teach for two year assignments.
Except two years turned into twelve and that is a story in and of itself.
Hopefully my Australian friends will realize that my early experiences are not a personal attack on them or their country. In fact, some of these stories have rarely been told for many good reasons.
I have lifelong friends from Down Under and the country is beautiful. On your way there let me know, and I will tell you some amazing places to visit and what amazing local delicacies to try.
But Australia back then was not the cosmopolitan, worldly place that it is now, especially in a country town.
Here’s my first six years of life in a nutshell: I’m of Latino background, raised in a bilingual household, and look very much like what most folks would assume someone of Latino background would look like, which means I do not have blond hair, blue eyes, or fair skin.
During my first few years in Australia I was asked if I were Italian. Constantly.
When I said no, I was then asked if I were Greek. Again I said no and responded that I was American. My responses left those inquiring with confounded looks. I never understood at the time that I looked like what most folks assumed Italians or Greeks looked like.
For those of you that love foreign cuisine, we had exactly one restaurant in town that served foreign cuisine other than Italian, and that was Chinese. For Mexican food, we had to drive 30 miles to the only place which served that.
It’s evident that most of my classmates did not make the 30 mile trip very often and were not familiar with Mexican food.
My mom made us burritos and sent those with us to school for lunch. But what I could not understand was my classmates’ reaction to what was to me a perfectly normal meal. Everyone kept asking me what my burrito was, what was inside, and why I was eating it.
As an introvert, I really did not like the attention.
Another thing that made me really stand out was that I was the only one in my class born in another country. There were one or two other students born in other cities, but the vast majority of my classmates were all born in the local hospital in town.
I never realized at the time, but my basic English vocabulary was limited. I had always assumed at first that the reason I had difficulty understanding my teachers and classmates and that they had a difficult time understanding me was because of everyone’s accent.
In retrospect it was because a good chunk of my vocabulary was Spanish.
My first two years of school in southern California were in bilingual classrooms and the most important concepts taught were socializing, reading, and writing, regardless of language.
I knew the concepts, but not the English words for many everyday things. But my Australian teachers had no concept that any of their students would not have the English proficiency that a six-year-old should have.
By the time I reached first grade, I knew my limitations in English and realized that no one understood that I knew another language. They just assumed that my intelligence was limited, which was quite insulting.
There was only one choice for me: prove them wrong and enhance my English vocabulary.
My work was cut out for me.
Some memorable instances: We arrived in Australia in September with the school year ending in December. My parents decided to put in kindergarten to finish the school year. They did it so that I could become accustomed to the language.
Kindergarten was mostly babble. I understood almost nothing. My classmates took my hand and gently pulled me where I needed to go since I didn’t understand any spoken directions.
Without warning the whole class broke into song. All I understood was “tiny kangaroo down, sport.” I thought they were singing about a sport that tiny kangaroos played.
Several times per week in first grade we listened to this educational radio show over the school’s PA system. It was called “Let Join In.” The only words I understood was the first line of the theme song: “Let’s Join In, is going to begin.” After that, nothing but babble.
To make matters worse, my first grade teacher would make us all stand and answer questions about what we heard on the radio show. I understood nothing and did not have the words to say that I understood nothing.
To top this off, I was asked to go downstairs to the second grade teacher’s room and tell her to turn the “wyless” (wireless, British for radio, but pronounced like an Australian) up. I had no idea was I was telling her and I had no idea what her response to me was.
In second grade I learned many new words: slippers (chanclas in Spanish), rags (trapitos in Spanish), and dustpan (palita in Spanish). For each of those, my second grade teacher told me those were “stupid” words and in the future I was to use the correct words.
I went home those days and greeting my mom with something like, “guess what new words I learned today!”
Things did go smoother by third grade. My English proficiency was that of a native speaker and my scores in all subjects other than English were through the roof.
As an adult I would discover that I have dyslexia and that explained a lot, plus that’s a topic for another time.
I was in high school when I met another student born in another country – he was born in Papua New Guinea. I also met another student who was bilingual – in German. And ninth grade was interesting because there were two other American students in my class.
In case anyone is wondering, I never acquired the taste for Vegemite.
