A Dual Existence in a Seemingly Singular Country
Sonia Mycak
It’s 1954. I haven’t been born yet, but my brother is five years old and standing at the gates of the local school, about to embark on his first day there. He speaks no English–-at this stage my parents’ use of the language is functional but not sophisticated. So, as well as facing the expected trauma of separation from his mother, he is confronting a new culture in a language he cannot speak an can only fleetingly understand. At midday to other children crowd around his lunchbox:
‘Ugh…yuk. He’s eating a dirty sandwich.’
The young teacher comes over to see why the new boy is crying and the others are laughing at him. She takes one look at his half-eaten sandwich, and throws it in the bin.
‘Come on, we’ll get you a nice Vegemite sandwich from the canteen.’
She takes his hand and they walk to the next building. She’s only trying to be helpful, after all, she’s never seen black bread before, and as for that smelly salami—well, how is a child meant to eat such spicy food? It’s a wonder the child doesn’t throw it all up, she says to the ladies putting away the tubs of peanut butter. It’s no wonder he’s such a pale, spineless thing, she says, if he had to live on that kind of food.
‘Well, they don’t know much about nutrition in those countries, do they?’ says one of the ladies by way of explanation.
Of course, no-one told Miss Campbell that she would have a little ‘New Australian’ in her class. She’s not sure what to do with the wide-eyed fragile looking boy with his funny baggy shorts and unpronounceable name. His eyes plead insecurity; this type of profound fear is something she can’t deal with. She’s used to kids weeing on the floor, and crying for mummy—not this. And somehow he must learn English. It’s embarrassing for her, and no good for him, either. So, for his own good, she instigates a system whereby she slaps his wrist good and hard every time he uses one of those foreign words. She even sends him out of the class when he finally starts crying in sheer confusion and utter misery. Eventually his survival instinct takes over, his skin thickens somewhat and his English improves. It improves so much that six years later he becomes dux of the school and wins a place at the selective high school. It improves so much that now, 37 years later, he speaks not one word of Ukrainian.