Where I’m From

I’m from north of the upside-down river; from the Gray-Nicolls double scoop, BMX bikes, Big Ms and Paddle Pops.

I’m from the brick veneer at the top of the court, where kids big and small play together and laugh. Like us, the smell of fresh cut grass lingers until after it’s dark.

I’m from the eucalypts, the sawflies and spitfire grubs; bawbling magpies and River Red Gum woodlands.

I’m from the Cook’s and the Twynham’s. Uncomplicated working-class folk; stubborn and often sharp-tongued, yet loving, generous and kind.

I’m from the long road trips of happy wanderers, who take the mickey and like to have a laugh.

From loaves of milk and sky-blue pink horizons.

I’m from the church of sport. I worship my idols on Saturday and try to emulate their feats on Sunday. And dream of one day wearing a baggy green.

I’m from the forests once inhabited by Robin and his band of merry men. From pork dripping, sloppy peas and Yorkshire puddings.

From grandparents who survived the blitz, and rebuilt their lives in defiance of terror. And parents who left everything behind to start anew.

I’m from fond memories not dwelled upon, yet kept close to my heart. Family members now passed, live vicariously through me and my kids. I often catch a fleeting glimpse.