“Look what I’ve got,” says my three-year-old nephew.
“What is it?” “It’s a truck,” he responds, waving it in front of the web camera. “Oh, now I can see it!” He runs off to find more toys, leaving his teenage brother and sister free to chat. “Hooley Dooley,” I say, “you’ve all grown!”
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_ “Don’t shout,” my cousin yelled, “you’ll wake up yiayia (grandma).”
“What did you say?” I bellowed as we noisily careened through the darkened house just after 2am. “I can’t see anything!” Yiayia, who was deaf, slept peacefully in the next room, oblivious to our hilarity and collisions with the furniture. “And this,” I said, indicating the rows of shelves, “is where we keep the ashes.”
“Ashes?” gasped the new receptionist, slowly backing out of the room. “You mean… of dead people?” “Well, yes. We’re just across the road from the crematorium.” “So you’re half?”
“No, I’m double.” My Japanese students looked at me, perplexed. “I’m Greek and Australian,” I explained. “I’ve got the benefit of two cultures.” |
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December 2019
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I acknowledge the traditional Custodians of the land on which I work and live, the Gubbi Gubbi / Kabi Kabi and Joondoburri people, and recognise their continuing connection to land, the waters and sky. I pay my respect to them and their cultures; and to Elders past, present and emerging.
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© 2024 HARI KOTROTSIOS
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