My Australia day..

People here are still talking about the last blue blue sky Australia Day and I have to admit that once again it was special. Fuzzy feeling inside special. The ritual of being able to express an Aussie-ness is at times overwhelming for a new Australian. Where I live it means barbies along the river, the kids swim, the girls do their separate thing and my Aussie mates and I spend the afternoon talking sport, usually rugby league or cricket, cars, Holden verses Ford and work. “What you been up to?” is not an interest in your personal life but rather just making sure that you are still gainfully employed and haven’t become a bludger. As a student I just pass muster although most of them recon I’m far too old and by now I should have had a real trade, such as a chippy or sparky. It’s much the same sort of light hearted banter at smoko or when we check the mail or mow the lawn at the same time and when we bump into each other at some school or community do. Yeah, I suppose I do feel accepted here, a white face and the fact that I didn’t arrive in a shipping container apparently helped.

Part of the day’s ritual was someone playing that ‘Down under’ song by Men at Work, where everyone loudly belts along when they sing: “..where women glow and men plunder..” and everyone recons that should be our national anthem. The Australian flag, first flown in 1954, was everywhere, on towels, napkins, singlets, boardies and even on the kid’s faces. Yeah, I love those moment of conformation and unity where new comers and the old stock connect and we all bolster each other beliefs that we belong to this country just as much as the Aboriginal people. Moments when our cultural artefacts take on special meaning and we make self-conscious mental notes of who’s wearing an Akubra and the proximity of the nearest Eskie. To observe the way our unique everyday cultural artefacts (such as our domestic implements, sports and social activities) together with our language used to describe them, are used to imagine our nation and our place in it, one merely needs to attend a weekend gathering of Aussies.

Take careful note of the snags and chops cooking on the barbie, the Holden utes parked on the nature strip and the eskies laden with tinnies and good tucker. Bluey will undoubtedly wanna wrap his fangs 'round another chook, whilst Shirlie watchin' her weight, will probably just wrap her laughing gear 'round another bikkie. Both will be into the amber fluid, amply available at the local bottle-o. Whilst Blue Heelers chase Galahs, the anklebiters run amock and the blokes big note themselves, gearing themselves up to try and crack onto a shiela without crackin' a fat. Each fashion item steeped with historical and cultural significance, the blokes will be clad in beanies, flanies or singlets, boardies or budgie smugglers and thongs. The girls, shielas in more remote places, wear suitable daks or cozzies with swimming togs underneath at the beach. Akubras are worn if you’ve gone walkabout beyond the black stump, your Drizabone when it rains, both, along with Uggboots, compulsory when in the Snowies amongst the jackaroos and stockman, who sleep in swags.

I don’t care if social rituals such as Australia Day and its associated ceremonies are invented traditions, all of it gives my mates and I an unique sense of place and belonging. Nor do I care it wasn’t until 1994 all States and Territories began to celebrate Australia Day consistently as a public holiday, for me it’s just a great day to reflect on what it means to be a fair dinkum Aussie. It feels good when recognized by the members of the culture you’re trying to fit into and I’ve always much admired my Aussie mates readiness to give everyone a fair go. This year almost everybody, except, of course, Merv and Robbo, approved of the Australian of the year and the Young Australian of the Year and the Senior Australian of the year and of the Australia’s Local Hero, which was an award I in my foreign ignorance had never heard of.

After a couple of cold tinnies I’m usually the first to start singing our real national anthem and it’s always a hit as I’m often the only one who knows all the words. I suppose it’s only been around since 1984, the year it replaced God Save the Queen and when we were no longer British subject, which is maybe why my old stock Aussie mates haven’t gotten used to it yet. Celebrating this day, as we have every Australia day, along this wonderful river, the blood red sun setting behind what is left of an old growth forest, my chest bursting with patriotism, and someone predictably, half taking the piss, reading out the Prime Minister’s message. I suppose Kevin‘07 knows how to play the legend making game, he knows a populace without myths is impossible to govern. This year, the PM’s message was one of national pride in our distinctive landscape, diverse society and our unique lifestyle. “Never a truer bloody word spoken Kev, good on ya” we all recon and as is expected of us on such occasions we irreverently thank Kev and God for giving us a long weekend to get on the piss and feel proud of being true blue and even prouder of the hangover we’re sure to have tomorrow.

When I got home in the evening I was feeling so Australian I did the ‘”How Australian are you?” quiz on Facebook. Apparently “while not yet a die hard Australian, I'm the kind of Australian everyone loves to introduce to their non-Australian friends." Lucky me, I’ve got loads of those. Unfortunately I havn't yet mastered the Ozzie accent, they can all spot an European heritage in my try hard drawly, tangy, nasally twangy Strine a mile away.