Read Online My Place by Sally Morgan - Free Book Online

that.
    Dad never took any interest in my drawings, he was completely enveloped in his own world. He never went to the pub now, we were too poor to be able to afford the petrol. There was never any money for toys, clothes, furniture, barely enough for food, but always plenty for Dad’s beer. Everything valuable had been hocked.
    One day, Dad was so desperate that he raided our moneyboxes. I’ll never forget our dismay when Jill and I found our little tin moneyboxes had been opened with a can-opener and all our hard-won threepenny bits removed. What was even more upsetting was that he’d opened them at the bottom, and then placed them back on the shelf as though they’d never been tampered with. We kept putting our money in and he kept taking it out. ‘Who knows how long we’ve been supplying him!’ I complained to Mum. I felt really hurt: if Dad had asked me, I’d have given him the contents, willingly.
    As usual, Mum saw the funny side of things.
    â€˜How can you think it’s funny?’ I demanded. ‘It was a rotten trick!’
    â€˜Can’t you see the funny side? It was such a childish thing to do.’
    I knew what she meant, but I didn’t think it was funny. He was just like a child sometimes. He never mended anything around the house, or took any responsibility. I felt very disappointed in him.
    Dad hated being poor, and I could forgive him for that, because I hated it myself. He loved the luxuries working-class people couldn’t afford. If he had been able to, he would have given us anything. Instead, his craving for beer and his illness left us with nothing. I knew that Mum and Dad had had dreams once. It wasn’t supposed to have turned out like this.
    That year, Dad’s love of luxuries really broke our budget, but it also gave us the status of being the first family in our street to have television.
    As he carried it in, an awkward-looking square on four pointylegs, and tried to manoeuvre it through the front door, we all rushed at him excitedly. ‘Get out the bloody way, you kids,’ he yelled as he staggered into the hall. Televisions were heavy in those days. A few more lunges and the hallowed object was finally set down next to the power point in the lounge room.
    We lined up in awe behind Dad, waiting for our first glimpse of this modern-day miracle. We were disappointed. All we saw was white flecks darting across a grey screen, all we heard was a buzzing noise. While Mum pressed the power point, Dad fiddled with the knob marked vertical hold. It was only after they’d both banged the set several times that Dad realised the rental people had forgotten to leave the aerial.
    We all went racing out the front, hoping the ute that had delivered our television set was still parked in the drive. ‘Jesus Bloody Christ!’ Dad swore as he gazed up the long length of empty road. I shrugged my shoulders in disappointment and went inside.
    The aerial arrived the following day, but it never made the difference I imagined it would. Grey, human-like figures became discernible and their conversations with one another audible, but they didn’t impress me. I had the feeling they weren’t quite sure of whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.
    In July, we had a surprise visit. We were all playing happily outside when Mum called us in. There was an urgency in her voice. What’s going on, I thought. We don’t do midnight flits during the day. I peeped into Dad’s room on the way through. He was lying down, reading an old paper.
    When we reached the hall, I stopped dead in my tracks. Mum grinned at me and said, ‘Well, say hello, these are your cousins.’ As usual, my mouth had difficulty working. The small group of dark children stared at me. They seemed shy, too. I felt such an idiot.
    Just then, a very tall, dark man walked down and patted me on the head. He had the biggest smile I’d ever seen. ‘This is