Hello, Teresa
My mother, Teresa, died in 2016 and I haven’t seen her or spoken to her since. Except for this rare discussion.
Category: Childhood
Do children ever know their parents?
Do children ever really know what their parents are like? Do they ever realise their parents have a life that’s broader and more expansive than just parenting? Do they ever realise they have an inner life, a social life, and most likely, a parenting persona as well? One that’s nuanced. That has different shades to […]
Australia, here cometh my father
Ameriga was any place that, at the time, was richer than Sicily. In the late 1950s, that would be quite a long list. So Australia was Ameriga. A land where gold flowed in the streets, and all that was required was to stoop down and pick it up.
My mother’s keepers
I can’t imagine the conversation between my grandmother and one of her daughters-in-law. The subject is my mother, Teresa.
Lunch is served
The locker room, obviously designed for a Western palate, was shocked by the introduction of an avalanche of Southern Mediterranean pre-packaged food from home.
My father’s lollies
1. My Father was a great gardener. He could make vegetables sprout from the most unaccommodating soil. The aroma of fertiliser (just a nice name for chicken or horse shit) permeates the memories of my youth, as does the bounty of the garden tended by the old man. For all his green-fingerish skills, his aptitude […]
The Somersault Position
Now, where I went to school, lunch time was mainly taken up trying to get your mouth around a rather large sandwich. In fact, to call it a sandwich is a misnomer.
citizenjoe 