wallydownundy

I left America on a 12 month business visa in April 1990. I vividly recall my first day in Sydney. The airport hadn’t been upgraded. The washroom featured troughs. A person recommended via a friend in New York collected me to go to the movies. We saw “The Hunt for Red October.” I slept that night in The Mclaren Street Guest House, courtesy of my employer Edelman Worldwide.

I knew no one and was 12,500 miles from friends, family and home.

Five years later I was still in Australia. I’d been a permanent resident for a few years and Keating was up for re-election. Some pollster probably told him “new Australians” were more likely to vote Labor. Immigration laws were changed and a massive, national advertising campaign was underway. Permanent residents - like me - were encouraged to become Australian. I filled in the two page form, had my ever-so-brief interview and paid my $50 fee. Five weeks later I was contacted by South Sydney Council. My swearing-in ceremony would be on a Tuesday night at Paddington Town Hall.

That night was a “once in 50 years” storm. Massive trees bent like rubber. Storm-water flowed down the streets like a river. Undaunted my partner and a few friends rocked up to see me become Australian.  That was in 1995.

Since then I’ve lived here and abroad. My partner of 19 years is Australian. Our son - adopted from China - carries an Australian passport. And while he pronounces some words with my American accent, on holidays last month he asked for Vegemite for breakfast. I pay taxes and I vote in every election (not just to avoid the fine, but because the high tax rate compels me to get ‘value for money’).

I like to tell people I was born in America but I chose to be Australian.

This is a nation jam-packed with immigrants. Melbourne is the largest Greek city after Athens. Sydney’s Little Italy isn’t so little - it’s everywhere. Chinatown is several towns. And there’s a robust Vietnamese community. That’s without mentioning the Laotians, Maltese, French, Russians and more who make up our nation. Even the First Fleet was an immigration convoy.

But just last week a friend let slip their viewpoint. There was a job that needed to be done and they said it might be better done by an Australian.

I do confess I have a strong American accent. To this day every time I say Kookaburra my partner cracks up. My pronunciation of banana uses the wrong accent on the ‘a’. But Australian towns across the country are filled with rich and varied accents.

Deep down I know my son will always be seen as Australian. He’s been in school here since pre-school. My partner is first generation Italian-Australian. Not one in the extended family could return to Italy and call themselves Italian. Perhaps when I’m dead and buried here I’ll be considered Australian.

Clearly it is a sensitive spot. To those who question - I don’t own an Akubra. I do get the humour. I don’t live with kangaroos. I do eat Vegemite.

And I do care passionately about this country.

Perhaps that’s what makes me Australian.