Patriot Realm

In a world that seems determined to teach us to hate our countries, I remember something different. I remember gratitude.

I remember becoming Australian,  not by rejecting my birth, but by embracing the land that raised me with open arms. This is my story, and my hope for others who still believe in loving the mother who gave us a future and gave us a life that has been so wonderful. 

Had I only ever been taught to celebrate my “difference”:  had I never been taught to embrace the warmth of my new homeland , I would have missed out on a life filled with belonging, love, and pride.

Australia hugged me 68 years ago, and she has never let me go.

I remember when I first arrived in Australia, all those decades ago. I had an accent then, one I would smile at today.

Now, I speak with an accent that is proudly, unmistakably Australian.

I was just a kid from Europe. My parents barely spoke English. In many ways, it felt like we had been adopted by a country we didn’t yet know, didn’t yet understand but which would become home.

And somehow, amid the strangeness and wonder of it all, I even learned about ballroom dancing. Not doing it, but I understand the moves. 

At first, I only knew the basics , a greeting, a farewell, or a desperate, “I feel sick!” learned from my parents.
Until I went to school, I spoke with their accents, their phrases. But over time, without even noticing, I changed. My voice changed. My vowels changed. My whole way of speaking and being shifted.

My parents would look at me, puzzled, hearing an Australian accent bloom where once there had been only the language of our old home.

I would come running home from school, laughing, shouting new phrases: “Bugger off, you moron!” or “Shit, that’s bloody funny!”

One day, I even told my parents to “bugger off.”  And got away with it,  because they had no idea what it meant! (For a while, anyway.)

At school, I learned things my parents couldn’t teach me. I learned the heartbeat of Australia.

Without realizing it, I became Australian. I hadn’t really thought about it until now, reflecting across the decades.

But now, I wonder: If schools today are changing so much, would I have become the well-adjusted, God-fearing, patriotic Australian I am today?

Probably not.

I might have been encouraged to cling tightly to my "difference", never discovering the sheer joy of becoming part of something bigger.

Had I not been thrown into the deep end, fully immersed in the language, culture, and spirit of Australia, I would never have known the happiness that fills my heart each Australia Day and ANZAC Day.

I am Australian.

I remember when I wasn’t. But I became one. And it makes me proud beyond words.

I wish more Australians could feel that same pride:  the honest, humble gratitude of being embraced by a land, and embracing it in return.

It matters who brings us up. Who rears us. Who nurtures us. That is what shapes us into who we are.

Australia did that for me. She raised me. She gave me a home, a future, and a family beyond blood,  a family built from shared loyalty and love of country. 

I will always be grateful to my birth mother, my homeland. Yes, She gave me life. But the mother I owe my deepest loyalty to is the one who raised me: the mother who taught me the values, the pride, and the heart that beats within me today.

I honor my heritage. But the greatest gratitude belongs to Australia, my adopted mother,  who gave me the gift of becoming Australian.

Had I only ever been taught to celebrate my “difference”:  had I never been taught to embrace the warmth of my new homeland , I would have missed out on a life filled with belonging, love, and pride.

Australia hugged me 68 years ago, and she has never let me go.

When I hear people today, even fellow migrants, tear down Australia, painting her as cruel, unjust, broken, I say: No.

I will not turn my back on the mother who loved me when I arrived with nothing. I will not forget the embrace that turned a lonely migrant child into a proud Australian.

This world-wide fashion of hatred:  of despising anything that doesn’t fit the current trend,  must stop.

I love my country. I love my mother.

And surely, surely, there must be Americans, Canadians, New Zealanders, and others who feel the same way? People who left one homeland, and found another that raised them with love and gave them hope?

I remember when we cared for each other. When politics wasn’t tangled through everything. When being Australian meant loyalty to your mates, your country, and the land beneath your feet,  not loyalty to whatever cause was fashionable this week.

I remember when we weren’t divided. Before politics made everything poisonous. Before pride in your country became something people whispered instead of shouted with joy.

I remember when we were simply Australians.

And I remember how Strictly Ballroom taught us something vital: We don’t have to follow someone else's steps. We can dance our own dance.

Today, the world tells us to follow the rules: to follow the latest science, the latest slogans, the United Nations, the social media mobs. To dance the same, speak the same, think the same.

But I say: Let’s get back to the dance we always knew: the dance we made up as we went along. A dance that wasn’t perfect, wasn’t polished, but was ours.
Filled with pride. Patriotism. And passion. 

While I love my birth mother and I am grateful for that country giving me birth, it is Australia who has nurtured me. It is Australia that has allowed me to be me. My parents have passed on now, both proud Australians. We have had an Australian flag outside our home since the day Mum and Dad became Australian Citizens. I uphold that tradition. We still eat our heritage tucker, but on Australia Day and ANZAC Day, it is forbidden to do so. Why? Because that would be wrong. 

I am happily married to my wonderful Australian wife and we are joined at the hip and I will dance with her until the end of love. Which is forever really.  Just like I am with my country, Australia. 

I suppose what I am trying to say is that we were never "Strictly Ballroom" as a nation. We always made up our own steps. 

Why should we change now?