A very personal story

Submitted: Sunday, May 13, 2007 at 14:31
ThreadID: 45427 Views:2774 Replies:12 FollowUps:29
This Thread has been Archived
I was dragged up amongst kids from at least 60 nationalities.Sure,some were different but you got to know that a good bloke was a good bloke, no matter where he came from. I had good mates that were Dutch and German and we hung out with a Chinese kid. The only time we ever noticed any differences were when we went into their homes.
Later I went out with a girl whose father only hated two things; dammed cats and bloody Poms. I kinda struck out there.
Point being that as far as I was concerned, I didn't have a racist bone in my body.

It was at Geikie Gorge, about the early 90's on a trip around the Big A. No, not neew york, Australia.
I was doing a paper for a WA uni on aboriginality, and was keen to make contact with some coherent locals. Now you can't just walk into a community and ask questions, and I was finding the going pretty difficult, especially as aboriginal people were kinda thin on the ground in my part of the world.
On my way down to the gorge there was a big, smiling aboriginal bloke with his cleaning gear, just outside the loo.
Beauty, I thought, and struck up a conversation. We yarned for an hour or more, about the area and the fact that he was from Perth, which I found unusual.
Two ranger guys in uniform came and stood next to him, one on either side, so I told him I'd better stop dribbling and let him get on with his work, as I didn't want him in strife with his boss.

He laughed and explained that he WAS the boss.

What horrified me was that I'd assumed that because he was aboriginal and had the cleaning stuff, that he was an assistant.
Not a racist bone in my body, eh ?
Back Expand Un-Read 0 Moderator

Sponsored Links