Accepted!

The door of his bedroom opened and a floor board squeaked. His father whispered- “You have 10 minutes to thaw out”. The boy stirred and rolled over, he hated that moment- of waking. It was to become the routine of every school day. At precisely 6.20am his father would open that door, walk on that floor board. Not at 6.19am, not at 6.21am, or any other time but precisely at 6.20am.

Then, at exactly 6.30am the boy would rise, tip toe down the hall, and there in a bowl were two wheat bix with hot water and milk, and glass of orange juice. Not 3 wheat bix, not a glass of pineapple juice but two wheat bix and a glass of orange juice, watered down of course to save money.

The new school uniform felt starchy and hot, out of touch with the reality of a Sydney summer. The uniform was grey, with blue shirt, school tie and a boater. The policy was, if caught without the boater or tie- reported and a detention. At fouty degrees celsius you may loosen the top button of your shirt. It was policy regardless of the weather conditions. On sports days a blue blazer made of even heavier material was to be worn.

His new school shoes felt stiff as he packed his new globate school case. It was heavy- it contained every hardcover school text book for the year, pens, pencils, rulers- exercise books covered in brown paper, and a new calculator. He felt his arm stretch as he lumbered down the hall.

At precisely 7.00 am, not 6.59 and certainly not 7.01, his father left the house and walked at a brisk pace to the station. “ You see son, its exactly 7minutes to the station at this pace” his father never looked at him once, The boy struggled, globate back banging into his leg, stretching his arm and causing the skin on his fingers to become hot. Half way to the station he stopped and changed hands. “ Bloody hell, come on!” Said his father “ We have not got time to dawdle, we will miss the bloody train!” The boy gathered himself and picked up pace. Within the time frame set they arrived at the station.

The boy noticed the people on the station, some familiar, some not. Ferrets father walked slowly up and down muttering to himself, unaware that he was. Others looked half asleep. Some school girls waited for the red rattler.

"Now, the best carriage to get in is the second last from the back." "It’s the safest if the train crashes, and its not too far from the exit at Town Hall station". It ws always like that- Not the third carriage and certainly not the last and never at the front. At 7.17am the train arrived. “Always sit here, that way you cannot get attacked from behind- especially if you are travelling late at night.” His father said, and proceeded to pull the newspaper from his bag. Sometimes the train was late and, over time, the boy would grin to himself when he saw his father getting agitated. It was the same everyday, the second carriage , sitting in exactly the same spot, his father with the same newspaper, and he with disinterested eyes, day dreaming.

The train soon filled and, as expected, the boy had to vacate his seat for an adult. The trip to the city was long and the walk to school even longer. The boy felt out of place in the city and even more out of place when he met the other students. His acceptance to the new school and day one had begun at the ring of a bell.