I’m in New Zealand at the moment, for work, but I managed to sneak in a visit to some relatives on the way. There is a shared experience in visiting family that makes me wish I did it a bit more often.
I had dinner at Teacher aunt’s house with various other relatives. Mathematical cousin (who is in a stage of late teenagerdom that means he doesn’t talk, at least with family), was seen laughing at a story of his late father accidentally blowing up Artistic aunt’s lemon tree in a chemical experiment that was more successful than expected.
Artistic aunt and I had a long discussion about the pattern of grey hair in our family, and whether I would be able to keep my striking Indira Ghandi- like white streak at one temple, or whether it would be a short-lived precursor to full greyness.
Croupier cousin suddenly struck me with how many mannerisms he shared with one of my brothers.
Earlier, visiting my grandmother, Artistic aunt and I shared a few glances that my grandmother was unable to interpret – I was proving an almost adequate substitute for my mother in sharing some family exasperations with my grandmother’s hobby-horses.
After all the visiting was finished, Artistic aunt drove me to the hotel where the work part of my visit started. And while I was wishing I did this more often, I think part of the magic was the sudden flashes of shared understanding that would seem ordinary if we saw each other every week, instead of every few years.
Hmmm – sounds like you must have made the trans-Tasman hop at some stage, ‘though reading between the lines, perhaps as a child?
Having made the jump ourselves, 10 weeks and 1 day ago now (not that I’m counting), and assuming this turns out to be a permanent move, I have just started wondering when our daughters will start to regard themselves as Australians, rather than New Zealanders. I suspect it’s too late for me now; although I am happy to be living here, I would be just as happy back home in the old country. What I regret most, for my daughters, is that they will grow up without family around them – that magic of everyday connection, which doesnt seem wonderful until it’s gone.
Deborah, I don’t know really how long it will take. I think it probably depends how old they are now, and it may also go in waves. At times it is a badge of honour to be a bit different and they may embrace their NZ heritage. At times (like the primary school playground) they may view it less positively.
I had an interesting chat with an English guy here (I’m now living in Europe) who had lived for a while in NZ and Australia as a kid. He opined that he had the worst of both worlds in terms of heritage when he lived in Australia. He had one English parent and one NZ parent which was a guarantee of being given a hard time about both sides of his lineage.
That was interesting to me because it took me about a minute to realize that that was exactly my situation. For me though it was never really an issue because I always had an Australian accent (as my NZ cousins liked to remind me on visits across). I think his English accent must have prompted the issue to be brought up.
The links with the “Old Country” stays though. Obviously I still have the family links but also viewed from afar I am happy to take a more Australasian outlook on life – e.g encouraging people who make a visit downunder to make sure they spend a fair bit of time in NZ. I’m not sure your multi-generational Australian would take that perspective – at least not as easily.