A couple of days back I undertook quite the novel experience. You know all those advertisements insistently telling us that now is the time to become an Australian citizen? Oh come on.. You know, the one where there's an Asian girl, and an Indian family, and they all look strangely Westernised? Like they've been here for three or four generations? That's the one.. Well, it seems that they've had their way with my father, because he finally decided to become a legitimate Australian. It turns out the bastard has been living here on a bastardised British passport for the past 45 years, which I always felt uncomfortable about. He wouldn't even let me fly an Australian flag from our balcony, and don't get me started on the bangers and mash for dinner each night..

But that's in the past now.

We arrived at the council chambers to the sounds of Men At Work's 'Down Under', to be shortly followed by a Slim Dusty rendition of 'Waltzing Matilda'. It took around half an hour for everyone to arrive, find their allocated seats, and play around with their digital cameras until the batteries ran out. The potential citizens were given the option to take the oath in the name of God, or take it Godless. My father had chosen the Godless option, so he was crammed up the back with the other five or six soul-less people devoid of spirituality. Things got rolling quite pleasantly, but took a rather ugly turn around the 10 minute mark..

Enter 40 year old woman in floral dress sporting acoustic guitar. Eyes dart around the room nervously; people desperately trying to comfort each other in a non-verbal fashion. Said floral guitar lady starts to play. A brief sigh of relief as the room realizes her guitar skills are not too shabby. Relief only lasts an instant, as floral guitar lady begins to sing I am Australian in a warbly, falsetto voice, missing the high notes by a suburb or two, but still managing to render any light fixtures in the building useless. Heads emerge from hands momentarily, before the chorus is repeated once more, and then once more again. As brutal as I found the entire ordeal, which probably only lasted around 2 minutes, it was genuinely heart-warming to see so many people from so many different cultures, equally appalled by what they had just witnessed. It was enough to bring a tear to your eye. And your gun out of its holster.

The rest of the affair was relatively subdued, as the mayor made his way about the crowd shaking hands, handing out certificates, and various other items of commemoration. For declaring his loyalty to Australia, my dad received:

1 x paper Australian flag affixed to a well-carved twig
1 x tree to plant in honour of his legitimate citizenship
1 x clip on koala intended for use with either tree or flag

This was all well and good, but I still feel that a far more appropriate gift would have been:



Acutally, that's a slight revision of my initial stance, which was that no one should be allowed citizenship until they can recite the lyrics to Khe Sanh. I realize now that may be a little heavy handed, as many people prefer Jimmy Barnes' solo work. Then there's the Farnham crowd, but I presume there would be a separate ceremony for them.. Kind of like the God / Godless situation mentioned earlier.

To cap off the evening, my dad actually got a special mention in the mayor's closing speech, as being the longest standing resident of Australia in the room. I cheered and whistled inapropriately, much to the annoyance of the suited couple in front of me. Though I suspect they were already irritated about their digital camera batteries.

So, now it begins. Let there be barbeques and Fosters in the Summer, footy and Chisel in the winter, and stubby shorts with wife-beater singlets all year round. Yes, I am proud to call my father Australian.