By KARL FERGUSON”I was born in Melbourne, but it wasn’t until I was about 12 years old that I learned I was an immigrant.
When I moved to Sydney as a child, I wasn’t given a birth certificate.
My mother told me it was my father’s fault because he was Australian and he didn’t go to the country that the family came from.
I think that was the beginning of it.
My dad was a policeman and I was always afraid that he would kill me.
I was terrified.
He never went out, he never spoke to anybody.
It was never about money, it was about him and my family being safe.
I had to live with that for years.”
The father’s identity was never revealed, but my grandfather’s role in the war in Vietnam is well documented.
He was one of the last Australians to return to the area after the war, and later became a soldier.
My grandfather and I lived with my mother in a caravan park, in the small town of Boulthorn in western Victoria.
We didn’t have electricity, and we couldn’t cook our own food.
My father and mother lived with us on a farm in Victoria’s northern suburbs, and my grandfather had to work in the fields in Boulrdorn to pay for the farm’s gas and electricity bills.
As my mother’s career progressed, she worked as a seamstress, and the family would often visit the local laundromat to wash their clothes.
I was never really able to talk to my father, but I knew my mother would ask questions about my grandfather, and I always wanted to know what his secret life was like.
I think that my grandfather knew about the war and that he was doing the right thing by helping Australians.
He kept me safe and sheltered me, and even took me on holidays.
My grandfather did not know about the deaths of our two sisters and mother, and he was always worried about what could happen to them.
He also wanted to ensure that my mother was well cared for.
He always wanted me to learn to swim, and that was a big challenge for me.
He taught me how to do a lot of different things like riding a bike, swimming and playing football.
He made sure I knew how to play the guitar and sing.
One day he asked me to sing in a barbershop.
He liked my singing so much, he asked if I wanted to be a barber, and then I was offered the job.
At first I was just a barista, but when he offered me a job as a barbeque manager, I knew that was where I was going to be.
I became a barbecuer and I went from being a small child to being a barbie.
I learned to make the best burgers and fries.
I learnt how to make chicken and pork burgers.
A barbeutcher is a butcher who prepares a meal for customers.
When I was younger, I remember my grandfather telling me that if I ever wanted to get out of the caravan park where I lived, I should go to a barbecue restaurant and ask for the best barbecue in the city.
I didn’t want to do that.
What made my grandfather so important to me was the fact that he loved his country.
He wanted us to have freedom, he wanted us all to be safe.
He had no interest in me becoming a policeman, or in my being educated.
The war in Afghanistan was a huge shock for my father and my mother, who had never been involved in the fighting.
I remember being in my father at home in Broughton when my grandfather was killed.
My mum was still traumatised and was trying to process what had happened to my dad.
They didn’t know my dad was in the military, but they knew that he had been killed.
When they came to visit my father in hospital, my mother said that she couldn’t stand seeing my father dead.
Her mother told her, “He’s dead because he tried to save you from his own father.”
My mother knew what she was missing.
My grandmother was a good woman, but she had lost my father.
My brother was my biggest influence on me.
His family were very good people, and they helped me cope with the loss of my father by helping me to understand that my family didn’t matter to me.
People have to understand the pain of losing their family members.
My mom didn’t understand that I was losing my father because of the war.
I have to go back to that trauma to understand why my father did the wrong thing.
After my father died, my mum and I were forced to move into a caravan home in the north of the state.
She was a very caring mother, but as I got older, I started to see that my relationship with my father wasn’t working