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It was late evening and Mrs. Mundy just finished knitting the last row of Mick’s new sweater. She was about to go to bed. Her husband was away on a hunting trip with his friends, so it was only her and their son in the house. Then she heard it. That small, hesitant rustle lingering by the door, as if whoever caused it was contemplating whether he should enter the room or not. She lit the lamp by her bedside and sat up, squinting at the lanky shadow cowering at the threshold.
Mick. Her little koala bear. Well, not so little anymore. He was barely eleven years old and already so tall. Soon, he would overgrow even his own father. But he never filled out the way his classmates did. “You’re just a late-bloomer,” they kept telling him when he came back from school with tears swelling in his eyes. “Give it time. Your father hasn’t grown a proper mustache until he was nearly fourteen.”
But they knew they were lying through their teeth.
“Micky?” she rubbed her eyes. What time was it? “What’s goin’ on? Can’t sleep?”
He shook his head, the poor thing. Then he slowly ever so slowly entered the room and without uttering a single word slipped underneath the cowers, diving beside her like he used to do when he was still a small nipper. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him like a warm blanket. Jonathan never liked it when the boy came to them at night asking if he could sleep in their bed with them. “He’s too old for that now,” he always argued. “He should just man up and go back to sleep like a normal adult bloke.”
But Mrs. Mundy shushed him every time and lifted the sheets for Mick to crawl under. Not many parents could say that their tackers still came to them at this age when they were hurting. It was beautiful, in its own way.
If only he hurt a little less often.
“They were laughin’ at me again, mom,” he finally spoke up in a shaky voice as if he was about to cry. “Said I’m not Aussie enough if I never want to fist-fight with them.”
Ah. This again. Kids really can be cruel. Mick was special, all of them could see that, as it was getting more obvious with age, and they feared him the way they feared everything they couldn’t beat up into submission.
“What’s wrong with me, mom? Why am I not like the others?”
Now this truly shattered her heart into tiny pieces. Maybe they should finally tell him the truth. But what then? Would he wonder where he was from? Or ask about his real parents and why they didn’t love him enough to keep him? And what would the other kids do if they found out he wasn’t from the outback like they were?
No, it had to remain a secret. Why should any of this matter anyway? He was their son. Maybe not by blood, but they loved him the same. And nothing would ever change that.
She hugged him a bit tighter, letting him snuggle up closer to her. “Oh no, ‘roo. There is nothin’ wrong with you. It’s them who should learn what it truly means to be an Aussie. Because it’s not about havin’ muscle upon muscle and bushy mustaches. It’s about what you have in your heart. And you are good just the way you are.” She heard a small, pitiful sob being pressed into her clavicle. Poor thing. She cooed at him until he calmed down a little, then went to stroke his hair. “You know what? Maybe next time dad will take you on a trip with him. Would you like that? He could even teach you how to shoot a rifle if you promise you’ll be careful.”
Mick wiped away the tear that got stuck on his long eyelashes. “R-really? You mean it?”
“Of course I do. If you’re gonna be good at it the way you are at throwin’ rocks, you will soon become the best hunter around.”
Finally, he smiled. “Thanks, mom. Love ya.”
“I love you too, Micky. You’ll never know how much.”
One day, Mick will grow up into something great and leave all those mean no-hopers behind. But until then... she held him as they both drifted off into a peaceful sleep.