Fly That Flag
Yesterday I shared my table with 10 Aussies. We celebrated Australia Day with the traditional lamb bbq, marinated in Mediterranean herbs and garlic. We feasted on the iconic pavlova, dressed with baked peaches and plum syrup, gifts from our backyard fruit trees.
Around the table, a blend of cultures and characteristics mixed in a unique fashion we like to call True Blue. My kids are half Greek, half Slovakian. Our friends' children are the happy blend of an Aussie/English...with a hint of Belgian dad, and their gorgeous Nigerian mother. Each one of us, stamped with our own heritage. Each one proud to be Australian.
All the adults at the table have tasted life outside this country. We know we are blessed. We live a life of privilege, and it's marked on our passports with one word, Australia. We don't take it for granted, especially me.
I gave birth to one of our children during my Beloved's year of consulting in Thailand. Unlike his Aussie-born big sister and brother, our third baby arrived in a Bangkok hospital. Just like them... he was already an Aussie. Born Australian by Decent, his nationality fixed by my own, he was and always will be an Australian citizen. While his birth certificate is in Thai, all his documentation, issued 11 days later states he belongs to me and his father, and has the right to call himself Australian.
And with that right, comes identity.
So we embrace the blessing of being Australian. We'll keep our flag strung between the peach and nectarine trees a little longer and give thanks we are free to do so. Nothing can dissuade us from expressing what's in our thankful hearts. We know who we are, and we are happy to show it.