Monkey on the Wing

By Steven Adams

When the intrepid adventurer Steve Adams wakes up in hospital, blind and barely able to move, he discovers a very different world.

He's pictured on the front of his book, young and triumphant , having trekked the high snow-capped Canadian Rockies, and clearly remembers thinking, This is how I want my future kids to see me, one day. Three years after this photo, he was run over by a 12 and a half tonne truck in Kalgoorlie, and everything changed.

Early in the book, this loveable Aussie larrikin, takes us with him on a wild exuberant journey. He plunges us into a world of riotous excesses as he travels all over the globe, from the outback of Australia to smoking Sheesha in Tunisia, fearlessly in search of adventure.

"Monkey on the Wing" then tells of the extraordinary, surreal encounters he had during his three month coma after the accident, and of the almost supernatural near death insight that gives rise to the title of this book.

His survival, in the 14 years since, reveals how one man's capacity for joy, can turn every loss into a gain and we are left with the question, What makes this man survive, and even more, embrace and anticipate each new day?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Adams
• Release date: Mar 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476029467

Steven Adams

Steve Adams was born in Albany, Western Australia in 1968. His life has been filled with adventure both in Australia and all over the world. Being blinded in an accident 14 years ago, changed the course of his life and he now lives quietly in the countryside of WA, with his wife Diana and two children.

Book preview

DEDICATION

To my little crew

PREFACE

There came a point in my life in 1996, where I felt a strong desire to write the story of my life. The name of the book was clear to me, Monkey On The Wing, and the narrative was clear but for some reason I was unable to get it out of my head and onto paper. Over the next 11 years it was to be the bane of my life and no matter how many times I sat down to begin, I always met a brick wall. Again and again people would ask, How's the book coming along? Again and again I'd reply, Yeah it's getting there, and would mentally cringe, knowing it was still just in my head.

The problem was I just couldn't find a starting point until one day, after yet another failed attempt, it happened. I was sitting in a quiet spot in my house, seeking an answer, when someone came into my mind.

I had been in contact, on and off over the past ten years, with a woman named Meg Lane. Her name popped into my mind, so I sent off an email outlining my frustration. Meg had been a teacher for many years, specialising in literature and language, and she quietly suggested that I should simply sit down and write the first anecdote that came into my head.

I wrote one part of my life with ease, and found that was just the trigger I needed. It wasn't long before emails were zipping back and forth from me, a blind man with the typing skills of only one finger, to Meg, a busy retiree who became almost chained to her computer, and over the next two years, the book just wrote itself.

Now, in August 2010, 13 years after the idea first came to me, Monkey On The Wing has become a reality.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The process of writing this book was one of the most painful experiences I ever had. Again and again I encountered the dreaded writers' block and many times throughout its creation I found myself up against a wall, not knowing where to turn.

I'm not a great writer by any stretch of the imagination and would have faltered if not for the constant encouragement of my mum and the saint- like patience of my beautiful wife, Diana and children Billy and Jesse.

Mum, since that terrible day in March 1996, it is to you I owe my present life. As we know, I'm not the most motivated person on earth and if not for your constant encouragement and driving force, in those early days, I never would have got anywhere. Although you'd only recently become part of an extended family who were also relying on you, you never veered from the promise you made me. The promise that no matter what, you would help me get back on my feet. I thank and love you. I'm also very grateful to you too, Ralph, for your support of Mum, during that trying time, when your understanding was the most important thing to her.

However for the completion of Monkey On The Wing, I owe most to my dear friend Meg Lane, who advised me not only about how to begin my story, but then became my editor and mentor through the nine drafts and two long years of on-line help.

Meg, if not for your unyielding support, and constantly arranging your busy schedule around my many requests for help and advice, this story would be no more than an idea. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Through this period of time, I came to know and respect you for the amazing things you do and for the relentless support you give to so many others. You are a truly amazing woman. You once said to me that you felt guilty for having such a blessed life while there is so much suffering in the world.

As we travel this journey that is our life, we plant seeds as we go, and later on down the track there comes a time, when all of us will gather the fruit that comes from the seeds we have sown. You have come a fair way on the road of life and your seeds have been good ones, Meg.

Thank you to my good friend Peter Wann for having enough faith in me and Monkey On The Wing to lend me the money I needed for my first print run.

After approaching Pete, hat in hand and explaining myself, I felt total jubilation, when he replied, Yeah, I can do that. You seemed to be my last hope, after being knocked back by several banks and other hopeful prospects, so thank you Pete.

Although we'd spoken many times on the phone, unfortunately it was not until the sad passing of your son and my good friend, Robert Wann, that we actually met. As we came to know each other I understood why Rob was such a staunch fella, for as they say, The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Since that time, you and I have shared some very deep moments. I have caught your tears and you have also been a guiding light to me.

I want to praise Diana for her belief in me, as over the years I reassured her that the book was almost finished. Not once did she ever roll her eyes and say, Yeah, yeah, even though I thought those words myself after trying, once again, to convince her that I was on track.

Never before have I met such an inspiring and beautiful person, both inside and out. Diana, since we first came together, we have had many ups and downs, shared a few dark times and some which have really tested our strength. We have lived, loved, and had a beautiful son against all odds, and I never really knew love existed until I met you.

You're the pillar that holds us together and although you are left to carry this family mostly on your own, you rarely complain and I love you. As I have always said, Words are cheap, and as promised, I promise.

At 13 years of age Jesse, who constantly and light- heartedly reminds me, I'm not your son. I'm your step son, was far more cynical about my ability to ever finish this book, and to him I say thanks for helping out when I was so often an absent dad, typing away in my office.

As is common among step father and son, heheh, Step son, We too have had our moments, but they have always been overcome and replaced with good times and laughs.

Jesse has a You Tube account that has a lot of subscribers and is very popular. He is constantly telling Diana and me how famous You tubers have given him Shout outs. In return for his scanning of the photos in this book, he can be found at...

Youtube.com/thevideowave

At three, Billy has shown amazing understanding when it came to the dedication, I have given to my computer, since his birth. After I once again refused his request for a game or to listen to songs, he'd just ask, Are you writing Monkey On The Wing Dad? When I'd reply that I was, he'd sometimes say, Well that's a dumb name, it should be Monkey On The Rope!" I would smile and be touched by the innocence of a young mind.

Billy, you have been in my mind for over twenty years and although I have known you in my thoughts, I would not have believed I'd ever be so blessed. From the day you were born, you have brought your mother and me pure joy and you are loved very dearly, young fella. Thanks for your patience and we have a bit of catching up to do.

Although my daughter Jess and I, have never seen enough of each other, because of the break-up of my marriage to her mother, while she was so young, I thank you Honey, for your understanding and for the lovely sister you are to Billy and Jesse and for the good stuff we do, whenever you join the family at holiday times.

Since my accident there have been many, many people involved in my long road to recovery and my thanks go out to you also. I wish I could name each of you individually.

By the end of 1997, I could operate my Windows '98 well enough to write, but was unable to touch type owing to the stroke I had the year before. Therefore I would like to finally thank my middle right finger for its massive effort in tapping out around a hundred and sixty thousand words, plus a zillion edited ones, alone, and unaided by its fellow digits. You other nine are useless coots and don't deserve any thanks!

The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it. C.C. Scott

INTRODUCTION

As I disappeared under the wheels of the truck, copping its full weight rolling over my head and body, I suddenly found myself strolling through a jungle in Thailand. I seemed to be walking behind myself, confused but totally at ease thinking, I can't be here, I was just in Kalgoorlie! I don't remember coming or how I got here! Oh well, I've always wanted to visit Thailand.

Still walking behind myself, I could see only the top right hand corner of my head. Within a split second I found myself swimming in the ocean, near the wreck of a Boeing that had been ditched. I seemed to be absolutely alone in the towering waves.

Desperately trying to stay afloat, I made out the shape of a small brown monkey, perched awkwardly on the wing of the plane. It was watching me and as my body sank and rose, it began screeching passionately, urging me on and frantically jumping up and down.

Again and again, I pushed myself against the forces of the ocean. Again and again, I was thwarted by my injuries and lack of strength. As I began to drift further away from the wing, the monkey once more took up its role, screeching at the top of its lungs, jumping up and down in a frenzy.

A deeper part of me thought, come on, come on, you can do this, you can! But the effort was too great and once again I began to drift away. Five, six, seven, eight more times I faded, but each time something in me refused to give in. Somehow, I knew this was the most important moment of my life.

Now, I was watching myself again, but this time, from up in the air, about fifty feet away, seeing that below the surface of the water I was still dressed in the same clothes I'd been wearing before I came to this bizarre place. My strength was fading now, my mind making excuses. Too hard, too hard, I'll just drift away. There's bound to be an island out there. I'll be right. Just let go.

Suddenly, something within me snapped and I thought, No fucking way! Go. Go. Go! And with my last ounce of strength, the monkey still screeching and leaping, using only its right arm and leg, waves crashing, wind blowing in an eerie sky, I was again watching myself from a distance.

Abruptly there was absolute calm. I was sitting on the wing of the plane, the monkey cuddled between my legs, facing away from me, as I stroked his head with my right hand, my left side also useless. Still no emotion, just silent gratitude.

I had just shaken hands with the Grim Reaper.

CHAPTER ONE

THE FIRST JOURNEY

My first clear memory is of a day in 1971, when I was three. I was playing with my sister, Jodie, on the grassed area at the front of the block of flats in Albany, Western Australia, where my mum, dad and two younger sisters and I lived.

It was a warm sunny day and I suddenly had the idea of walking to our grandparents' house for a visit. Mum had forbidden us to ever go on the road in case we were killed by a car, but I put that out of my mind. It wasn't as if we were going to a stranger's house and anyway, I knew the way well.

Once I'd made up my mind to go, I began to slowly edge the game we were playing towards the side of the road. I looked at my fourteen-month-old sister, Jodie, standing there in her nappy and white singlet and I said, C'mon Jode, let's go and see Nan and Pop.

Looking very worried by my suggestion, she just shook her head because she knew we'd get into real trouble if we did. At the edge of the road I said, Oh c'mon Jodie, we won't get run over. To prove it, I put my foot quickly onto the road and just as quickly stepped back again. When no cars appeared, I stepped onto the road again and taking her hand, we set off.

We walked along the road, turned right along one street, left along another, down a hill and then right onto the long road that led to Nan and Pop's. We met a tall girl who stopped us and said, Your mum is looking for you, but I took no notice and we walked on.

By now, Jodie was getting very tired so we sat down for a rest, but eager to get there, I offered to carry her. We'd been walking for ages, when our local shop owner pulled his panel van up beside us and called through the open window, Hey, Steve. What are you two doing out here?

I told him we were on our way to our Nan and Pop's house so he said, Well c'mon, jump in and I'll give you a lift. Despite Mum's constant warning about getting into strange cars, I eventually agreed and we hopped in.

Nan, who was ironing and facing the door when we ran in, smiled and said, Hello, my darlings! I smiled back anxiously, but now that we were there, I was at a loss to know what to do next. Jodie happily climbed onto the couch and began to watch T.V.. I settled next to my Pop, who was lying on the floor, in front of the open fire while he watched his shows.

Nan suddenly realised there was no sign of our mother and asked where she was. I told her she was at work and that we'd decided to walk over for a visit. And here we are! I announced with a flourish. My hopes that we would be allowed to stay vanished when Nan, looked out the front door.

Seeing that the only car in the driveway was their own, she got flustered and went straight to the phone to ring Mum at work. Listening to her explaining the situation, I felt really let down. Jode and I had travelled six kilometres and no sooner had we arrived than we were going to have to go straight home again. I was scared of my mum. She wasn't a patient woman and her way of dealing with things, was to belt first and ask questions later.

Sure enough, once Nan had told her where we were, Mum came straight from work to get us and as I had expected, I had my bum firmly tanned and we were taken home.

CHAPTER TWO

RUNNING ERRANDS

In my fourth year, while still living in the flats, which were in a poor part of town, I was often asked by the neighbours to run errands to the shop for them. You've got much younger legs, they would say.

One hot summer's day, the old lady next door asked me to run to the shop to buy her the daily newspaper. In 1972, this cost five cents, so she gave me a twenty cent coin and I took off for the 4 Square shop across the road. There were three flights of stairs to run down and by the time I had impatiently negotiated them and run across the road to my destination, I was hot, sweaty and a bit puffed out. I was glad to finally be there, for the sooner I was there, the sooner I'd be back.

As I was picking up the paper I spied the freezer with the ice creams in it and I focused on the all too tempting picture of my favourite ice lolly, a triangular icy pole called a Freezer, worth twelve cents. As soon as I had seen it an idea went through my head. I thought, I reckon she wouldn't mind if I bought myself one for getting her the paper and without any more consideration, the purchase was made.

I knew that I would probably be in trouble again, but I reckoned it was worth it so I sat against the outside wall of the shop, quickly scoffing it down. Once it was gone, I raced off, red-lipped and with paper in hand back to the old woman's place. I had renegotiated the taxing flights of stairs and reached her door where I knocked loudly, for I felt that it had been a job well done. She soon smilingly answered it. As I handed her the newspaper, however, with only three cents change, her smile quickly turned to a grimace and I was let down with disappointment.

Where's the rest of my money? she gruffly asked.

I began to worriedly stammer that I'd thought that she wouldn't mind if I bought an icy pole. Before I could complete my explanation, however, she had stormed through her door and was headed to my place. As she strode past me, she muttered something about me being a thieving little bastard but I wasn't really listening, as I began to feel very sad and was now more worried about what was going to happen than what she was rabbiting on about.

As I watched and listened to the woman going off her brain to Mum about the money that I had stolen from her, I grew very fearful for I knew that I was about to pay for my actions—which I did not consider to have been all that bad. Nonetheless, I was scared. Suddenly, I saw a dark look come over Mum's face and as she quickly strode towards me and past the complaining woman. I froze on the spot and hoped—even believed—that she would change her mind and would see my side. But I also knew that wasn't going to happen. I thought to run but I didn't dare and although I knew that I should take off, I couldn't.

Mum seemed to fly across the passageway towards me, and my screams brought two other neighbours to their doors. They immediately came to my rescue, calming her down and sending her back inside our flat. Then they began the process of trying to stem the flow of blood that was now streaming out of my nose, while at the same time trying to get me to stop crying. The bleeding didn't want to stop so the friendly women, Sue and Elsie, laid me on a towel on my lounge room floor where they mopped my face with a damp flannel until finally, it had stopped. As I lay there, my eyes still filled with tears, I felt an incredible hurt...but it wasn't a physical pain. I was thinking of an incident that had happened only two or three days before:

Dad had been beating Mum up in the car park of the flats and she pleaded for me to call the police on him. As I stood there watching, I was torn between saving my mum, or calling the cops on my dad. As her appeals became more intense I opted to save her and after running up the stairs, I got Sue to ring them. After the call was made I shot back to the car park and watched on miserably as the two policemen put Dad in the back of their paddy wagon and drove off, leaving me feeling terribly guilty. Now, just a couple of days later this had happened.

I didn't purposely go looking for trouble but I always seemed to be in it. I soon began to feel very alone in the world and I became withdrawn, preferring to play by myself. The more I did that, the less I got on with other people.

CHAPTER THREE

PODGE

My dad, Darryl Adams, or Podge, was the one person in the world who I absolutely idolised and looked up to. Podge was fit, strong, muscular, funny, and a great footy player who even played in the W.A.F.L. for Perth in the sixties. He was a hard worker who would take me with him on the farms when he and Mum were hay carting in the season. We had heaps of great times, shooting kangaroos and rabbits to eat, or sheep skulls that he hung on a fence. He'd even let me have a go. I would laugh and admire him when he'd jump into a water tank to cool off, then poke his head out of the hole in the top to talk to me and Mum.

It was on one of these trips that I remember walking behind him through a paddock at dusk while he shot rabbits. I'd carry them for him once he'd got them and even though my hands would really ache through the weight of our dead quarry, I'd never complain because I didn't want to look weak in his eyes. I remember looking up at his trim, tough, shirtless back as we walked through the green paddock, feeling very proud of him and I was so glad that he was my dad.

Occasionally, though not often, he would take me along when he went fishing on his friend Kennedy's boat.

I relished any time that I got to spend with Podge.

I would go with my Pop, Clem, to watch when Dad was playing footy for North Albany or The Kangas and I'd swell with pride when I'd see him get the ball. Although I wanted nothing more than to be like him and to be able to do the things that he could do, he never gave me the time of day. His mates and drinking were the number one loves of his life, which left me constantly craving for his attention—something that I never ended up experiencing.

CHAPTER FOUR

MARCHING ORDERS

Not long after I'd started school, Mum had had enough of the drunken violence at the hands of Dad. I was standing right next to him by the front door inside the flat when she gave him his marching orders one night. Mum had threatened to leave him heaps of times but this time she really meant it and my heart sank as he began to plead with her to change her mind. But she didn't, and he left the flat for good.

Life was even harder for Mum over the next couple of years as she battled to feed the three of us kids by working night shift at a pea factory and then delivering bread in the mornings, not long after getting home from pea packing. I only occasionally saw Dad. He didn't help her with us in any way and even though I knew this, I wanted other people to think that he was helping Mum out. One morning before school, while getting my breakfast, I pinched a five dollar note from Mum's stash spot in the kitchen cupboard and took it with me to school. As soon as I got there, I showed it to my teacher, Sister Cathleen.

I said, Look what my dad gave me last night, Sister. I produced the note, which she said that she'd hold for me. I often took stories of grandeur about Dad to school, like telling Sister Cathleen that he would kill white pointers after jumping off Kennedy's boat with a knife between his teeth. So when I showed her the five dollars, she didn't believe that fanciful story either. She walked up to the office and rang Mum's work.

Mum came straight from work to the school, ranted about me stealing the week's shopping money and after taking me outside the classroom, she belted me in full view of the other kids. This hugely embarrassed me but I thought, fair enough.

Things remained rocky over the next couple of years but at eight, I was old enough to begin my dream of following in Dad's footsteps and playing footy, and so all of my energy went into that. When I wasn't training or playing on the weekends, I walked to a horse riding school, about a half a kilometre away from home, where I learnt to ride.

Myself and Sue's daughter, Michelle Stubs, who was the same age as me, would walk together to the horse riding place, pay our fifty cent fee—which bought us an hour's worth of lessons—and when the hour was up, we'd walk home again. Soon I had learned how to ride and it wasn't long before I was quite competent on a horse. The riding teacher said that I had, A natural ability.

The proudest moment of my life so far came at the end of the 1976 footy season, when I was awarded the trophy for the most improved player. I was at the presentations on my own, which made me feel a bit sad because no one in my family saw me get my first ever trophy. When I got dropped back at the flat that night I raced up the stairs to show Mum my award, but she was out and had left a note on the door for me to go to Sue's until she got home.

Mum had bought me a denim jacket and my first pair of flares (which were right in fashion), for the occasion and so I felt very grown up as I read the note over and over. Still, I was trying not to cry because I was disappointed that I couldn't even show her my prize.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE PLUMBER

There were a few different men in Mum's life during the couple of years after she'd broken up with Dad, for even though I was young, I knew that she was searching for love and company. One night she brought home a big man who was a plumber named John. On that first meeting I reckoned that he was the duck's nuts. Among other things he sat me on his lap and showed me that if you wrap a twenty cent coin in alfoil then rub it gently with your thumb nail, the print on the coin would be perfectly imprinted onto the tin foil. This really impressed me. He kept Mum and me entertained and laughing all evening. But after tea something that I found really weird happened.

Mum jumped in the shower and I went off to do the dishes as usual but as I was washing them I felt someone watching me. I turned my head slightly and saw John standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He was intently staring at me but saying nothing. I kept washing the dishes, ignoring him. Every now and then I would turn my head just enough to see him still standing there and when the dishes ran out I grabbed the Ajax from under the sink and started to polish the sink over and over again. I did this, three or four times. He continued to stare, but when I heard Mum turn off the shower, he went back into the lounge, sat on his chair and acted as if nothing had happened.

Other than this, John seemed like a nice bloke who treated Mum really well. They saw more and more of each other, but it turned out that he was already married with kids of his own. One night I woke up to find John, Mum and his wife in my bedroom, with the two women punching into each other. The strange woman was pulling Mum's hair as she abused her and Mum was pulling the stranger's hair while trying to belt her with a clothes iron that she held in her other hand. As they fought, John stood there with a dumb look on his face and not knowing what to do, he just let them go. I watched on matter-of-factly as the two threw punches, swore and pushed each other around my room, because I'd seen so much violence by that time that it no longer affected me much.

When I got up in the morning life was going on as normal, as if nothing had happened that night and no one, including myself, ever mentioned it.

CHAPTER SIX

THE BIG SMOKE AND A MATE

After a couple of months of John and Mum seeing each other, Mum told us that we were moving to Perth. My emotions were very mixed at hearing this, for even though life in Albany had always been rocky for me, it was all I knew. On the other hand the thought of living in the city excited me. Before too long, a removalist truck was pulling up in the car park of the flats. Two men, Mum and John carted all of our gear to it and once it was packed, we were on our way to live in the big smoke.

It was about a six or seven hour drive to Perth, which seemed to take a very long time. I was impatiently eager to see our new home. Eventually the trip was over and we pulled into the driveway of an old house in the suburb of Balga. As the car stopped, Mum told us to go and pick which rooms we wanted. Without another word the girls and I raced each other inside to grab the best room. As they were sharing theirs I got the smaller one at the back of the house. Once I'd claimed it I went to explore the back yard and was delighted to find a big games room out there.

Football became the number one love in my life and the place where I put all of my energy. I was soon playing my second year for the Blues, Under- Nines and having a very good year. My skills were getting better and I could run faster than anyone in the team, which earned me the nick name of the Racehorse. At the end of that year I was awarded the Fairest and Best trophy, which was the club's top prize. I had never known a happier or prouder moment. This time Mum, the girls and John were at the presentations with me and I was very happy to have them witness my receiving the award.

Back on the home front, things had steadily gone pear-shaped again. John had shown his true colours by drinking too much beer and laying into me when I was a naughty little bastard. But worse than that, he also started slapping Mum around. Again I found myself among the many arguments that were going on and I seemed to get more upset about their fights than ever before.

John and I built a cubby for me at the side of the house one day. A few days later he and Mum argued and he took off in his work Ute. This distressed me so much that I ran, sobbing, outside and tried to pull it apart with my bare hands. The cubby was so well constructed that I couldn't budge any part of it but I kept on trying to break it until I was completely exhausted. Then I just sat down in it and had a think.

Everything seemed to be going from bad to worse. I thought that Mum and John were going to split up and everything seemed really bad. Then he came home from work one day with a small surprise that was to change my life for the better.

The surprise was a tiny little black and white puppy who we all—but especially me—fell instantly in love with. Our family were big fans of the T.V. show Happy Days, and as the pup had markings that gave him the appearance of wearing a black jacket over a white shirt we named him Fonzie, after the cool guy on the show, Arthur Fonzarelli. From the minute Fonzie came to us, he and I spent all the time together that we could. As I didn't have any real friends, that meant that he'd come everywhere with me. Together, Fonzie and I would explore the bush that was not far from where we lived. We'd walk around the area together or just hang out in the back yard. Whatever it was that Fonz and I were doing, one thing was certain, we were each other's very best mate.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SEA BIRD

My other hobby besides football was snorkelling. I had all of the gear that I needed, goggles, snorkel, flippers, a weight belt and a spear with a jelly rubber on the end called a gidgee. Since the late sixties, my grandparents on Mum's side, had been working on building a caravan park at a coastal location called Sea Bird, which was a two or so hour drive North of Balga. I loved going up there where I'd go snorkelling, fishing, exploring the bush and just having a great time doing whatever I felt like. Fonz and I had really good times there. When it was rubbish day at the park I'd go with my grandfather—who was called Wrestle Pop, as he'd always wrestle me whenever we saw each other—round in the little Suzuki truck, load up the full bins and take them out to the tip in the bush. Once we had emptied the bins we would collect a heap of empty beer bottles, known as stubbies. He'd throw one in the air and we'd try to smash it with another stubby or two before it hit the ground.

When it was holiday season, Sea Bird was great fun and there were people everywhere in the park which created a fun summer atmosphere. However, mixing with other kids my age was really hard for me to do now, so instead I'd search out my favourite old people and I'd sit and talk to them for as long as I could.

Even though I loved my grandparents, we never got too close as I didn't see them often enough. So when we were there, Fonz and I would generally make ourselves scarce, returning only when we had to.

One of our secret hideaways was a section of bush where there was always a big heap of kangaroos, no matter what time of day. Fonz and I would take about three quarters of an hour to walk there and when we arrived we'd settle in the bush to hide and watch the community of 'roos. We didn't try to get too close as I didn't want to scare them off, but we were close enough to see the mob and to be able to spot the scouts that stood on watch.

One day, as Fonz and I were walking through the scrub, we came across a very ferocious looking lizard. I quickly speared it thinking, Wow, what a trophy.

I thought everyone would be happy with me for tackling such a dangerous creature and I felt very proud of myself as I carried it back to the park. It turned out that no one was happy with me at all. My grandmother, Bea, took to me and gave me a belting for killing it. This greatly upset me and from that time on I never told them anything about what I was doing.

Sea Bird's number one industry was cray fishing and Mum loved to eat them. One day, while I was diving on some reef located up the beach from the park, I saw a couple of crays crawling around some rocks. I carefully duck-dived under the water, steadily swam down so I wouldn't scare them off, aimed my spear at one and shot it through the head.

With it still on the end of my gidgee, I made my way back to shore and after inspecting it, I felt very pleased with my catch. I was aware that it was illegal to spear crayfish as they had to be a certain size before they could be taken and everything looks bigger under water than it actually is. However, as I now looked at it on land, I saw that it was well and truly big enough for the pot.

With my lobster and my gear in hand, I started back down the isolated beach toward the path that led through the sand hills and to the park. When I suddenly saw Mum, Bea and Pop walking up the beach towards me I remembered how I'd got whacked for killing the lizard the day before. Thinking I'd get it for spearing a cray, I did something that I was always to regret. They were still a long way off and so before I could think, I quickly threw the dead lobster into the surf. As soon as my lobster hit the water it was engulfed by the foamy white water and disappeared. It was too late to change my mind and I felt bad for wasting its life.

CHAPTER EIGHT

SPORTING HERO

By the end of 1977, life in Balga was pretty steady for me. I felt like I belonged there and I was about to be made captain of the footy team. This was an honour I was really looking forward to. In those days, whoever won the Fairest and Best trophy for the previous year, was automatically made captain of the side for the next season. However, as 1977 came to a close, I was very disappointed to be told that we were moving. I was not happy about it but it didn't take long for me to warm to the idea and soon we'd relocated to the suburb of Langford, on the other side of Perth.

We'd been living in a very quiet street over the last year and the house that we moved into was on the main highway, which was a bit of a contrast, but we soon got used to it.

When we moved to Langford I was almost ten so I was enrolled in Brookman Primary School. I joined the local footy team and when I wasn't at either of these places, I carried on as usual hanging out with Fonzie.

At around this time I had begun to idolise a certain footy player who played for East Perth in the W.A.F.L. That man was Barry Cable. I got posters of him, read about him and the more information I could get on him the better. I dreamed of one day meeting Barry in person. In order to raise money, my footy club arranged a lapathon and to give us some incentive they said whoever raised the most amount of money through getting sponsored, could have any football jumper in Australia, made for them. I decided that I was going to win the lapathon and get the identical jumper that Barry wore: the number nine East Perth jumper.

For two weeks before the event, I went door knocking every day after school to get as much sponsorship from people as possible. By the time it came to run the twenty laps of the football oval, I had enough signatures to be able to raise two hundred dollars—a big amount of money in 1978.

On the day, I ran the twenty laps, which I didn't find too hard as I enjoyed long distance running and I spent the next week collecting money from the people who had sponsored me. My hard work had paid off. I'd raised the most amount of money for the club and just as the Langford Under- Tens Club had promised, I was soon the very proud owner of a number nine East Perth jumper in my size. It became my prized possession. I wore that jumper just about everywhere I went, telling people about who wore it in the W.A.F.L.

One day when I got home from school, to my utter amazement and joy Mum gave me a brand new autograph book and told me that John was going to take me to see an East Perth game that weekend and that I'd be able to get Barry's autograph. This was a dream come true and once I was over my initial elation I began to count down the days, then the hours. After a seemingly long wait, it was only two days until the time finally came. When I was finally at the game I still couldn't believe that I was actually going to get to see my hero in action and I could hardly believe that I was really there. For four quarters I kept my eyes mostly on Barry, even when he wasn't near the ball, just admiring him, waiting for my chance to get his autograph at the end of the game.

Eventually the time that I'd been so keyed up about arrived. As soon as the final siren went I was the first one to jump over the fence and I raced as fast as I could so that I'd get to the great man before anyone else. I was the first one to get to him by miles! I had enormous expectations as I reached him with my new, unmarked, autograph book in my outstretched hand. But as I said, Great game Barry, can I have your autograph? he put his hand in the middle of my chest and without saying a word pushed me out of the way and continued running into the change rooms. At that point I don't think that I hated anyone as much as I hated Barry Cable and although my eyes began to water, I didn't cry but just walked, in the fading light, to the bar where I knew that I'd find John. When I did find him he was happily drinking at the bar with another bloke so I sat near them and waited patiently for him to finish up and take me home.

He was having a good time so it was late when we left the oval, but once we were home, I went into my room where I put the autograph book in a draw, under some other stuff and I never took it out again.

CHAPTER NINE

TRUE COLOURS

As time went on, John started drinking more and more. He was becoming more violent towards Mum and me and although I don't remember what I did to deserve it, one day he drilled a latch onto my door, bought a padlock and my room became my cell.

At this time, 1979, I was eleven and I was (what I thought to be) in love with a girl from school whose name was Donna. On the way home one day I found a beautiful gold bracelet which I figured I'd give to her the next day. However there was a bit of a problem with that idea because the bracelet had the name Mandy engraved on the inside. Mandy was my youngest sister's name, so I knew Donna would think that I'd stolen it from my sister to give to her.

As I walked the rest of the way home, I decided that once Mum and John had gone to work in the morning, I'd get the girls to let me out of my room early so that I could try rubbing the engraving off with steel wool. The next morning before school, I asked Jodie and Mandy to unlock my door but they were under strict instructions not to let me out until forty-five minutes before the school bell rang. As I was so desperate to try to get the word Mandy off the bracelet, I started kicking the door and yelling, You better let me out of this room now or I'll kill you both when you do.

They wouldn't let me out at the start as they were scared, but the longer it took them to unlock my door, the madder I got. Finally they did open it. I calmed down straight away, took the bracelet to the sink where I started—with no result—to scrub the name with steel wool and soap. Then I heard, what I thought to be, the stereo in the lounge come on, which seemed very strange.

I instantly stopped what I was doing, carefully stuck my head round through the archway to see what was going on and was suddenly gripped with fear. John, who had been in the house the whole time, was at that moment threatening the girls with his leather sandal saying, If you tell him I'm here...

He stopped talking mid-sentence when he saw me, looked at me and said, Come here. He told the girls to go to their room, then he pulled down my pants, leaned me over the arm of the lounge chair and belted...and belted...and belted. He belted me about fifteen or twenty times as hard as he could across my bare bum. As he was thrashing me with the sandal, I was in absolute agony, but no matter how much I screamed he didn't stop but just kept on whacking me until his arm finally got too tired. Then he stopped, put his shoe on, walked out to his car without saying anything and drove off. I lay crying where I was for about ten minutes waiting for the pain to subside. When I was able to and I was sure he was gone, I walked into the kitchen, got the bracelet from the sink and took it out the back, throwing it as far as I could, over the back fence and into the vacant block.

CHAPTER TEN

NEVER THE SAME

I had