A winner.
Legend.
Hero.
Turn off my PlayStation, Mr Carey?
Play cricket, in the sun?
Me?
Sorry, sir.
I’m allergic to sport.
Billy asks
Mr Jonesforthwalton
a question
Can I have a late note, please?
No. I’ll give you one immediately.
Music, with Ms Libradore
Good morning, Class 6C.
We’ll start today’s class with piano.
Can anyone play piano?
Anyone?
No, Billy. Not the drums,
the piano.
Yes, Sophie.
I’m sure Billy is very good on the drums,
but I don’t see any drums in class,
do you?
Yes, Billy.
You could use the desktop as a drum,
but not right now.
We’re learning piano today.
Yes, Michael,
we could use the desktop as a piano,
but why?
We have a piano here,
right beside me.
What do you think this big black thing is?
A coffin?
Very funny, Alex.
What, Emily?
A glory box full of wedding presents?
No, it’s a piano.
Yes, Peter.
A piano would be a very silly place
to put wedding presents,
but there are no presents in this piano.
No. Nobody stole the presents.
There weren’t any in the first place!
No, I don’t know who’s getting married.
And yes, getting married and not receiving a present
would be very sad, Emily,
but no one is getting married,
and no one is not getting presents.
What?
No one is not getting presents means
someone is getting presents, Sarah?
Well, yes. It does.
But it’s not what I meant, is it.
First, we’ll learn about keys.
And before anyone makes a stupid joke
about keys and locks and doors,
I’ve heard them all before, okay?
Let’s start with the key of C.
No, Billy. You can’t see C.
C is a sound.
A is a sound.
B is a sound.
C, A, B.
No, not cab,
not taxi!
Keys!
The key of C.
The key of A.
Listen.
C.
A.
B.
Any other keys?
No, Z is not a key.
Y is not a key.
They are letters of the alphabet.
Yes, like A,
but A is a key.
Oh, very funny, Billy.
A is A-key,
I see the joke.
Achy Breaky Heart
Now would you please stop singing
that stupid country music song!
I give up, Class 6C.
Forget piano.
Yes, Billy.
We’ll do drums next lesson.
Michael and Maths
Mr Carey has a weird way
of teaching.
Take Maths.
(I’d like to take Maths
and throw it off a cliff !)
For Maths,
Mr Carey asks twenty questions
every morning,
just to ‘refresh the memory’
as he likes to say.
Only the questions aren’t
‘What is 84 divided by 4,
multiplied by 5?’
Mr Carey’s typical question is:
‘If Collingwood kick 20 goals,
and 4 behinds,
what’s their score?’
or
‘If Australia beat New Zealand
58 to 56 in netball,
how many points were scored,
in total?’
When Mr Carey first asked
that question about Collingwood
we were all so surprised
no one had the answer.
So Billy, who goes for the Sydney Swans,
put up his hand and replied,
‘If Collingwood kick 20 goals,
the answer, sir, is:
IT’S A MIRACLE!’
The class meet Sharita
It’s Friday afternoon.
Co-curricular.
Mr Carey stands onstage,
a broad smile creasing his face
as wild rhythmic music
pounds from behind the curtain.
Flutes,
thumping drums,
and wailing vocal howls.
We look at one another.
What’s happening back there?
Snake charming?
Camel racing?
Trapeze artists flying across the stage?
With a flourish
Mr Carey opens the curtain
to reveal
Sharita the Belly Dancer
and her band
(actually, a CD player).
She shimmies
and shakes
and wiggles
and belly rolls
across stage
as Mr Carey claps in time
and calls out,
‘Welcome, Class 6C,
to Co-curricular belly dancing.’
Sarah and belly dancing
for beginners
It’s fun!
True!
Sharita,
whose real name is Sally
(and she’s Mr Carey’s sister),
shows us each a special move.
Peter does the camel walk,
complete with suspicious noises.
Ahmet is an expert
at the Turkish hip lift.
He thinks it will help his soccer.
Anna loves temple hands and snake arms.
She says it’s like noisy yoga.
The J-man becomes expert
at the Egyptian hip drop,
which he calls
‘the Egyptian hip-hop!’
But, best of all
are the zills –
little cymbals we wear on our fingers
and we click in time with the music.
Billy wears them on every finger
and even straps some to his toes.
He invents ‘punk belly dancing’,
although
it’s a bit much
when he lifts his shirt
and tries a belly roll,
a shimmy
and a zill dance
all at the same time!
Alex’s empty suitcase
On Sundays,
my dad and me
go to a football match
and eat a hot dog
and chips.
We drink thickshakes,
caramel, double ice-cream.
Sometimes we go to the zoo instead
and laugh at the monkeys
pulling faces at us.
I take a photo
of Dad in front of the gorilla.
In summer
we go to the beach:
boogie boards
and sandcastles,
frisbees
and kites.
Once we went to the museum
and saw dinosaur bones
and butterflies from New Guinea
in a glass case.
On Monday,
when Dad dropped me at the bus
after a Sunday
playing cricket in the park,
he asked,
‘Where would you like to go
next Sunday?’
I thought of everywhere we’ve been
in the
months since Dad left,
and I said,
‘I’d like you to visit me,
at home,
and stay…’
Dad looked sadder
than an empty suitcase
and said,
‘We’ll go the beach,
will we?’
A concert? A play?
After a few weeks of co-curricular
with belly dancing,
guitar playing,
singing,
and Mr Carey’s special acting lessons,
half the class
want to stage a concert
with music and singing,
and dancing.
The other half
want to do a play,
especially Emily,
who wants to do
Romeo and Juliet.
No prizes for guessing
who plays the lead.
Mr Carey doesn’t mind,
so he suggests a vote,
after lunch.
A secret ballot to decide.
Michael does a quick count...
At lunch,
Emily offers everyone
a role in her play.
She’s got 14 students,
including herself,
who’ll vote for a play,
and 14 students
who’ll vote for anything but the play!
The bell rings
and we all head back to class,
deadlocked!
We each write our choice
on the special ballot papers
(Mr Carey’s yellow Post-it notes),
and wait
while Mr Carey counts.
Everyone’s sure it’ll be 14 –14,
but the smile on Mr Carey’s face says
there is a result...
He stands
and announces,
‘Concert: 15 votes
Play: 13 votes.
It’s a concert!’
Class 6C are stunned.
We look at each other,
everyone whispering,
‘It wasn’t me.’
Emily
If I find out
who voted for the concert
when they promised me
they’d vote for a play –
where Jason
could have been Romeo
to my brilliant Juliet –
I’ll make them pay!
And I had the perfect plan
to win a recount tomorrow.
I was going to
download a photo
of Johnny Rotten
off the internet.
How ugly is that!
And I’d scrawl a signature
across the bottom.
I was going to give it to Billy
first thing
to make sure he changed his vote.
He’d do anything
for a Rotten autograph!
But somebody voted different
to what they said.
Jason looked so
disappointed.
To help him feel better
I’ll get him to dance with me
in the school concert.
Me and Jason,
and ballet.
Peter the host
I’m not stupid you know,
no matter what everyone thinks.
As soon as we decided
on a school concert
I put my hand up
to volunteer,
and I acted heaps eager.
‘Please Mr Carey,
please can I be the host?
I’ll do my best, sir.’
The whole class
was so surprised
they all joined in.
‘Come on, sir.
Let Peter do it.’
Mr Carey had to say yes.
Too easy.
I’m the host.
Do I want to be the host?
Well,
the real question is:
do I want to hide away
until the last minute,
avoiding any part in the concert
until someone gets sick,
or Mr Carey realises
that I don’t have a role...
and suddenly
I’m forced to dress
in some stupid costume
being ordered to sing
or dance.
Or sing and dance!
No way.
So, I got in early.
I chose the simple role.
All I do is stand up
and announce the next fool –
sorry,
announce the next performer!
Sophie and poetry
I waited until the end of class
and I went to Mr Carey’s desk
and asked him
in a really quiet voice,
in case anyone was outside listening,
if I could read a poem
in the school concert
instead of singing.
A poem of my own
on any topic I like.
He smiled so wide
I thought his face would split!
Simple.
And I’ve got months to write it!
Jason’s secret
Think about it,
for just a minute, okay?
Emily wants a play.
Emily wants to be Juliet.
I’m Emily’s boyfriend.
Who do you think
would have to play Romeo?
Hours and hours of rehearsal
in our dusty old school hall
when I could be outside
playing football,
or riding my bike
down to the shops,
and just hanging out.
It was a simple choice really.
And yes, I feel bad
about letting Emily down,
but
onstage
in front of the whole school...
I shiver at the thought.
The Rap Master ducks
for cover
I’m a mean mother
a rapping brother
like no other
duck for cover
because here I come – the J-man.
I got nerves of steel
that’s how I feel
I’m hyper-real
you get the deal
because here I come – the J-man.
Don’t get in my way
or you’re gonna pay
hear what I say?
scared, me? no way
because here I come – the J-man.
Here’s the school gate
don’t care if I’m late
everybody can wait
because I’m great
that’s right, yeah – I’m the J-man.
Pupil-free day?
Teachers only today?
No way!
Oops.
No, I’m cool.
Hey, I’m the J-man.
Mr Carey tells us about
his first game of football
I was nine years old
when a bigger boy
came up to me on the school oval
and said,
‘You’re okay.
You wanna play soccer?
My dad coaches for a club.
You should join.’
That afternoon
I ran home faster than
a winger with the ball at his feet.
‘Please, Mum.
Can I join?
Brian’s dad will take me. Please?’
All afternoon. Please, Mum.
Dinner. Please, Mum.
Dessert. Pleeeeeease, Mum.
YES!
I put on my old sandshoes,
shorts and t-shirt,
and ran to Brian’s place.
He took me to training,
where I met all my team-mates,
including a kid who looked like a duck.
Everyone called him ‘Duck’.
All night, under lights,
kicking a ball,
yelling ‘Pass, Duck.’
Or my favourite,
‘Shoot, Duck, shoot.’
They told me I needed
soccer boots
shin pads
team socks –
white with two green hoops –
all before Saturday,
and my first game of football.
‘Please, Mum, please.’
Endlessly, all week.
Saturday.
Sunshine.
I rode my bike
six kilometres to the field,
wearing new boots,
new shorts, new socks,
and my shin pads
strapped to my arms
like a skate warrior.
(To this day, I don’t know why
I put them on my arms,
not my legs.)
Our coach gave me
the number 8 jersey
and said,
‘Play up front,
pass the ball
and help out in the middle.’
I ran non-stop,
tackled,
yelled,
dribbled,
and yes, passed,
and passed,
and passed.
Thirty-four years later
I remember
one pass...
The ball came to me
fast.
I trapped it with the instep
of my shiny new shoes.
I dribbled it a few paces
and when a defender
came in for the tackle
I passed the ball
just out of his reach
to Duck,
who kicked it smack bang
into the goal.
Everyone ran to Duck
to shake his hand
and pat him on the back.
I jogged back to the half-way line,
thinking
this is the best fun
I’ve ever had in my life.
And passing the ball
is the best thing
a kid could do,
ever!
Peter tells us about his
first game of football
It was 0-0
with two minutes to go.
My team was shattered,
worn-out, beat, dog-tired,
whacked, helpless
and fading fast!
I got the ball
on the half-way line.
I controlled it perfectly
on my thigh,
brought it down with a neat flick
and jinked past the Italian defender.