Australians and Why We Like Them

I've heard recently that Grandview Elementary, the school I attended from kindergarten through sixth grade, is slated to be closed and also possibly torn down in the next few years. This makes the sentimental side of me a little sad. So, in an effort to make that side feel a little better, I've decided to document a handful of the random-yet-wacky stories and memories I have of my time at that one heck of a swell school.


When I was in the fifth grade, we had a foreign exchange student transfer into our class. His name was Liam and he was from Australia. Now that I think about it, he wasn't so much of an exchange student (his whole family had transplanted themselves in the United States for either his parent's business or education; I can't remember which) as he was just foreign. Very foreign. We're talking thick accent and an undying love for Vegemite foreign.

Liam was not shy; rather, he was perkier than just about everyone in the class combined. He was also incredibly charming, with his debonair mannerisms and big white toothy smile, and before we knew it, my fellow female classmates and I had developed small, pre-pubescent crushes on him. At least, I imagine it was a little crush that made me feel light-headed and fluttery when he was assigned to sit at my table. And, because his world nearly revolved around soccer (or, I guess, football), he also got on incredibly well with the boys.

When we weren't crushing or letting our jaws drop over his knowledge of the World Cup, we let ourselves grow giddy with fascination over the things that made him so different from the rest of us. He spoke English, but it wasn't our English, and we knew it mostly because he pronounced the word aluminum as al-you-mini-um, which we all got a big kick out of. He was also a world traveler, something that none of the rest of us had the privilege of being.

Our quick-thinking teacher, Miss Stuart, decided to take advantage of his first-hand world expertise -- and his collection of slides which documented that know-how -- and asked him if he'd mind sharing some of his experiences -- and photos -- with the rest of the class. Of course, Liam, who loved all of the fascinated attention he was getting at school, couldn't say no.

And so, with the lights turned low and the slide projector humming, we toured his family's most recent vacation to Holland. I'm not sure if it was his dizzying display of Amsterdam, or bad cafeteria food, but Jared, the very quiet blond boy who sat next to me, couldn't take it for too long. Green-faced and shaky, he slowly got up and walked to Miss Stuart's desk.

"Miss Stuart," I heard him whisper, his voice trembling. "I think I need to --"

And that was it. His lunch went splattering all over our teacher and into a puddle at her feet.

The rest of us, meanwhile, continued to be awed by photographs of windmills and tulips, and entranced by Liam's smooth-talking Australian brogue. With the exception of those sitting closest to Jared's unfortunate incident, most of the class didn't notice and were a little confused when the janitor came in and piled strong-smelling chemicals onto the carpet around Miss Stuart's desk. So while the rest of the class liked Liam either because he was cute or because he could easily maneuver his way around the world of sports, Jared liked him because he distracted 90% of the class away from what was quite possibly his most embarrassing moment.