Specky and his team-mates headed towards the parents and Coach Pappas. The portable barbecues were already set up. Mr Roberts and Mr Castellino were turning the sizzling sausages and hamburgers. Specky scanned the crowd, hoping to see his father, but he still hadn’t arrived.
Once everyone had eaten, Coach Pappas got up to make an announcement.
‘Welcome, everyone!’ he began. ‘It’s great to see such a huge turnout. The boys should be happy that they have you supporting them. As you saw today, we have a great team this year, and I think we can go all the way.’
There was spontaneous applause and a cheer from everybody. Coach Pappas continued.
‘Every year I have a tradition where I get each boy and one of his parents to participate in the annual mid-season barbie Longest Kick Competition. Every team member gets the chance to kick the ball as far as he can. Then we get one of his family members to also have a kick. And mums, it doesn’t always have to be the dads who do the kicking. After everyone has had his or her kick, we tally up the measurement of both kicks. The family with the longest distance will win a great hamper full of gourmet goodies…’
Everyone cheered again. Specky looked back over his shoulder.
‘Come on, where are you, Dad?’ he said under his breath, not wanting to be left out.
Danny and his dad started off the competition, followed by Robbo and his father, then the rest of the team. There were some lousy, wobbly kicks and equally some terrific ones—but no matter how far the ball was booted, everyone was having fun.
Everyone but Specky. Specky was the only one in the team who didn’t have a family member representing him. Coach Pappas and Mr Roberts offered to be his partner, but Specky politely declined. This scene was all too familiar
for him. Specky couldn’t help but be reminded of another time when he was so embarrassed. It was when he was eight. The Auskick team he was a part of organised a dads versus sons game. Each boy was to play directly against his own father. Unfortunately, Specky’s dad was nowhere to be seen. So he was forced to play opposite Mrs Kavensky, the sausage sizzle lady and a former Olympian shot-putter who weighed over 100 kg. Specky was slaughtered by her, especially when she executed a ‘hip and shoulder’! He felt so humiliated and now he found himself again not wanting his friends and coach feeling sorry for him.
Finally, everyone had had a kick and the friendly barbecue competition was over. Danny and his father had won. Specky congratulated his friend.
‘Thanks. I’m sorry
your
dad wasn’t here,’ said Danny.
‘That’s okay. He doesn’t know how to kick a football anyway,’ Specky said with a brave smile.
Eventually Specky’s team-mates, their parents and Coach Pappas headed home. Once again, Specky was left alone waiting for his dad to pick him up.
One hour later he finally arrived. Specky
hopped into the passenger seat of the car, and slammed the door behind him.
‘I’m so sorry, Simon. I just couldn’t get away. I wanted to make sure Vladimir was comfortable, and the caterers needed direction. Anyway, the launch is all set to go and I got word today that the Premier of Victoria will be making an appearance. Isn’t that exciting! Why aren’t you out of your footy gear? You’ll have to get changed on the way.’
Specky was fuming, but he stopped himself from saying anything. He felt as if he was going to explode, especially since his father continued to ramble on about himself and the exhibition all the way to the gallery, without even noticing that he was upset.
An elderly lady with a big blonde hairdo shaped like a motorbike helmet, and who smelled of way too much perfume, rushed over to greet Specky’s dad as they hopped out of the car and made their way into the gallery.
‘Dar-ling! There you are! Where have you been? Who would’ve thought that they’d all come on time. The gallery is already full! Lady Jane, the Farrahs and Dame Stanistreet have all asked about you. And Vladimir is getting terribly anxious,’ she said.
Specky’s father hurriedly introduced her to him as the gallery’s publicist, but the woman was far too caught up in herself and the event to acknowledge Specky. But he didn’t care. As he mingled his way through the champagne-sipping crowd just behind his father, Specky heard a familiar voice.
‘Hey, squirt!’
Specky turned to see it was Alice tapping him on the shoulder.
‘You should let Dad go and do his schmoozing with everyone. Mum’s over there keeping the sculptor’s wife company. She’d trying to speak some Russian—it’s tragic!’
Alice was totally unimpressed and bored by the whole event. Specky watched his sister wander off through the vast, white-walled gallery to get herself an orange juice, while he forced himself to check out the exhibition.
There were ten sculptures on display, each representing a part of the human body. They were all about a metre in height, and sat carefully on individual white podiums. What made the sculptures supposedly ‘unique’ was that they were crafted entirely out of broken eggshells—painstakingly glued together piece by piece.
Specky pushed his way to the front of the crowd of art lovers to take a closer look. He stood directly in front of a large eggshell nose. Specky had to stop himself from laughing, especially since everyone around him was so serious about it. He couldn’t help overhearing the conversation of two ladies standing right beside him.
‘You know, it takes him an entire year to complete just one sculpture,’ said one. ‘This piece alone is made of a thousand eggshells. Now that’s dedication.’
‘And look at the realism of it all. The inner strength it depicts, while at the same time conveying a sense of vulnerability. That truly speaks to me, Penelope.’
‘I know what you mean, Gloria. I also heard that every egg was eaten by the sculptor himself. But he’s recently stopped doing that, as he then began to suffer from major constipation.’
‘Huh!’ Specky snorted uncontrollably.
The two ladies glared at Specky, unimpressed, then turned and disappeared back into the crowd.
‘I did one just like that in my art class last term—I should’ve brought it along,’ said an unfamiliar voice.
Specky turned to see who was talking to him. It was a boy about his age.
‘Kind of dumb, isn’t it?’ the boy added, staring at the eggshell nose.
Specky nodded. ‘Yeah, that’s for sure. But I’d better not tell my dad what I think. He owns the place, that’s my reason for being here. Why are you here?’
The boy who introduced himself simply as Greg, told Specky that he was with his father, who was an art collector. They were visiting from South Australia for the weekend.
‘Hi, Greg. I’m Simon, but everyone calls me Specky. So do you barrack for the Crows or Port?’ asked Specky, hoping that Greg knew his football.
‘The Crows,’ said Greg proudly. ‘My dad and I are going to see them play tomorrow. I can’t wait!’
‘Your dad likes footy, then?’
‘No, he hates it,’ said Greg. ‘But he’ll go for me. Like I’ve come with him to this and I hate art. You like footy then?’
Specky nodded, not having really heard his question. He was thinking how cool it was that this boy and his father supported each other in things that neither of them liked.
‘Wanna have a kick now?’ Greg asked Specky. ‘I have a footy in our car outside.’
Specky didn’t need to be persuaded—before he knew it he and Greg had left the boring exhibition launch and were having a kick-to-kick in the alleyway directly behind the gallery building.
After a few minutes of back and forth punting and marking, Greg said, ‘How close do you think you can kick the ball to that open window up there?’
Specky grinned as he looked up at the window. It was about twenty-five metres from the ground. ‘I bet I could get pretty close to it!’ he said, ready for a little friendly competition.
Specky carefully aimed and booted the ball. The ball swished passed the window, and hit the wall about a metre above it.
‘Too powerful! I have to pull back a bit! Here, you have a go,’ said Specky, as the ball dropped back down to the ground.
Greg then took his turn but didn’t get as close to the target as Specky’s kick.
Both boys continued to take turns kicking the ball towards the open window, each time edging a little closer to it and declaring themselves the winner. Until Specky took his ninth try at it.
Thump
! sounded the ball, as it left his foot and glided its way once again towards the target.
‘Closer! Closer!’ Specky said to himself in an effort to mentally push it along. ‘This is going to be the closest. It looks as if it’s going to get only centimetres away from it!’ he grinned confidently.
Then, as if it had taken on a life of its own, and aided by an unexpected gust of wind, the ball floated through the open window and into the building.
The boys’ jaws dropped.
‘They stared at the window, nervously smiling, not sure what to do next. Moments later there came from inside a spine chilling
crash!
Then a number of screams, followed by complete silence and then…‘
S I M O N!!!’
The boys turned to each other, the same horrified expression on both their faces.
‘That was the window to the gallery,’ gasped Specky.
Specky’s first reaction was to run. If he could’ve fled the country that very minute, he would have. But instead he decided to face the consequences. He and Greg reluctantly made their way back inside the building. As they entered the gallery, all heads turned directly to them. Specky caught sight of Alice and his mum first. Their faces were frozen in utter disbelief, like everyone else’s. He looked towards the other end of the room to see that there, spread out on the floor, lay two very smashed sculptures, and in the middle of it all was the football he had accidentally just kicked through the open window. Thousands of tiny eggshell pieces were scattered all over the place.
Specky gulped as he then saw Vladimir Belsky sobbing on the floor while trying to pick up the remains of the sculpture called ‘The Nose’.
‘Come with me!’ said Specky’s father, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and dragging him into his office.
‘Dad, I didn’t mean to…’
‘Don’t you dare say a single word,’ he hissed through clenched teeth. Mr Magee slammed the office door shut behind him, leaving Specky to sit alone in the office for the rest of the launch.
By 7.00 p.m. the party was over—it really ended after the accident, as no one had been in the mood to celebrate since then.
Specky didn’t move an inch or say a single word as he and his father drove home. He would’ve preferred to have got a lift back with his mum and Alice, but Specky’s dad insisted that Specky go with him. Which only suggested to Specky that he was going to get an earbashing.
‘That was supposed to be one of the biggest nights of my career and
you
ruined it! All I wanted was for my family to support me, to be there for me—even if it wasn’t their thing…’
That’s what I should be saying to you, thought Specky.
‘…But no, my own son had to sabotage the whole event with his ridiculous obsession with football.’
‘It’s not ridiculous!’ Specky answered back.
‘Yes it is. I should ground you from playing footy for the rest of the year!’
‘You can’t do that! That’s not fair! I didn’t mean to break those sculptures…’ Specky felt his entire face heat up and his eyes well with tears. ‘Footy’s my life, Dad, whether you like it or not. It’s as important to me as art is to you. And you couldn’t even make it to the barbecue today, at least I made an appearance at your stupid exhibition!’
‘Don’t you raise your voice at me, young man. Me not going to your football function is
not
the issue here!’
‘Yes, it is! My
real
dad wouldn’t have missed it!’
Specky’s father slammed on the brakes, and the car screeched to a halt on the side of the road. Then he slowly turned to face Specky. ‘What did you say?’ he said firmly.
Specky softly repeated himself, briefly regretting what he had just said. ‘I said, my real dad wouldn’t have missed the barbecue today.’
Specky’s dad continued to stare at him in shock. After what seemed like a lifetime, he coldly turned back to the steering wheel and started the car.
Specky’s heart was beating so fast, he felt as if he’d just sprinted the entire length of a football oval. Why wasn’t his father saying anything? Part of Specky desperately wanted his father to say, ‘Don’t be silly,
I’m
your dad! What are you talking about?’—but he didn’t.
For the remainder of the ride back home, the silence was deafening.
When Specky’s dad pulled into their driveway, Specky quickly jumped out of the car, ran inside, and bolted up to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. A minute later he could hear his father enter the house calling for Mrs Magee. Specky lay quietly on his bed, trying to listen to his parents’ conversation below. There was a lot of muffled mumbling coming from what sounded like the kitchen.
‘Simon, come down here, please. Now! Your mother and I want to talk to you,’ shouted Specky’s dad.
Specky hesitantly made his way down the stairs, wishing he hadn’t said what he did to his father.
‘Sit down,’ instructed his dad, who was sitting beside his mother in the lounge room.
Specky looked at his parents’ faces—they seemed all squished with stress.
‘Your mother and I weren’t planning to tell you this until you were a little older. But in light of you finding the photo and what you just said to me in the car…’
‘Dad, I’m sorry about that, I…’ Specky wasn’t quite sure if he was ready to hear what they were going to say.
‘No, let me finish. We want you to know that we love you very much. You will always be our son, but we think you should know something. Something we never intended to keep from you.’
Specky’s father looked back at his mother, then directly back at him. He took in a deep breath, and then spoke the words that Specky had suspected all along.
‘You were adopted, son. You came into our lives soon after that photo you found was taken, and we are so blessed that you did. I am
still
your father and your mother is
still
your mother—we want you to understand that.