Free Caprice by Doris Pilkington Garimara Page B

to the podium to receive a handshake and a certificate from the dean of the faculty of education.
    This ceremony may have been regarded by a few as just another graduation ceremony: a presentation of rhetorics and concluding with the usual congratulatory speeches, followed by a vote of thanks and an invitation to share refreshments at the main cafeteria. But to me the ceremony signified something special. It meant that I had reached yet another goal in my life—a personal achievement worth sharing with an audience—one that I had doubted I would ever attain. Seated amongst the audience, sharing this special moment with me were my four very proud children, their spouses and my five grandchildren.
    Firstly there was my eldest child Kevin James, 21, a plant operator with Carnarvon Shire Council, and his attractive wife Helen and their two sons Richard, 3, and Paul, 1.
    Next to them were my daughter Vicki, 19, clerk/typist with the Department of Social Security, Cannington, her husband Marty Harris, trainee welfare assistant at a juvenile centre, and their sons Peter, 5, and Shane, 4.
    Marise my youngest daughter came down from Port Hedland with her handsome husband Johnny Morgan and my only and beautiful granddaughter Jasmine, 3. At17 Marise still looked too young to be a mother—just a baby herself.
    Kent, the baby of the family, a sixteen-year-old apprenticed motor mechanic, intended joining his father and uncles on the Main Roads Board (Murchinson Area) when he qualified.
    With the formalities over, the refreshments devoured and enjoyed, everything was going perfectly. There were more congratulatory hugs and kisses from fellow students, family and friends. But my highest accolade came from my eldest son Kevin James who waved and yelled before disappearing around the corner, “Well done Mother duck, we’re all proud of you.” I was proud of me too, the only grandmother in the class.
    That evening was still mine, as my friend David cheerfully reminded me. Next on the agenda was a celebration party at Dulcie Miller’s home in Como. Dulcie was a second year social work student—the same year as my friend David—and she was the most helpful and popular person on campus. Many of us benefited from her support and informative discussions.
    David and I didn’t go directly to Como but drove to South Perth to the foreshore and sat on the edge of the river’s cool grassy banks.
    â€œI brought a bottle of champagne but forgot to bring two glasses,” he said apologetically. “But I hope you don’t mind using this.” He handed me a small plastic bottle of orange juice.
    Mind, I didn’t mind at all—unromantic though it may seem. Starting off with an orange juice, followed by an orange and champagne cocktail and ending with champagne. It sounded perfectly wonderful to me.
    Some time later David took the empties and deposited them into the nearest rubbish bin. I walked and stood on the edge of the foreshore and gazed wistfully acrossthe river to the brightly lit city with its scores of twinkling lights and colourful neon signs that seem to enhance the beauty and the brilliance of our night-time capital city. I listened to the humming and the throbbing of the city itself, and watched the twin head lights of the moving traffic; going to and fro; in and out; full of purpose, either going home or going out.
    This beautiful view was reflected in the river’s edge on the opposite side. Though now the twinkling lights seemed to be multiplied many times to become streaks of brilliance and colour. The transformation was magical. The normally murky brown Swan River seemed to be momentarily transformed into a huge mirror. In the darkness the ripples and the low swell lapped against the shoreline, breaking and rejoining in an endless movement, never stopping, never still.
    A cool breeze came wafting across the waters, giving me a pleasant feeling that was purely euphoric.
    This