Year eleven is biding your time, playing Kelly Pool and stuck on the problem of the square root of minus one, which sounds more like poetry than maths. I get poetry but not maths pretending to be poetry. And not the teacher looking at me like it's funny that the boy who thinks he can do anything is defeated by something. Enough of this. It's time to catch the freezing midnight train to Coolabah. We make it to the station via a cigarette-smoked taxi. Here comes the rolling, banging contraption, nicknamed the Midnight Mole. I make my way to a dog box with a foot-warmer! So love these huge steel encased cylinders—full of acid and sand. I wrap my whole body around it to keep warm. A banging, shunting night of sleep passes. A station sign says Coolabah. It's just me with no brothers this time. Dad takes ages. It's hot. There he is: in his new Toyota smiling under that big hat. ‘Had some good rain,' he says, throwing my gear in the back with petrol drums. ‘Uh huh,' I say, looking around at red dust. We get into a cabin that's layered in red dust and smelling of gun oil. The ABC news is up loud and we're hammering our way along the red gravel road home. I doze off and wake just as Dad stops and gets out. ‘Look at this,' he says, examining some fresh green shoots. ‘Reckon we might have more rain on the way. ‘Reckon so,' I say. Another forty minutes and we're home: passing hundreds of acres of green paradise, kangaroos and sheep. A piece of livestock bliss that astonishes my sleepy sixteen year old eyes. As usual, while we've been at school, Dad—the magician—has conjured beautiful farm land out of thick masses of box and mulga scrub. Audacity is what this is. Mostly what I'm remembering is drought, dead sheep and misery. And then this grand plan: Dad bulldozing trees, windrows of dead timber and a green paradise. And field days with crowds of admiring block-battlers from all over. Dad parks the ute in the big shed. Days of stock work and fencing pass. Bruises and cuts accumulate. Clothes are torn. The lovely smell of red dust is in everything. A quiet day comes. I'm on a step in the shaded side of the house, facing the dam and the big pepper trees. This is a good think-time spot. The old black tom cat brushes past me. A thousand thoughts rush by. Just can't seem to get my head around it. Mum's gone. And look at this place! The filthy kitchen, the greasy dining room. The grime. Those old wheelchair marks against the door frames. This monster of a world seems to have a thing against us. Dad walks past and—in his friendly way—wants to know what's on my mind. I ignore him. He keeps walking. I'm sulking: rivetted on that red and green expanse and beyond that, the shadowy secrets of the box flats and the mulga: my painkillers. More days pass. We talk of plans for our other block, up north. ‘We've got some mustering to do at Bre,' Dad says, smiling. ‘Okay,' I say. The block at Bre is the one that's saving us. The ute is loaded with bikes and, of course, rifles. There's always plenty of pigs there. We make the hundred and sixty kay trip and set up camp. The stars come out. The fire is lit, the steak cooked. Such juicy steak! And we talk. Do we ever talk. The sulk fades. This big, fat beast called the world isn't so bad after all. If you have a go. Just jump in. Nothing lives long. Go hard as you can before it dies too. Even if you get killed in the process. Might as well. What else is there? Dad falls asleep. I'm by the fire, taking it all in. Especially the shadows and the way they play with the moon as she touches the skin of the trees, and those dead-pan, dead-still leaves. This my real home—here in the dark with the silver. Kookaburras announce a new day and away we go. Me on my bright green motorbike with a rifle and a pig that's going hard through deep grass. This is more like it. Bang! We've hit something. Up in the air, high over handle bars. The bike falling away. Crunch! Headfirst at a low angle. Face ploughing through dirt like a cow-catcher. Everything blanks out. I wake up. I'm alive! Tasting dirt and blood. Lying here for a bit under a hot blue sky, waiting. It's okay. Just need to find water, to wash the mouth out. Time for school. Back on the train. Feeling silly with this great scabbed face that's scrubbed the surface of the planet. What will they all think? And now, we jump decades into the present to a room and a chair by a fire: me, the old man growing old, together with his wife. Astonished at how Dad won my heart. And how he, the moon and Bre turned the shadows into a wonder. And even now, over there on the wall of this room: a photo full of shadows. A woman in a long dress (my son's wife) walking through a glade of trees like some great queen. And three children running and laughing: one of them—caught in mid-flight—her feet off the ground, like a faery floating on air.

From the day I was born till now, I've always known my father as a businessman. I mean how else could he raise 15 children, right? The first business my father ran, as far as I can remember was our bakeshop. But after the sudden price hike of flour and sugar, we had to close the shop and think of another business. Making hollow blocks was then my father's next business venture. And even though he only had very little knowledge about construction and engineering he still managed to run the business for a while; up until a lot of construction companies opened up. Not being able to compete with other competitors my father had to think of another business that can sustain and provide for us. Then came our piggery farm, and again my father had only a very little knowledge of raising pigs, but we were still able to manage to run the farm for a couple of years until we have to move out of the place where we lived in. Unfortunately, we move to a more urban side of town where it is harder to raise swine because of odor/smell control issues. So, my father had to think of another business again; v-hire express services, which is what we currently have now. You see, I grew up watching my dad ran a multiple of businesses. That's why most of my childhood memories are related to his businesses. I remember having fun watching the mixing of cement, sand, gravel, and water. I remember watching a sow giving birth. I remember one time, I, my older sister ate Liit, and younger sibling Arniel had to attend a sow gave birth at midnight. We all went crazy when we thought we heard the sound of a manananggal or something scary. I remember we used to climb at the top of the brick oven, we even used to hide inside then come out covered with coal. I remember making dough, which was a lot more exciting than playing with clay dough. I remember being scared of the huge rolling pin machine in our bakery, it had caused a couple of finger injuries. I've seen fingers being rolled in it. It was traumatic! Most importantly I remember how amazed I am to my father having been able to shift from one business to another. I always admire my father's work ethics and his dedication on something he is passionate about. He is always a risk taker, a leader, a dream chaser and above all my father is a businessman. Other people think that as a businessman, my father is a failure. As because none of his businesses lasted very long. For me though, he will always be a true successful businessman. He may not have a big and solid business to pass on to us and later on to his grandchildren; but he gave us more than that. He gave us the heart of a true businessman. Not only chasing for the profit but to actually do it with joy and contentment; not to give up when something goes wrong but to work harder and think better. My father have always wanted to see us, his children, make a corporation. I always dismiss the idea before, for me it sounds so ambitious. But seeing my siblings running their own businesses now, I can't help but think that my father has actually a very good vision for us. That it is actually attainable for us to work or rather to run a business as a corporation. As I am writing this down right now, I actually think he didn't only say it because he have confidence in us but actually in hopes that we may do it in the future. But, why? The same reason why he started to do business over and over again. He wants us to be able to stay and have time for each other, for our family. He wants us to be able to pursue our own interests, passions and goals in our own pace. The road maybe far for the corporation dream, or even if it may not happen; but the fact that I am able to see that we can actually get there makes my heart really happy. And that my friend is the story of my father as a businessman.