paul’s confidence grew off the back of some unexpected friendships.

I, like most people, struggle with rejection. It hits hard, deep in your guts. It bends your psyche sharply toward self doubt. After a torturous Grade 7 and 8, it was a part time job, the loss of some excessive body weight, and a growth spurt that put me on the path to greater self confidence. It was also the unexpected development of plutonic friendships with three girls from another high school that helped me heal and see a more positive side to young adulthood.

In the Autumn of 1989 my family embarked on an Easter road trip with my paternal grandparents. Packed into the Ford Falcon, the six of us – Pop, Mum and Dad in the front seat, and Nan, my brother and I in the back – travelled to Port Sorell in the North West of Tasmania. We completed brief road trips from time to time. Usually it was to visit a national park or a dam that was just opened or under construction. Pop, after all, was a dam builder, and he maintained his interest in the growth of Tasmania’s hydro-electric infrastructure. On this occasion it was a simple stay in a caravan park to see extended family.

My brother and I frequented the ‘games room’ and upon becoming bored with that we went for a walk to the near by beach. It was a warm day, so we ditched our shoes, socks and tops – leaving them on a rock adjacent to the timber path – and played on the beach. In the water up to our knees we moved a fair distance up the beach, and then jogged back to collect our gear. But our shoes and clothes were gone.

I hadn’t seen anyone else while we were on the beach, so I was stumped. We checked further along the beach just in case we had confused our entry point. As we resolved to walk back to camp, and explain the theft to our parents, a group of three teenage girls burst out laughing from behind the bushes. They emerged and introduced themselves and indicated that they weren’t thieves, they were just pranking us. Playing along with it, we gathered our clothes and introduced ourselves. I quickly put on my orange tank top to cover my torso. I mentioned we were from George Town. One of the girls had a cousin who lived there, and noted it was a ‘rough’ place. I had to agree. It worked out that all three girls were in the same grade as I was, just from a high school in Launceston. They were at the same park as us, staying with one set of parents in a big yellow van they nick named, “The Crunchie”, given it resembled a chocolate bar. We walked back to camp together and agreed to catch up again later that evening.

After tea, we quickly ditched Mum, Dad, Nan and Pop, and ran around the other side of the park to hang out with the girls.  They had a fire going and they were waiting for us to join them. When we approached, we were introduced to the adults present, but the girls had forgotten our first names. Cleverly, one girl referenced the beach fishing theme and referred to me as the ‘orange roughy’ – a clear nod to the tank-top I was wearing earlier and a dig at the reputation of my home town. It stuck as a nick name for the evening. I didn’t mind at all, I had been called much worse, and this was said in good humour. We talked for hours that evening, and I enjoyed the experience so much I wanted time to stand still.

Ultimately, it was the start of a set of plutonic friendships that lasted a couple of years. My brother drifted off, but I phoned the trio every few weeks on a Monday night, and we caught up in the city to watch a movie a handful of times. It was an absolutely liberating experience. To not carry any of the baggage and stigma from my own school, I was able to be me without pre-judgement. I treasured the time I spent with my female friends, and really appreciated the way they treated me authentically and respectfully. Eventually the frequency of the meetings reduced and, as we all matured into our own teenage relationships at our own schools, we drifted apart. Two summers later we all landed at Launceston College together. It was a big school with over 2000 students at the time. By then it was different, or I was different. With acne and shattered self confidence I shied away from those types of encounters. I wanted to be invisible.