My first memory of family violence was when I was five or six. I know
that because I remember every house we lived in – we moved 10 times
when I was a kid and I went to five different schools. I was playing
out the front of this unit with my sister, who’s three years older than
me, and I remember the front door being flung open and my mum
being thrown outside and rolling on the concrete. She ended up
landing in some bushes; we ran over and sat there with Mum crying,
and I picked out these long green prickles embedded in her skin.
Today, I’m Australia’s first school lawyer. I only represent the
kids, not the school, trying to help them with anything and
everything – including family violence, which was my normal
when I was a kid. Through WEstjustice, a community legal
centre, I work at a low socio-economic school in Melbourne.
We have kids from all across the globe – I love them, they’re
a funny bunch. They remind me of me sometimes.
I was born in Seoul, and we came to Australia when I was one.
Dad was an architect or engineer in Korea, but when we came
here, like many migrants, he had trouble finding a job. He was a
taxi driver, a chef – gosh, I can’t remember some of the other stuff.
He was also a very violent man, smashing windows and punching
holes through doors and beating us up – every day I lived in fear.
He was always remorseful afterwards, and then there was the
blame: “If you respected me, I wouldn’t have to do this.” Typical stuff.
All day every day, my sister and I would pressure Mum and say, “Let’s
leave, let’s leave, we don’t need him.” Now I feel quite guilty about
that; it’s not easy to leave. Once upon a time, Mum loved him.
The last time he was violent towards me, I was 17. I was
changing the TV channels and he told me to stop, then hit me
in the face. I think I grabbed him, got up in his face, and
was brave enough to stand up for myself and say, “Don’t
you ever touch me again.” He opened the door and threw
the VCR outside, and the TV smashed on the front step.
The neighbours were all watching, and he left. I remember
him standing at the door saying, “Don’t ever call me Dad,
I don’t have a son.” That was our last interaction.
As an adult, thinking about the harm in those words, that’s
when it really upsets me. I used to write rhymes or poems
or whatever you want to call them, thinking I was Eminem –
straight after that happened, I wrote something with the words
he used. I still have those rhymes, and every now and then I
read them. It takes me back to how I was feeling at the time.
At school, embarrassingly, I was quite violent myself. Angry,
rude and disrespectful; your typical terror of a student. I feel
sorry for my teachers, they would have hated me. Looking back,
it’s learnt behaviour. If something doesn’t go right, you break
something. If something doesn’t work out with someone, you
hurt them. My schoolwork got worse and worse, and in year 12,
I did nothing – home was not a great environment to be studying
in. I ultimately finished with a score of 24.5 out of a possible 99.
There are plenty of kids who have horrible stories, but do well
at school – I think they’re more mentally strong than me. I’ve
seen two psychologists – three, actually – it’s something I’m
often getting help for. There was so much hurt and pain for
many years, but that’s slowly wearing off, which is good.
After I left school, I was in a really dark place and doing
nothing, but it was kind of peaceful without Dad. Mum wasvincent shin is australia’s first
in-house school lawyer.
AS TOLD TOLETA KEENSeverybody
has a story
pieces of me