THERE is a word in our family lingo that has its origins buried in an endeavour of goodwill and well meaning.
The word is longjack.
It means "rubbish' or "you're pulling my leg' or exaggerating or, in the more vernacular, "bull . . . . ".
To most people, it means nothing, but this literary lingerer is about all that remains of my parents acceding to a request more than 25 years ago from the Catholic church to accommodate two Aboriginal boys for the school holidays.
The boys were boarders at Monivae College, in Hamilton.
The thinking was that if the boys could be kept south during the holidays, then eventually their homesickness for the wilds of Daly River, between Katherine and Darwin in the Northern Territory, would fade and they would want to stick at school.
It was wishful thinking and one that denied the children access to home and hearth, whatever its form, when they wanted it most.
It was a mistake, just as many well-meaning but ill-prepared endeavours to "help' the indigenous people of this country have been.
"Longjack" was one of the few words my brothers could make out of the native tongue chatter our young visitors shared between themselves, and since everything seemed to be out of place for them, my brothers adopted it and to this day use it to mean just that.
It's home-grown Australian Aboriginal.
Today, attempts to integrate Aboriginal children into southern schools so that they may be skilled to hold jobs and build self-esteem continue.
This week, I'm hoping to meet Calvin Anzac, a boarder from Timber Creek, 330km west of Katherine in the Northern Territory, who has just completed his Victorian Certificate of Education at St Patrick's College in Ballarat.
He's the first from his community to complete Year 12.
Next year, he's off to the UK to work with underprivileged children.
He was one of 19 indigenous students at St Patrick's this year.
Other schools in Victoria including Ballarat Secondary College and Ballarat Grammar are similarly disposed towards indigenous students.
They want to provide education for indigenous children, but, by their own admission, struggle to provide education that's culturally meaningful.
Recently, educators gathered in Ballarat to hear about initiatives in Aboriginal education.
Philanthropist Maria Myers talked about the immense amount of goodwill in the community in the wake of the national apology to the Stolen Generations in February to do something to lessen the disparity in education, health, life expectancy and living standards between black and white.
Theresa Ardler, who is head of Aboriginal perspectives at a Sydney Catholic School, said a campus of indigenous children within the wider school offered learning from an Aboriginal perspective.
Mark Waddington, from St Patrick's College, talked about the struggles to "do justice to the boys in our care".
But as the evening continued, it was clear little had changed from decades back.
The assumption continues that indigenous people have all the learning to do and the whitefella is the one to teach it.
But maybe that's longjack.
Maybe if we immersed ourselves in and learnt more about Aboriginal culture, the questions about a shared learning that's relevant for all Australians would be less confounding.
It's a complex area and we have a way to go.
