Kate Gordon: I was never much good at making friends.
As a kid, I was a small, dark, gloomy child – think Wednesday Addams, but with far less spunk. I lived, always, with one foot firmly in a fantasy world. I was always waiting to find the wardrobe that would lead to my own Narnia; to find the tunnel behind the waterfall, the steps up the chimney that would lead me away from a life I felt ill-suited to. My nose always in a book, I could ignore the stares of the other kids, the way they laughed at me. When I did talk, I inevitably put my whole leg in it, going from days of silence to an hour-long monologue about crows or dragons.
I was very good at being alone. That didn’t mean that the ache of loneliness didn’t permeate, right down to my bones. I wanted friends. I just didn’t know how. I’d sidle up to the other kids, sit beside them and say nothing. If one of them did talk to me, I’d cry and run away, the pressure of saying the right thing too much for me to bear.
I hid down the bottom of the schoolyard, below a pussy-willow tree, stuffing treasures in the hollow of it, for the fairies to take away.
When the school bell rang, a cloud descended on me, the knowledge I’d have to feign normal again a heavy, oppressive weight.
How did other kids do it? How did they just … be?
In grade six, the bullying having escalated to a level I couldn’t stand any more, I moved schools.
At my new school, I met Julia.
Kate Foster: I tried far too hard to make friends, with everyone.
I was sporty, smart, sassy, able to flit between group on the playground. I was observant and sharp, switching on a larger-than-life personality whenever necessary. I could play football with the boys, choreograph dance routines for the girls, be top of the class in academics. I used humour to win people round. I was the kid with potential, who’d go far, talented and gifted, and who stood out from the crowd. I went out of my way to live up to those expectations.
That was the outside. Thank goodness nobody saw the inside, the mess, the chaos, the broken little girl.
I wore personalities like clothes, dressing to blend in.
I invented stories to impress, to connect, to disguise a person I’d decided no one would like.
I went against my inner voice of reason to make those around me happy, to make them like me, to not leave me loitering on the peripheries of a world I couldn’t follow.
I mimicked whomever I hung around with and ignored and beat down my true self every day.
I wanted to be like everyone else, who seemed to just “get it”.
I never liked who I was or who I was trying to be.
I was lost.
Kate Gordon: I’ve told this story before, but that’s because I love it so much.
When I met Julia, she was talking to her feet.
I can see how now – a small, dark-haired, doe-eyed girl, green school uniform, black shoes, white socks. She stared at her toes, murmuring.
“What are you doing?” I asked her.
“Talking to my feet,” she said.
“Why?”
“I’m worried they’re lonely.”
I knew in that moment that I’d found my person.
Julia was gloriously, delightfully weird. In an era where all the other kids were obsessed with Girlfriend and Saved by the Bell, Jules loved Queen and The Beatles and The X Files and Star Wars. In her company, I could shed all pretence of being cool and “normal”. Jules didn’t care about my frizzy hair. She didn’t care if I knew all the words to the latest Peter Andre song. She didn’t care if my socks matched or if I wore the “right” kind of shoes.
Jules was a safe space. With her, I could let the mask slip. With her, I felt like I was worthy of friendship. With her, I felt like the world was big and full of possibilities and I could do anything. She made my believe in magic and hope.
She had a big brother, Luke (yes, named after Skywalker), who was an amazing singer, and a little sister, Hanna, who was a fierce, wild force of nature. I felt at home in their kooky, green-roofed house on a hill, with one cat with three legs and another with one eye.
I felt like this was how life was supposed to be. When you found a best friend, you were home.
"We’re determined to spend the rest of our days making other
kids feel okay, just as they are." -- Kates F. and G.
Kate Foster: Friendship never stopped being a conundrum. A puzzle, a mystery, and a riddle I still haven’t solved. And that makes me sad.
But now, armed with my autism diagnosis and my beautiful family – my best friends – I’m getting to know the real me. The line is still blurred; I’ve taken on so many personalities in the name of fitting in. But who I really am is fighting hard to shine through, and I’m beginning to like her.
My family help me navigate this world. They’re constant, safe, and have taught me to stop working so hard, overthinking, and being the person I think others want me to be, that who I am is good enough, and I am a valued friend to those who deserve me.
They love me for me, they appreciate my sense of humour and accept my ways, provide for my needs without question.
My advice for anyone who resonates with my story, and with the wisdom and friendship my family have afforded me, I’d say: make friends with yourself first before seeking friendship elsewhere.
Kate G and Kate F: Writing Small Acts brought up so many strong feelings for us. Feelings we thought were long buried – about feeling insecure and “different” and “not like other kids”. Knowing that, all along, being autistic was a huge part of what made us feel “other”. We grieve for the happy, carefree childhood we missed out on. We grieve for that poor kid, always feeling “wrong”, always feeling like a “bad kid” – too shy, too quiet, too awkward, too weird, too, too, too.
Writing this book was a form of healing. We gave Ollie to Josh and Josh to Ollie and that felt like a gift we were giving each other. We know what it’s like to always feel on the outside of a circle, full of all the people who belong. We found community in each other.
We hope young readers will find this book and the comfort within, too.
We’re determined to spend the rest of our days making other kids feel okay, just as they are. We hope this book is a small act of kindness to our younger selves, and to all the other kids who need to know they’re not alone.
Kate Foster is a best-selling and award-winning children's author living in Australia with her family and second-hand dogs. Her novels are published internationally, and include PAWS, The Bravest Word, Harriet Hound, The Unlikely Heroes Club and Small Acts. Kate founded The ASLA Diversity in Australia and Aotearoa New Zealand Children’s Book Award, and runs Author Pen Pals, a new Australia-wide initiative in which children’s book creators write letters to groups of students throughout the school year.
Kate Gordon grew up in a small town by the sea in Tasmania. She is the author of numerous award-winning picture-books and novels for younger readers, including Aster’s Good, Right Things, published by Yellow Brick Books in November, 2020, which won the CBCA Book of the Year for younger readers in 2021, and was shortlisted in the Tasmanian Literary Awards in 2022. The companion novels, Xavier in the Meantime and Indigo in the Storm were published in 2021 and 2023. Whalesong was published by Yellow Brick Books in 2022, following Kate’s residency at the Maritime Museum of Tasmania. Kate continues to write novels and picture books from a cottage overlooking the river and the mountain on the Eastern Shore of Hobart. She has two daughters, an elderly cat and a very silly labradoodle
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