I guess the sort of thing that happened to my mum has happened constantly to Aboriginal people over the years. That's why the whitefellas talk so much about which of us is full blood, half-caste, quarter-caste, and all that other rubbish. I reckon those kinds of images make people think that we are like that doll Pinocchio's father made out of a lot of different things. Who is going to come out with a long nose? Who is going to come out a dark colour, a light colour? Who is going to have curly, black, brown or blond hair? How are we supposed to answer when someone asks, 'But are you really an Aboriginal?' Of course we bloody are! Or when they say, 'Are you a quarter-caste or a half-caste?' Who cares? Why should I have to talk about which bit of me is black and which is white—it's all red when I cut myself.