I FAILED THE TEST OF LIFE by Mason Durie I often wonder what I could be doing now. Often I imagine myself sitting at a desk, while outside, a number of people wait to be interviewed. Often I see myself walking down the long corridor of a hospital; walking into an operating theatre to save someone's life. How silly I am; a mere freezing worker imagining that he is a famous surgeon! Impossible are those scenes now; but once they were more than dreams; they were pictures that I was determined to paint. I grew up on a small country farm on the East Coast. My parents were both half-caste Maoris, and they meant much to me as I, the youngest son, meant much to them. I remember once when we were milking our small herd of cows my father said to me: “If ever you go away from us son, you will not be able to stay away for long. The Maori belongs to his land—the pakeha can have the cities”. Later I was to realise that those words were not as sound as they seemed at the time. When I was five, my folks rather reluctantly sent me to the local primary school—a small school but a school that gave me a good grounding in basic education. Here too. I first developed the view that I would be something in life—something more than a cowhand. Frequently my father kept me at home to milk the cows or dig potatoes but I soon realised that if I was to be anybody at all I would have to attend school regularly. In the sixth standard I never missed one day's schooling and at the end of the year I was granted a scholarship to attend a boarding school. My parents were never completely in favour of my going away to school—they did not want to hinder me, but I think that they were a little afraid that I would forget them. Before I left I reassured them that this was a groundless fear but still my mother was upset and in Maori declared that the pakeha had robbed her of her youngest son. As the bus rolled through the hills I felt sick. It seemed as if I was leaving home forever. Although I was happy at college, it was always difficult for me to return after the holidays. At home everything was so free and easy while at school the reverse predominated and my whole life was lived on a timetable. Neither did we get as many social outings at school—that is fewer dances and films—and although I may have thought differently, that disciplined way of life was what I needed. There were no attractions to draw me away from lessons, and consequently I did much extra study in my spare time—time that would have been wasted at home. In addition my masters spent much of their own time helping us individually. They were as keen to get us through our exams as we were to pass them. I passed my School Certificate exam at the end of my third college year and the following year obtained by University Entrance. I had always wanted to be a medical practitioner and now I was determined that I would be. After my fifth year at college I left to study at Auckland University, full of determination and ideas for the future. My troubles started that year. Our college headmaster often told the new boys that: “At this School, you build your canoe. When you leave here you launch it on the wild seas of life. If you have made your canoe strong it will float—if not then it will capsize and the timber and time spent in making it will be wasted.” Of course it was our characters that were the canoes and success in life depended on the way that the character had been moulded. But there is something else in that analogy that now rings in my conscience—“the wild seas of life”. Life is a wild sea; a wild sea of independence and self-discipline. I discovered that as I sailed over it. At varsity, school was something different from what I had been accustomed to. I had expert teachers, first class equipment and much more time to consolidate my lessons—lessons that would decide my future. I knew that to be a successful doctor, I would have to work really hard—harder than ever before and I went to my new school with every intention of working in such a manner. The first week passed; then the second and the third, and I had missed only one lecture. “Keep it up son”, read a letter from Dad. Keep it up! Could I? I thought I could. I even thought that I could keep it up if I spent half the night out Here was the Queen city of New Zealand waiting to be explored; and here was I, a young explorer fresh from the “backblocks”, waiting eagerly to discover new delights. Gradually the attractions of the city pulled me away from my study and soon I was an active member of the Maori Youth Club, the “Give” Club, the “Start Rugby Club and the Badminton Club. Every night was a night out; a new action song to be learned a new film to be seen; or a new girl friend to be taken out. For the first time in my life I could do as