Tuesday, March 28, 2006

The Wonder Years (Part IV)
The Sun, The Moon & Disappointment

by Benji Raymond



In kindergarten I fell in love with one of my teachers. Looking back now, I can’t recall her name or what she looked like. I do, however, remember that she was a warm, caring and loving teacher. One day in what appeared to me to be an unprecedented press conference, she announced that she had to move on to another job. I felt a tear trickle down my face and then almost at once the tears began to flow. From this point on I seemed to master or perhaps not master the art of crying. Even for a young boy I held an above average scorecard of being unable to control the tap which lay in my eyes. What perhaps is more interesting is that I am now unable to cry. I appear to have emptied out all my tears in my younger years and the only tears left are imaginary ones which fall within my dreams.

My teacher who had once seemed to be warm and loving and ever-present, now appeared to grow into a deserter. Nevertheless, she went on to explain that in light of the unfortunate events she had thought up a very special surprise. We all listened attentively as if she were to unveil the secret ingredient of the atomic bomb, or better yet, why chocolate often appeared to be irresistible. My teacher proceeded to clarify that we were going to build a giant airplane which was going to take us across the world. I was astonished and excited, to say the least. When I returned home I could hardly contain my excitement and in short bursts told my mom the great news. My mom smiled and twinkled her nose, something I recall her doing when she was sincerely happy. I took a few minutes to gulp down my lunch and proceeded to pack for this very grand journey. My possessions at that age were unfortunately only a few pieces of clothing and a brown case. But I guess I assumed that packing light was the way to go.

My mom had and continues to have a love for maps and globes and would use any chance available to show them to my sister and me. In our small flat in Berea, a suburb of Johannesburg, she would sit us on the bed and illustrate the marvels of the rotation of the earth using an apple as the moon, an orange as the earth and a lamp as the sun. So that night I naturally lay awake thinking of the oceans and lands my class and I would cross.

The next morning I took my little brown case with me to school. My mom seemed to be surprised at my case and went on to tell me the hard truth. Yes, it was true that we were going to build an airplane with papier mache, but it was not able to take us anywhere, at least not more than a metre or two. I was sincerely disappointed, almost angry at myself for believing that a papier mache plane could take us across the world, crossing oceans and unknown lands. My mind had once again succeeded on taking me on an imaginary journey, a journey which ultimately ended up in disappointment.

During my school years when leadership games were played, I could never grasp the idea of being blindfolded while being lead by another. I simply refused or stood blindfolded and wouldn’t dare to move. When we were told to relax and drop back into another’s arms I would sludge my way down in a tense way with my arms positioned behind me. Nevertheless, when it was my turn to lead or catch another I took great pain in trying to convince someone to trust me and it became my little passion that I continued to work on so hard during my life.

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The Wonder Years - Introduction
A Woman of Virtue - To Mum
The Wonder Years (Part 1) My Earliest Memory
The Wonder Years (Part 2) Sensitivity and its Implications
The Wonder Years (Part 3) Dad
The Wonder Years (Part 4) The Sun, The Moon & Disappointment
The Wonder Years (Part 8) Chocolate Milk & The Cool Sea Breeze
The Wonder Years (Part 15) - Race, Memory and Innocence
The Wonder Years (Part 16) In Between Two Worlds

A Long December - Poetry

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

The Wonder Years (Part III) – Dad

by Benji Raymond



“When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.” Mark Twain


I never heard my Dad complain about going to work, not for a single second. On the contrary, there were times when I had to ask him to slow down a bit, for fear of him dramatically reducing the quality of his health. I often wondered why he worked so hard. While we lived a reasonably comfortable middle class lifestyle he never really wanted anything in the material sense. I never saw him go out and purchase a new pair or shoes, a nice shiny necklace or a fancy technological gadget. At one stage I asked him what exactly was the reason he worked so hard and he answered that he wanted my sister and I to be able to enjoy life and not have to worry about how we would be able to obtain new school shoes or textbooks for university. Perhaps it was the fact that his education ceased after high school and wanted the opposite for me. It was only later in life that I realized that everything we ever owned was a product of his and my mom’s work and was not produced as a result of inheritance. They both lived in a moderately low lifestyle and at times even food seemed to be a concern. Nevertheless, one of the things that struck me about my Dad was the way he would leave the last piece of steak or lamb for me. After having a very satisfying meal I would explain that I didn’t necessarily want the last piece but he would just leave it there. I knew deep down in my heart that steak and lamb were his favorite. Only after he knew that I was not going to touch it would he proceed to eat it.

My Dad’s life was uneasy as a child. I do not know this from his personal accounts of his childhood. On the contrary, he often said his childhood was wonderful and then proceeded to say very little else about it. But I do know now that the necessities of life were not always in abundance while he was growing up and that at one stage the lack of income was so great in his family that his parent’s required to focus on the family business and consequently sent him to boarding school. Perhaps that is the real motivation of a parent working so hard to provide for their children.

It amazed me the way my Dad would walk visitors back to their car. My mom would laugh and say that he was making sure that they would leave, but I knew within me that it was a style of hospitality. It was his way of making certain that they would be safe to go on with their journey, however short it may be. I would watch in amazement the way he would enjoy having people over. While I enjoyed having friends over, I would often glance at my watch, a sure sign of my introverted nature. And yet my Dad’s extroverted nature exceeded that of my mom, sister and I by tenfold.

My Dad often mentions with a smile that he would have liked more children. For some reason, I was always so happy when he would say that. I guess in my eyes I perceived this to mean that he was happy with the result of his existing children, my sister and me. While some of my friends’ parents would say that they would have liked less or no kids, he would often counteract them by saying that while he loved his two children, they were simply not enough.

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The Wonder Years - Introduction
A Woman of Virtue - To Mum
The Wonder Years (Part 1) My Earliest Memory
The Wonder Years (Part 2) Sensitivity and its Implications
The Wonder Years (Part 3) Dad
The Wonder Years (Part 4) The Sun, The Moon & Disappointment
The Wonder Years (Part 8) Chocolate Milk & The Cool Sea Breeze
The Wonder Years (Part 15) - Race, Memory and Innocence
The Wonder Years (Part 16) In Between Two Worlds

A Long December - Poetry

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

The Wonder Years (Part II) – Sensitivity and its Implications

by Benji Raymond




During my younger years I was always under the impression that perfection was not only attainable but desirable and instrumental to one progressing in this world. This no doubt proved to be a struggle for an acutely sensitive child who would hear and see things that would occur 2 kilometers away. At some stage perfectionism seemed so important that when I was certain that I could not produce 100% exam results, I would not sit them.

I often wondered why my anxiety would shoot through the roof in a class setting at university. It only occurred to me, albeit in my fifth year of studies, that aggressively insensitive teachers in early education years (I had my fair share of them) can curve, shape and sculpt an individual’s life. The role of a sensitive, caring and loving teacher is equally, if not more important in the same sense. Only recently have I realized that the role of a teacher in primary or high school is so incredibly significant that not even the teacher themselves can realize the role they play in a child’s life. I often mention to my sister that as a child-care worker she plays an instrumental role in that child’s life, whether or not they recall her as their carer in five or ten years.

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The Wonder Years - Introduction
A Woman of Virtue - To Mum
The Wonder Years (Part 1) My Earliest Memory
The Wonder Years (Part 2) Sensitivity and its Implications
The Wonder Years (Part 3) Dad
The Wonder Years (Part 4) The Sun, The Moon & Disappointment
The Wonder Years (Part 8) Chocolate Milk & The Cool Sea Breeze
The Wonder Years (Part 15) - Race, Memory and Innocence
The Wonder Years (Part 16) In Between Two Worlds

A Long December - Poetry