A Segue into Memories of Childhood

Seeing Dasamaama, memories came flooding back. This uncle, ever-present through my childhood visits to the ancestral home, and his sister were my saviours from boredom. They were the ones who would come home after a long day at work and insist on taking me away from a day spent in my own company wandering through the ample gardens, making up games as I went. Thinking of them evokes memories of orange ice-cream in a neat square on a saucer, a walk along the beach with roasted peanuts in a newspaper cone. The simple pleasures that defined the bulk of Christmas holidays of my childhood.

But he is old now. At 81 he's no longer fleet of foot, striding impatiently far ahead, dark skin gleaming and muscles rippling. Always lean, now he looks gaunt. My heart feels heavy. This may be my last goodbye with him and I don't feel ready to make it. Are we ever ready?

The first day passes in a haze of sweat and heat and bustling in the kitchen. Fish cutlets for dinner, a bridge too far for Dasamaama. His stomach can no longer cope with even that, let alone the scorching chillies of the past. A restless night, antacids the outcome. The second day was better. The opportunity to reminisce with him, to tell him of our potential futures. Not all our futures are rosy. Dire and depressing, hard to bear for the young, necessary to hear for the old.

Already the passing of his younger sister is playing on his mind. Now I have added to that with news of his even younger nephew. But we are old now, he and I. The days of my childhood exist only in my memory. As the song goes... those schoolgirl days, of telling tales and biting nails are gone. Childish thoughts evaporate like mist and we are forced to face the stark, grounded and cruel reality of our own mortality. With immense sadness, I sought his blessing and parted, perhaps for the last time.

The time has come,

For closing books and long last looks must end,

And as I leave,

I know that I am leaving my best friend,

A friend who taught me right from wrong,

And weak from strong,

That's a lot to learn,

What, what can I give you in return?

If you wanted the moon I would try to make a start,

But, I would rather you let me give my heart...

Words Said Too Much and Not Enough

There has been tension brewing between B1 and B2 for some time now and it all came to a head today. Being boys, the end result was a bit of argy bargy, but it brought to the surface some really important issues.

B2 has recently gotten into the very bad habit of telling his big brother that he "hates" him whenever B1 does something annoying. The words are spoken with great emotion but little real feeling and absolutely no thought. B2 is very quick to blame B1 for anything that goes wrong in a Bart Simpson kind of way. LomL and I have been trying to deal with it with humour, ramping up the stakes, suggesting that "of course B1 was also responsible for all the ills of the world, both world wars, the extinction of the dinosaurs, global warming and the sinking of the Titanic". This has helped B1 see that we understand that B2's claims are outrageous and unfair.

Naturally, B1 has not been dealing with the situation well. It's hard to brush off statements like "I hate you!" when they're shrieked by your baby brother. B1's level of confusion has also gone through the roof since B2 gleefully screams his hatred at him one minute then runs up and asks him to play the next. It had all gone on far too long and today I finally blew my stack.

As I was explaining the situation to B2 and making him understand exactly how B1 felt each time these barbed words were spat at him, it made me realise just how much B1 loves his brother. Despite being stung with these words on a regular basis, despite hearing "I love you" from B2 only when prompted, B1 continues to entertain his little brother, continues to play with him, continues to protect him and help him. I felt so proud of him in that moment, so proud of the man he will one day be and so very privileged to be parenting him.

Even B2 finally got it when I asked him how he'd feel if his best buddy screamed "I hate you!" at him on a regular basis and pointed out that despite this, his big brother continued to play with him, try to do the things he likes and suggest activities.

We've made a pact now. "I hate you!" is NEVER to be spoken to another person in this house again. Not ever. We're allowed to hate a particular act or a particular behaviour, we're allowed to hate an outcome or even a situation. But never, never, NEVER are we to hate another person.

The old myth goes that if you say "I love you" too much, it loses its meaning. Rubbish, I say. You can never say "I love you" too much if you really mean it.

And there's the key. Too often words are spoken without thought for the meaning behind them. One phrase, three words... I hate you...I love you...both said too much without enough regard for their meaning.