Life is too short for a long story
- Lady Montagu
Growing up is a strange experience, full of memories, some sad and sombre others happy and fulfilling. As I write this article I remember washing my clothes as a child, with the radio playing loud South African music from within the house. The sun is shining brightly down on my mother and I. My father is in the house. We learned to do the house chores at an early age, my brother and I. We were always fighting over who was supposed to do what. In particular we both hated feeding the cows. None of us loved serving boiling hot, rotten cabbages to a drove of cows in the hot sun. However, the job had to be done and the task often fell upon me as he was the stronger brother.
I loved washing the dishes and helping my mother with carrying the groceries. She often had to do these tasks alone and I despised that it was so. Of course she could hire a maid and for some time she did, but my brother and I hated the maids' cooking. Mother's cooking was best and if the price to pay for only eating her food was helping out with house chores then my brother and I were much obliged.
We learned a lot of lessons growing up in a poor suburban neighbourhood. The ball was made of many polythene papers that were compressed and tied up with a manila rope. If the ball's owner didn't show up then we couldn't play. Similarly if he got called home early then we couldn't continue to play for he would carry his ball home with him. We had no fields to play in and we were never allowed to go far from home and as a result we had to play in the back-roads near home.
When there was no ball to play with, we made fayas (handheld catapults) and shot down birds. Our neighbourhood was filled with boys, there were no girls our age where I grew up so we only did boyish things like challenging each other to see who could wink more or who could whistle the loudest. In a manner characteristic to all men, we often delighted in sharing our "vast" knowledge on topics such as the latest Musso car. Of course if you knew much about anything "manly" you earned some respect. We discussed everything, from military training to clubs - though at the time I didn't really understand what a club was.
My father often told me that the best time of his life was when he was a child. Now that I am an adult who works to meet his own needs I understand why he said that. As a child he must have had lots of friends and he could do whatever he wanted, when he wanted for so long as he did not disobey his parents. As a child, the concept of responsibility is foreign to one except if that child is a firstborn child in their family. Life moves very slowly as a child, but as an adult it moves fleetingly fast and one never has enough time for all their friends. The result is that one loses a lot of friends.
As an adult, Newtons third law of motion becomes real and immutable - Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Everything you do has a consequence. Nothing in life is wasted. As I listen to South African music while I write this article, I remember what my father tried to teach me in not so many words that where I am today is the result of my actions yesterday and tomorrow is where I will be because of what I do today.
The truth is rarely simple and never pure
- Oscar Wilde
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