Father 101

 

When I was 12 years old I had to entertain a group of 15 four year-olds for half an hour with a puppet show at my mother's pre-school.

Also when I turned 19 I entertained a group of 50 four year-olds for an hour outside a church in Uganda, but never did I think that I was going to be in the position where I had to entertain two four year-olds FOR AN ENTIRE DAY when I visited my good friend and single mom Lorien last year in May.


     Vaughn (otherwise known as The V-man) and Lily are like any other four year-old twins; painfully inquisitive, playfully energetic, prematurely clever but perfectly normal.

I presumed that I would be waking up with kids poking at my face and go to sleep with kids poking at my face and was soon freaking out at everything that was going to happen in between all the face-poking.

What follows now is the true account of what spontaneously happened the next day, but for the less spontaneous blokes out there, I put together a short manual (call it FATHER 101 if you like).

     I designed the manual in a very technical way as our brains prefer to function that manner. 
So for those who may find themselves in a similar predicament as I did on some unexpected day in May, pay attention.

The secret word here is FATHER.

(Note that it is an acronym. Follow it and I can most assuredly guarantee you great success in your endeavor.)

F stands for Fun


Always make sure you incorporate fun into your day. We started off by eating pancakes with ice cream for breakfast.

TIP: Add some syrup and cinnamon sugar and you are sure to have a child with high sugar levels that will crash around lunchtime, giving you time to breathe and drink a quick espresso.

A stands for Adventure

A child’s imagination is at such a colourful stage when they’re four years old that a knife and fork can be a king and a queen, a bottle of deodorant can become a lethal life-threatening death spray, a tree house turns into a sanctuary and anything outside the house can turn into a whole new world of wonder.

We chose the Aquarium that day with its vibrant atmosphere and flamboyant species just waiting to fascinate and lure the sweet liquorish out of any four year-old’s inquisitive mind.

TIP: Do not let the kid stick his head into any wooden structure as he is most likely of getting it stuck and it is still too early to have the child crying or complaining. If this unfortunate event should occur, feed the kid more ice cream that will keep his sugar levels high and the kid happy.

 T stands for Touch

It is of utmost importance that children know they are safe and loved.  Holding hands, patting his shoulder, kissing her cheek, brushing his hair, tickling her side- these all contribute to the much needed physical affection a child yearns for from an adult. 

Be sure to pick him onto your shoulders and show him the world.

H stands for Hero

Kids want a hero and if Dad can be the hero in their midst it is like being part of a magical tale or an adventurous story. We don’t need to have super powers. Inventing a couple of extraordinary noises and launching them up into the air will suffice.

 

In this case I had Lily on my shoulders who felt like a princess on the shoulders of her brave knight. 

E stands for Educate

As the adult in this venture it is also your responsibility to add something productive to this day of fun in the sun, because one day your kid will say, 

“Dad, do you remember that day my head got stuck in the penguin… well I remembered that you taught me how to…”

 

Use whatever is at your disposal to teach them something useful. (Even if it is showing kids the life size testicles of a small elephant.)

 Furthermore that evening I had the bunny tell us funny stories and used the time to weave in heaps of strong morals and giggling goodness.

R stands for Reflection

Now this final letter does not pertain to the kids anymore, this is your letter men. 

The kids are sleeping, you’re exhausted and while you lay your head back on the couch, let your mind run through the day.

That is the moment worth writing about… When your eyes light up and the corners of your mouth gently move as your heart laughs at four year-old silliness. When you realize that being a hero was both fun and adventurous to you too. You feel that the touch had also penetrated your own heart and you see life’s splendor in all of its simplicity again.
     Then Lorien's words echoed in my head, "Ed, you have no idea how good it feels to do this as a unit, as a family of some sort."

And finally then, you wonder, ponder and deeply contemplate as the thought crosses your mind yet again… 

How the heck does an elephant manage to carry around such a large and heavy pair of balls between its legs!!

Such Inspiration! Come on men: Be the man, grow some and rise up to the occasion; Fathering the fatherless.

Yours truly in writing honestly from a heart with no inhibitions,

Ed.

When Brazil Nuts turn into Grapes

Recently again I heard about a kid in a shop who asked his mother where the milk came from. When she told him that it came from a cow, he laughed at her, as if laughing at a joke. It wasn’t until she took him to a dairy farm that the boy was shell-shocked and soon took his friends to see this milk machine too.

A similar thing happened to me over Christmas when I was in Brazil last year. My friend’s father has a cattle ranch just outside Rio Branco in Acre and what caught my attention wasn’t the fact that meat came from cows, but rather the interesting origin of the Brazil nut.

I’d always found this rather large and tasty nut in between a bag of mixed nuts and never really gave it much thought, up until that day.

While learning about the origin of this nut, it soon made me think of some people who were like Brazil Nuts. These people are neither Brazilian nor are they crazy, but rather decide to take on the form of the Brazil nut’s origin.

You see, first of all, this nut comes from a tall tree. A very very very tall tree. One doesn’t just pluck the nut from the tree’s branches but rather needs to wait until it falls to the ground. My friend’s father actually told me that one of his workers died two weeks prior to that day; when a Brazil 

nutcase fell from the tree and landed on his head. (The man was killed by a nutcase… quite ambiguous actually.)

     So secondly, not only does the Brazil nut come from an untouchable tree, but its nutcase is so hard its practically lethal.

     Thirdly, when this nutcase is finally cracked open, the Brazil nut is, wait for it… covered in ANOTHER hard shell. (Which even though Elisa’s dad tried to open it, can NOT be cracked open by using your teeth. It doesn’t matter if you have big horse teeth, picket-fence teeth, or those tiny little teeth that look like small mieliepitte*, it won’t budge. You are going to need a hammer, a vice or some other kind of tool found in the garage.)

     When the last cover was removed, I finally ate the nut and felt the superb flavour melting into my palate and even though it tasted good with the whiffs of fresh butter, the hassle of standing under a tree, waiting for the bomb to fall, 

cracking it open with a sledge hammer and then cracking open the final layer with another garage tool… well, it’s just too much work.

    
So it got me thinking about some people that resemble these Brazil nuts. They make themselves untouchable and become indifferent to everything around them, hiding their true selves away from the world and unconsciously conforming to the other nutcases around them. When by some odd chance they are forced out of their tower, somehow lose control or get pushed out to open up, they have the potential of seriously damaging those around them.
     When trying to engage these people, they protect themselves by hiding behind their first layer or cover. (To most of them this is a natural, subconscious defence mechanism to keep them from opening up.) Be it words or actions, they’re usually filled either with strong opinions, stubbornness and pride or silence, shame and indignity.

     Finally, after much time and great effort, if the first shell is cracked, you are still left with a person wearing a mask or some fake image that was plastered onto them because of one or various accounts of rejection in their past.
     This fear of rejection had somehow grown into such a large cancer in their lives that it started covering all of them, concealing their true selves in covers and layers like the Brazil Nut.

I believe we all have the potential to be edible and tasty to those around us, (and I’m not talking to the cannibalistic community right now), but I do believe it’s only when we decide to abandon our tower of independence and be broken and broken again by the gentle hands of our Maker that this final layer can come off and we can be made into something new.

     He turns us from a nut into a grape, so that we may become softer, more vulnerable, easier to approach and within reach to be trimmed and pruned again at His choosing to do so.

That was the random moment worth writing about; when I swallowed that Brazil nut at half past six that afternoon on the cattle ranch and remembered that I am a nut no more, and that every seemingly unwanted season of trimming and pruning is actually just another way to remind me that I am a grape in the brilliant process of becoming wine.

With love and greetings from the vine, Ed.

(* corn cornels)

The Dreaded Set-pill

It's been over a year since my last post and I think that I've finally managed to understand how to blog. Now that I do, be ready to laugh at my life's random stories and share in moments of bliss and delight.
     (I've decided to do a couple of posts in the near future on some of my hats and share in memories from the past, so if you want to see where my straw hats have actually blown in the world, keep an eye out.)

So 05h00 Sunday morning I wake up to get going to the Malawian border. The 650 kilometre drive from Caoxe (Mozambique) to Blantyre (Malawi) would take approximately 19 hours, with only ONE overnight in a small town 3 hours from Blantyre... that meant 16 hours on the road.
     When my left foot touched the floor, the throbbing in my face felt as if a boulder had fallen on my head the night before and I realized that it was the well-known but very unwelcome party-crasher called Malaria.

After about 13 hours on some of the worst roads imaginable, it was time to take the dreaded pill. That pill which makes one shudder at the alien feeling of eating a jellybean with your bum cheeks, one's stomach goes hollow, lungs gasp for air and toes curl backward in one's shoes. THE DREADED SET PILL. (A set pill, more commonly known as a suppository, is a quick-acting solid drug that is inserted into the rectum where it dissolves or melts.)
     It was late afternoon and the African families were huddled outside their huts preparing dinner and catching up on the latest bush gossip, needless to say, the roads were rustling with people and too crowded to stop for a quick bum-pill-pop.

When we finally found a small clearing, I jumped out with my feverish body and ran to the side of the road. In between the front and back doors of the vehicle I quickly loosened my belt, dropped my pants to my knees and pulled the hard plastic covering from the suppository. As my hand moved to my backside to do the most despised task... the once solid set-pill had decided to melt in my hand and turn into nothing else but Vaseline-like liquid.
     That was the random moment worth writing about; when a hundred little Mozambican children stormed closer to a vehicle parked next to the side of the road in the bush, only to find a white man with his trousers on his knees, laughing about something that he was trying to stuff up his bum.

Love always, from a much healthier Ed in Blantyre, Malawi.