The most powerful No..

..in the Universe, after America’s veto right in the United Nations, must belong to parents, or so I thought.

When I was growing up in suburbia in the seventies there was no more-powerful word to be heard from a parent.
No meant No. If you asked for something and was given the No, you ventured no further. There was no back chatting or crying or even pleading. The word No meant the end of the matter, and you got on with life. Some children played parents up against each other, and often got a Yes by just asking the other parent at the appropriate moment.

For some reason or another when the word No exits my mouth, it changes matter, much like the transporter beam in Star Trek. Even when I raise my voice, add a grating rumble from my throat, and give a stern look at the recipient, it just has the opposite effect. I’ve always known this, but I continue to hope that just once the No would have the desired effect, and the person would say, “okay” and move on.

Since September last year I’ve been dating the most wonderful woman I could ever have asked to cross my path. I had my eye on her for almost two years, before she finally became single again, and I found out that she had liked me for almost as long. We hit it off immediately and I was convinced she was my soul mate. Not only is she beautiful, she also has an amazingly spontaneous personality that had me smiling silently on more than one occasion. What I had forgotten was that although my love was single, she was the mother of two young children, and things would change, dramatically.

I made a choice early in life that I do not want to get married and have children. Much of my decision stemmed from knowing that I had put my parents through hell for at least 20 of the 40 years of my life. I just couldn’t envisage myself as a good parent, and I was certain I had none of the skills to be a great parent. So for most of my life I avoided child minding, even during the briefest of confrontations.

Now I find myself living with the woman that I love, and two children. The girl is 5 years old, and the boy 7 years old. From the start I said to my love that the kids are no problem and I can deal with it. Was I ever wrong? Never was I more confused as to the meaning of the word No than ever before. I thought it would be simpler. Not dead easy, just simpler. The boy would ask me for something, and if I thought it inappropriate, I would say No and continue with what I was doing. Soon I’d hear crying come from the children’s room, and I’d go over to investigate. The boy would be sitting on his bed sobbing his heart out. When I ask what was wrong, the boy would reply that he wanted this or that and that I had said No. I’d be stymied! I’ve tried to explain to the boy that he was very wise to ask if he wanted something, but then he would also have to accept that if the answer was No, he should be grown up about it and accept that sometimes his requests will be denied.

Asking permission to do something meant there was a certain amount of doubt in one’s mind whether it was the right thing to do, hence we ask permission. For instance; if he had asked me if he could play outside, I could say No because a) His clothing was inappropriate, and I would tell him to change, or b) it was late or getting dark, and he would soon have to go bath or have supper. Also I explained that No today did not necessarily mean No tomorrow. A parent weighs the pros and cons of a given situation and responds in a manner appropriate to the well being of the child. Is it no so? The boy was strangely calm and understanding, and I thought I had finally made a breakthrough.

But by tomorrow, everything would be back to ‘normal’, and I find that migraine creeping up from around the eyebrows again. I’ve even had paranoid moments where I’m certain it’s a deliberate attempt by the kids to make me mad and thereby get me to pack up and get the fuck out. It made sense sometimes, as I move from punishment to shouting, screaming and more often lately to quiet talk. I’ve even tried ignoring them completely, but nothing helps.

For the most part I find myself feeling helpless. I cannot begin to tell you how it pains me to see the sadness in my Love’s eyes each time I loose it with the kids. I love her so much, it is indescribable, but a parent I am not. There is nothing in the world I want more than to make her happy every day, but my mind is fucked. It can’t be easy for her to see this all the time. How she does it I don’t know. The kids listen to her, and hardly ever is it even necessary for her to raise her voice even 1 decibel.

Every evening I promise myself to give her all my attention, as I do every morning, and all goes well until we pick the kids up after work, or they get up in the morning. My mind has no time to rest, to even think. Its just turmoil after turmoil, after turmoil.

I cannot stand the thought of loosing my one Love. I go back to the grindstone and try again.

Rest in Peace

Your steps I follow
My feet sink in the sand
. .and through my toes
the blood red of my future merges with your past

As far as I see there is no glimmer, only the darkness of your scowl
that guides me in my search for your acceptance

Nor a hint of hope or word of praise as I struggle to make my way
through the quagmire of your despair

I must be shackled to your shadow and I cannot break free

All I ask is for a chance to make this future mine, but your testament
to the past will remain the reality of my future

In the eyes of a young child, I now see how afraid I was

I’m sorry dad, but I cannot find your smile.

Rainbow of Mediocrity

During the recent first cricket test against Sri Lanka, commentators were saying how brave South Africa was in their attempt to reach the insurmountable 700+ target the opposing team had set.

Brave my ass! Say things as they are. We were crap, and as is the case with the Rugby and Soccer, no amount of good-boy-at least-you-gave–your-best, is going to make our national teams pull their fingers out of their Asses and step up a gear. The players are a bunch of fuckin Prima Donna’s, and all they’re interested in is the pay package and bonuses. As much as I hate administrators digging in to the affairs of sport, I think it’s high time the players earn their keep. No more extravagant pay packages, and fuck the bonuses too. Until players can prove their worth and stop prancing around like movie stars, I say they should be paid minimum wage. You get a fixed salary, say R5000.00 (too much?) a month and R500.00 a game. If that’s not good enough, then fuck off and let someone who has passion for the game take your spot. Alternatively take sport back to amateur status and pay only match fees.

Our sportsmen think they’re gods, and instead of thinking of the game, their heads are filled with Armani and Tag Heuer.

It doesn’t help that our broadcasters keep telling you the ref was at fault. Players are being paid an enormous amount of money to, supposedly, do what they love. Do you think perhaps knowing the rulebook back to front isn’t part of the deal or what? There shouldn’t be a sentence in that book that you cannot recite word for word when asked. Then how come I still see dumbfuck forwards going into the scrum from the side? Or idiot backs tackeling players who jump in the air to catch the ball. Why is it so difficult for the lineout to move a metre away from the opposing team? Stay on your feet in the scrum; don’t hold the ball after a tackle.
Take the ten most transgressed rules and drill them into your head, and you’re halfway there.

I'm tired of hearing "they did their best".

To quote the wisest man on earth. "Doing your best is no longer good enough" -chihuahua

Where's Lebanon?

If you're in any way interested in the Lebanon Crisis please read this blog. Forget about CNN.

You can get his first person viewpoint of what it's like to be in the midst of a war. He speaks from a Lebanese point of view, but if you're narrow-minded the comments are from all over the world and reflect the World's opinion on the subject. He's not always connected to the internet so he draws and writes down what's happening most of the time.

Click on the heading or the drawing to go to the site.

Happy Birthday Madiba !

Morality - Integrity - Compassion - Humility

The World Cup is over, but as the Italians celebrate over the next few days, another world cup plays itself out at our home on the farm.

We’ve had our fair share of wildlife in and around the house over the past months, with the passing of summer into autumn into winter, and we will have our share of newcomers as spring breaks, just over a month away.

I’ve had crickets in my shoes and spiders in my stack of Jerseys. We found one snake between our feet one summer’s day, while I was cooking, and another seeking warmth from the approaching winters cold, behind the refrigerator. They we’re all photographed and returned to the veld.

We’ve always had field mice in the ceiling and lived with it, as we do with the mosquitoes and annoying flies during summer.

But the newcomers are downright intrusive and noisy. With them they bring filth and disease, not to mention the ability to spread wanton destruction wherever they make their home. Not unlike Nazi vandals let loose in a Jewish cemetery.

Yes, fellow citizens. Rats have invaded our home!
At first we tried to ignore the scurrying, up and down the length of the ceiling of the house. But, when they continued noisily into the early hours of the morning, and started entering the house, I decided to have a look see what can be done about the menace. Two nights ago I grabbed a ladder and armed with a piece of rubber piping, climbed up the ladder and eased open the trapdoor.

I had no idea what to expect, but visions of a fat albino rat in the corner, popping out newborn rat-vandals, every few seconds, did pass fleetingly through my vivid imagination.
So I decided to get the lead-light from the garage first. You know, so I can see where I’m going and not fall through the ceiling and land at dearest’ feet in the lounge. I should mention here that I have an absolute hate for the furry fuckers. I don’t fear them, I just hate them. (Some dignity restored, I hope)

Anyhow, back at the ladder, I opened the door, and shone the light around. I heard them scurrying in all directions and saw shadows rising and falling as I called back to my brother to hold the light so I could move freely.

In the middle against the nearest wall was The Nest. A large mound of grass and twigs, with a few dead mice in various stages of decay, scattered nearby. After we established that the rats had left the building, we started by plugging all the holes and cracks along the roof.

Little did we know that they were in fact hiding under the foam insulation around the geyser, and would be back to their semi-final playoff the moment we had closed the door and returned to the lounge.

The following night we returned to the lair and removed the nest and all the foam insulation, and closed more holes we missed the previous night.

And finally last night there was no noise at all. The rat poison we had left was all but finished, and the dead rats in the garden was a telltale sign that at least the stuff works. I will do some more cleaning over the weekend and lay out some more poison

Seb Blatter closed the 2006 World Cup Final on Sunday. Hopefully the Rat final ended last night.

World Cup Final

At first I thought I would support France to win the World Cup Final, as I was very impressed with their improvement over the course of the Cup.

But within minutes of hearing that France were the favourites to take the coveted Gold Trophy, I changed my mind and decided to support the underdogs, as is my nature.

It was a brilliant final and with Italy levelling the score, I knew it was going to be a cracker. Not even Zidane’s head butt-episode marred a thrilling Kick-off to Penalty-kick final.

What A twit Zidane must have felt like anyway. Either, a Not-Too-Pleasant comment was made of his Algerian Background, or mention was made of his mother making a killing in the red-light district.

I couldn’t care less if you had bad-mouthed my mother, I would have had a one on one with you, after the match.

It’s not the first time either. Back in Oct. 2000 he head butted Jochen Kientz in a Juventus vs. Hamburg, UEFA champions league match. Also remember the stomping of a Saudi Arabian in the ’98 World Cup finals.

Not to worry. He’s sure to apologise, if he hasn’t already, and be forgiven by his millions of adoring fans. That is the way the soccer-cookie crumbles. Marradona’s fans still blame everything but the man, when it comes to his wrongdoings. Why should Zidane’s fans be any different?

Putting pen to paper..

The whole world just loves to blame everything on the United States, and in particular George Bush, as he leaves himself open to so much criticism. For once however, I have to agree that his failure to push for the ratifying of the Kyoto Protocol makes the US no worse than those countries that have signed the treaty.

163 countries for instance, have ratified the Kyoto Protocol, yet those countries do no more or less, than the US or Australia that have not ratified the treaty, to reduce emissions.

South Africa was one of the original signatories, yet every morning and evening I’m treated to the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets to and from work, which are only more remarkable because the pollution accentuates the colours so well. The pictures(click to enlarge) are not of low cloud cover on the western horizon, but pollution formed into lines by a slow northern breeze that blows in from Soweto and the surrounding informal settlements

The most remarkable thing about this is the fact that all these households, including the informal settlements have electricity. Yet, they continue to buy dark coal from the street to burn in drums and old coal stoves. And how does Mbeki propose to teach newspaper vendors not to burn tyres by the side of the road to keep warm at 5 in the morning?

Sign what you want, but if you don’t make a concerted effort to educate your population as to what the long-term effect of their little indiscretions are, you can tear up the documents and use it to keep yourself warm in your corner office at the Union Buildings.

Have a nice day, and remember.. don't blame me for your second-hand smoke inhalation!