A Dollar In My Pocket

I was talking with someone today, they had pair of vintage dungarees accidentally disposed of. I know the back story and even helped trying to find such a pair. I understood, empathised and advised how to put it into perspective. I have lost some things in my life that at the time were quite devastating. It reminded me of how small things can seem huge.

I was off shopping for Christmas presents when I was 12. I had my own money I had saved, $8.00. I had a job where I got paid $1;00 per day for delivering groceries on a behemoth of a bicycle. On this day I had bought all the presents I needed and had one dollar left. I felt like a rich man, I reached into my pocket and out it fluttered, quickly scooped up by the person behind me whom when I asked for it back said “finders keepers”. I was devastated, I even went to the Police who said sorry sonny, no proof, can’t help. That was it. In the scheme of things it didn’t matter as I had bought everyone a present, the last $1.00 was going to possibly buy me an ice cream soda. Now why would I remember this 50 years later, even now as I think about it I remembered an earlier loss of a coping saw, brand new and left on a bus. Another incident occurred the week of my first wedding (I know married more than once the loss in that is a whole nother story). I was in town to pick up the suits. I got to the shop and reached into my pocket for the $60:00 and it was gone, I rushed off to backtrack my steps but came back empty-handed, the proprietor said I see you have a cheque book sir, I said yeah but not the money in it to pay for the suits, he said post date it for two weeks and then we will worry about it then. Although I was relieved and thankful the fact that it has stuck in my memory indicates to me that it was a significant blow.

I have yet to work out why some of my most embarrassing, hurtful and frustrating moments seem to be indelibly scorched into my memory. Sure there are moments of triumph and wonder that still reside there. Perhaps I will do some reading about it as I think it is an important factor and can bog us down or leave us stuck when what is essentially a moment in time can impact us in a big way yet the thing is really trivial. I know it didn’t seem trivial then and everything needs perspective however the biggest perspective is that we come into this world with nothing and we take with us out of this world nothing material.

I have a judeo-christian set of beliefs about this life however my beliefs about the next are pan, that is they will pan out in the end. In many ways it is not about what we lose in this life it is about what we leave behind. What is our legacy? What memories do we leave behind for others? What impact on others do we leave behind? It is those things that really matter. I am not talking about money here, I am talking about things that help lives change. It is those moments that cancel out feelings of loss. Looking back and seeing the impact on others, (sometimes we will never see that impact).

Psychologist Julius Segal, in looking at what helps children overcome adversity, wrote that “one factor turns out to be the presence in their lives of a charismatic adult — a person from whom they gather strength. And in a surprising number of cases, that person turns out to be a teacher”. Being an influence that overcomes the adversity of others is not limited to teaching we must remember that if we mourn the loss of $1:00 how much more we must celebrate the people in our lives who bring the gift of overcoming adversity. In doing so and realising this we need to be intentional in doing this in any way we can, whether it be small or large actions. We never know when the smallest act can make a difference.

With love

Paul

Moral dilemmas,

I have been through a few, some I have failed at, others well I have managed to stand true. I am fortunate, I have a place to live, food to eat, even some toys. I am living week to week at the moment but I still have choices and I can improve my lot.

Some time ago I bought a small boat, not a lot of money, however enough. I have been out fishing three times. I want to fish more but needed to make some adjustments. I am safety-wise, I have life jackets, VHF, cell phone, first aid, and fire extinguisher and I won’t go out of the Harbour at the moment as I lack the experience to go across the bar at Waihi Beach. I am a member of Coastguard and put in trip reports (p.s. you don’t need to be a Coastguard member to put in trip reports).

I decided I would get a backup motor, I had two I had bought cheap, and regretted it, hard to start, I scrapped them this week. So I bought a brand new motor. Unboxed it and was gobsmacked, instead of the 999.00 motor in the box there was a 1600.00 one. Now as far as the law is concerned it was mine, a contract had been entered into and money exchanged hands. It felt good for a little while and I found myself justifying keeping the motor. That was dilemma number 1, very shortly after dilemma number two appeared.

I decided I better register my boat trailer and get it legal. I checked the registration plate and it was listed as stolen. My heart fell to my boots, you see for me that’s a no-brainer. It doesn’t belong to me. I may have bought it but stolen is stolen! I had a small pity party then called the Police, took that which was mine off the boat and hitched it up to my car. At the same time, I reboxed the motor and put it into the back of my car. Law or no law my conscience couldn’t keep it. Times are tough and retailers cannot afford to lose 600.00. I took the boat to the Police and returned the motor.

I would love to tell you that I felt great but actually, I didn’t. The boat thing happened as I did not do a fundamental check and run the plate number through the system. If it wasn’t listed as stolen or a security registered against it I would have been covered via an insurance system. To be fair I had ignored my niggles, it was;t super cheap or anything, there was just a quiet voice and I was ignoring it as I didn’t want to lose any money.

The Police Constable said you could have kept this thrown away the number plate and sampling removed the plate number that was painted on. I said it comes down to this I call myself a follower of Christ (thank God for Grace as sometimes I am not that flash at it) I also believe in integrity then there are the other po (posts that inform ny life). My Family and friends. A house that has only three walls or posts is not very strong. In the end if I have nothing but God, Family, Integrity and Friends then that is enough, I am a rich man.

Well I got a call from the Police, the only stolen thing on my boat was the number plate, the boat was not listed as stolen and the trailer that the plate matched was not a boat trailer. Could I please come and pick it up from the lock-up. I felt good, but not vindicated. I didn’t see it as a reward for doing the right thing. I got the money back that I had put down on the motor, so I decided to wait for an auxiliary rather than buy the one I was going to. That money needed to go to help some people who are away from their families working. to support them and I am putting on a Christmas Lunch for them. Once again I don’t feel that I am good and I don’t expect any reward here’s why.

My reward in life comes from knowing that doing the right thing as an outworking of my faith is my reward. To maintain faith in a living and practical way that also demonstrates how faith should be is something that the church just doesn’t do very well. Many people try however for many others, they go to church on a Sunday, they may put some money in the plate and that’s it.

Here is the kicker. Times are really tough for a lot of people right now, New Zealanders from the middle to the bottom of the economic scale are being smacked around in every corner. I will talk about that in my next post,

Be Strong and steadfast,

Paul

Teen Angst to 60 Year Old Satisfaction (Almost)

Recently a 3 year old boy was in the news because no-one turned up for his party however socail media came to the rescue, https://www.stuff.co.nz/life-style/wellbeing/parenting/133203054/familys-plea-after-nobody-shows-at-3yearolds-birthday-brings-community-to-beach. Birthdays for me that I am cognisant of in my teens were les than humdrum, more boredome. It doesn’t help when your birthday is in the summer school holidays. Nor does it help when you are considered a geek and someone who was not invited to parties, certainly not someone whose party you went to. Growing up in a Shit Town didn’t help, Morrinsville where Rugby was sport, alcohol was entertainment and romance was a fumble in a car at Piako Beach, (a road gravel depot which flooded when it rained). I am not going to go on about provincial New Zealand because it is what it is, nothing much cahnges, to be different in Provincial New Zealand is still like hanging a target on your back. I digress however.

I decided when I was going to turn 15 that I would have a birthday party and invited people. I was naive in that I thought if you invited people they would come however unless you were “popular” then only friends would come and friends were in rather short supply for me. I had one person turn up and one person rang and apologised they couldn’t come. The fact that I remember it is evidence that it was a source of some hurt.

This year I turned 60 and invited people, a lot came,friends family, relatives it was great. A good time had by all.Interesting that sometimes a party is not defined by who came, rather who didn’t come. It is hard to change ones mindset and focus on the event and celebrate the good times. It requires a mindset change. It should remind us to cultivate those relationships that are important to us, celebrate having friends and familiy who are important to us and to above all else be grateful.

My learning this week is to be intentional and relational and reach out to those who are important to you, those who are lonely, those who are different.

If you get an unexpected call from the blue from me and have read this blog well it is upto you to define our relationship and where you fit into my description because as sure as David Seymour is an unctious prick, I won’t be telling you that you are different.

Paul

Scribo Ergo Cogito (I think therefore I write)

Hallelujah or really? I have started to write again, it has been a long slow progress, getting my writing mojo going again. Lots of reasons why such a lengthy hiatus they can be … oh I know blog posts. Highly personal, sometimes offensive, potty-mouthed at times however authentic, a reflection of me if you wish, so lets start at the very beginning of the decline as it were, (as good as any place) I think, it all started with a door (that’s another subject as well, doors).

I was trying to crack the nod as it were as a provisional teacher, I did some relief at a school and they offered me a short-term reliving contract (two terms). It was a hospital pass that I didn’t see coming. I was to be the 5th teacher in two terms to tackle a class of year nine pupils teaching English. These young people were at the bottom of the learning ratings with behavioural issues and learning difficulties at all sorts of levels, from coming to school high on meth, through to being bone tired because they were working to help support their families. I didn’t ask the right questions so essentially it was my own fault, I went ahead and did it. One of the teachers had been on extensive time off because of a concussion issue, the others had bailed in varying states of distress or thankfulness that they had escaped.

The night before I was due to start I was horsing around with one of my sons, pretending to chase him with a fairly large hammer (just under 2 kgs). I chased him into the bedroom and he shut the door on me knocking me out. Needless to say, I didn’t feel the best! However, I soldiered on anyway as I didn’t;’t want to ring the school and say I had concussion. (I clearly did). (Strike 1) The first day there one of my more polite students when asked to engage enquired of me “Would you like me to knock you the fuck out…., sir?) I had to add the polite bit really. At that point I should have bailed and just gone heck no I won’t go, however, permanent jobs were few and far between, with many very experienced teachers selling their Auckland homes and moving to the Waikato cashed up and able to buy freehold and in some instances even a place at the beach as well.

I had earlier applied for a one-term relieving position and the Principal let me know that they had 45 applicants for the job and that I shouldn’t feel bad as the person who took it was fully registered and had 15+ years of experience. I had trained on the basis of English Teachers being in hot demand however found that was not so in the Waikato, I desperately wanted to be working rather than the alternatives so I was prepared to commute to Auckland daily (strike 2).

I persevered, throwing everything in the book that I had from freestyling rap lessons to refusing to allow some students in the class to attend due to their ongoing behavioral issues. The school in question straddled a divide between some fairly affluent suburbs through to what some might say were effluent. The culture of the school seemed to be rather insular (partly I guess because of its size) and partly due to the way it structured its learning, add a new Principal in and it was not a cohesive place.

Back to strike 1, tiredness and fatigue dogged me, apart from the 4-hour commute there and back and being a full-time sole parent to 4 I was clearly out of my depth. Having just come from a dysfunctional school where a senior staff member had been committing sexual crimes against pupils I wanted to work it out and hopefully that would help crack the nod for a permanent position.

Concussion injuries manifest in a myriad of ways I have found out. I was simply dumb in continuing in the job. To be frank I was out of my depth, I was struggling, didn’t really know where to turn to, I didn’t fit in the highly urban environment, it was foreign to me and I didn’t fit in with the staff. I don’t point any fingers around that, I was a very small cog in a very big clock, and in the end, if I had stopped working the clock may have skipped a second but then with a step like a rugby winger bursting through his opponents, it would have kept on ticking.

The end came when a student (without malice or intent) crept up to a door I was holding and pulled it out of my grasp in the process blowing my shoulder apart, it wasn’t helped when an eager newly qualified physiotherapist thought traction would sort it after all it was merely bursitis (a misdiagnosis). I finished my term at the school. I guess it probably looked cloudy however I was unable to drive for 4 hours a day and cope with the shoulder injury as well as coping with concussion. I had been going to apply for a permanent position however I was told not to bother as it was already earmarked for another beginning teacher.

To say I was disappointed was true, I constructed my own narrative of my time at the school instead of just accepting that I am not a round peg. This narrative when I look back is embarrassing, frankly stupid, and unnecessary, there is nothing wrong with admitting you cannot cope or you do not fit. In the end, it was pretty irrelevant as my shoulder injury was somewhat more extensive than what was first diagnosed with my hands turning different colours, a huge loss of strength and mobility, and add the ongoing concussion issues I didn’t continue teaching.

I had stepped away from statutory social work, burnt out from all the assaults and threats, retrained, and found myself in a place where actually on a numerical basis the assaults threats and pure antagonism were worse than working at Child Youth and Family, (the only difference was that the assaults were much more minor). I had not understood when I left the Department that I needed to carry my registration through so without another two possibly three years of study I was not able to be a registered social worker, essentially consigning me to working as under valued, underpaid, overworked resource worker.

I guess that is really enough for today, my shoulder is certainly telling me that, and brain fog is slowly descending again. So I will leave it there to continue.

Paul

His name is Reuben

I remember clearly, every moment (perhaps not every moment) however clarion clear like the call of a Ruru on a still night I remember 26 years ago when Reuben was born. Now when it came to giving our children names I usually deferred, (apart from one) however I took him in my arms and said his name, the only objection was in fact from his older brother who said “his name’s not Reuben it’s Stepen (Stephen was a family friend whom Joshua had taken a shine to. I knew in my heart however that Reuben was his name and so it was.

Now people who know me or Reuben closely will know that it has been one hell of a journey for both of us, Both with our own stories. I am not going to tell you about Reuben’s journey as that’s his to tell. Mine well where do I start, but its not about me. Reuben turns 26 tomorrow, typical of me and my head at the moment, I had talked about it being tomorrow and yet I still rang him to say happy birthday.

I (as normal are carrying on. Lets cut to the chase). I was driving home from a beautiful day today and thinking about it and I felt tears coming to my eyes, why I can’t tell you. It wasn’t a cathartic release, nor any overwhelming sadness though God knows I probably need to do some work on myself again. I digress.

I was thinking about how awesomely proud of how Reuben has taken on the challenges and taken control of his life. I cannot say that I love him more than when he was in the midst of his journey because unconditional love is what I have for all of my children good bad or indifferent relationships as they have been I have loved my children and will do so from the bottom of heart and it is the essence of mv very being. I would lay down my life for my children without thinking twice, but this is about Reuben and a celebration of his tenacity, strength of character and his willingness to give and help others. His willingness to ask and listen to advice. His changes in how he approaches his own decisions and the fantastic choices that he makes.

I am proud (if that is such a thing) of all my children, as they have all faced adversity, I however wanted to celebrate my son Reubens 26th trip around the son, and to do so with a wish that he continues growing (and fiximg my boat and car when he can. He is a talented, resourceful, artistic young man, and my prayer for him is to continue to be happy and to succeed, (ps he is an awesome welder, so if you are looking for an engineering apprentice, hit me up.

In the meantime, Reuben I celebrate you as you continue your journey withing family and manhhod,

I love you, Dad!

One One, Two Two, Three Three, Shit, Fuck!

I read the Death notices the other day, just to check if I was still alive, not that I would necessarily want a death notice in the paper. Those who are close to me would know already and why give the miserable buggers who don’t like me reason to celebrate?  I digress, in the notices was the name

Am I Radio Rental?

I saw a Psychiatrist earlier this year, many of you may be as surprised as I was when he said that I was completely normal and sane.  I am still not convinced about that, I guess normal comes in many shades and as for sanity

Factum est quod Factum est (what’s done is done)

2017 is finishing, for me, not in a whiz bang fireworks way but with a kind of sad exhausted whimper. I look back over my year, bugger all written, a messy kind of separation, surgery, health challenges, village idiots and foil hat wearers ad nauseam. 

Dear Julia

“Thanks Dad for the ride” it’s just over a kilometer to school and normally Julia walks to school, as a year 11  Julia is 15 years old and tomorrow she turns 16 with all that being 16 means.  We told her a while ago that at 16

Feb the 1st

Feb 1 has come and gone, Feb 1 was my mums birthday, I thought about her as I often do and wonder how things might have been different if she were alive today.  She has been gone 23 years now and whilst I still miss her it is nowhere near the intensity of when she first passed away.