Category Archives: Teenage years

Apr27

Post 204. Hit on the back of my head with an empty nest.

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I am about to turn 59 and an empty nest has just hit me on the back of my head.

I miss my kids.

I miss their shiny eyes. Perfectly shaped noses. Beautiful mouths. Their cheek bones. Their thick handfuls of colourful hair. Their soft ear lobes. Their slender talented hands and their funny feet. I have examined them all. Memorised forever.

I miss my kids.

I miss them lying on my bed. Long chats. I miss hearing their voices and watching their facial expressions. The smiles and lightness of new things. A proposal. An invention. Something created in the early hours of the morning. A song. A poem. A wire thing. A drawing. An epiphany. A new idea.

I miss my kids.

I miss their frowns of confusion, the tears of brokenness and regret. Voices raised and hard questions asked. Challenging my core. Shaking my bones. Rattling my cage. Questioning the very ground I stand upon. Tissues strewn and pillows suffocated.   Faces buried in my mattress. Holding each other’s trembling marrow. Trying to understand.

I miss my kids.

I miss their nonsense. Dancing wildly in the kitchen and any other available space. Singing. Non-stop singing. Plucking strings. Non-stop string plucking. Relentless chatter and creativity. Wrestling. Leaps of faith into each other’s bodies. Undoubtedly trusting the strong wall of love and commitment. Fortresses. Never failing fortresses.

I miss my kids.

I miss seeing them staring into my fridge. Looking into my cupboards. Walking into my bathroom. Borrowing my stuff.   Messing up my house. Hundreds of bodies around my dining table. Food everywhere. The little red over-worked espresso machine. Coffee cups piled up on the kitchen sink. Butter chicken and a cloth filled with chapattis. Paper napkins. Water fights.

I miss my kids.

I miss kissing their eyelids and the corners of their mouths. I miss folding up their ears. I miss clapping each other’s hands as we walk along the road.   I miss hearing them harmonising. I miss road trips. Car music. Kids on the car roof screaming their lungs out into the mountains. Yak milk coffee. Memories galore.

I miss my kids.

Spread out to kingdom come. Out of my reach. Too far away to hold. Their blurred faces on my screen. The deep parts of their eyes, invisible. Losing track of the built up lines of age, stress and anxiety. My band-aids are small and a kiss has lost its power. The heart wounds are beyond me. So many miles between us.

I miss my kids.

Bonded for life. Joined at the hip. Insanely loved. Etched into my memory- from birth. Day one. Every part. Crooked teeth. Larger than life ears. A brown tooth. So perfect to me. Every millimetre loved by me.

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I miss my kids.

Mar20

Post 190. Begin again

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22 January 2000:

We had just had an amazing and much needed holiday in Goa.   Over the years we had driven for four to five days to get to the beach, but this time we went by train which took about 36 hours.  It was long but we survived.   Jordan was good at making us laugh in tense situations so we had our share of free entertainment.

When we arrived in Delhi we realised how different life was going to be.  The road trip from Delhi to Mussoorie  usually took about 9 hours.  We would get off the train or plane in Delhi and sleep over in a cheap hotel or with our friends, Andries and Brenda.  We would then get onto another train to Dehra Dun and then into a taxi all the way up the very windy mountain to Mussoorie. Sometimes we would arrive late at night and have to walk along the narrow path to our house with sleeping children and luggage.  There was always someone to help us, but it was quite a feat to arrive home sane.

This time we stayed with the Lindeques because we didn’t have furniture in our flat.  Andries, Brenda and their children Sarah and Simon were already an important part of our new community.  It was a Saturday.  Arun Handa and Raman had secured a school classroom for us to use for our first meeting.   All I could think of was, “What will we do with the DESKS?”   We were grateful but all felt there was something better.  At 5pm on Saturday evening,  Tony, Raman, Andries and Arun booked the Madhur Milan Banquet Hall!  It was across the street from Lady Shri Ram Girls’ College where Sharon John was studying. The guys came back very excited. Brenda asked if it had red carpets and it did.  A few weeks earlier she had a dream about a place with red carpets.

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The next day was Sunday and we were wondering, like Asha had been,  if anyone would come. We had nothing to worry about.  Word got out and friends were brought.  It was an amazing  first meeting.  There were about  40 people, including children.   People stayed well after 1 pm to chat.

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It was an interesting mixture of people and we knew that once again we were going to be part of another Community of Nations.  Enthusiasm and expectations ran high.  Mid-week house meetings were set up and there we were… At the very beginning of a beautiful new community.

No-one was more surprised than Asha.

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Mar17

Post 188. Adjusting to Delhi

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Asha was angry.  She was angry with us and she was angry with God.  She hated Delhi and missed her Mussoorie friends and family.  Of course Zoe was still her bestie and she was always available but Ash was struggling to believe she could ever be happy again.  Our house in the forest in Mussoorie was beautiful and spacious.  Our new flat in Kalkaji  was noisy and small and it didn’t take us long to find out that Delhi wasn’t safe for young girls.

One afternoon while I was resting, some teenage schoolboys knocked on our door.  They had noticed that our Gypsy (jeep)  wasn’t parked outside so assumed that the girls were alone.  Fortunately the chain was on, so the door only partially opened.  When Zoe opened it, one of the boys put his foot into the door and said, “We want friendship.” Another one asked for water.  Asha and Zoe shouted and pushed the door closed on them. Their shouts woke me up.   They were shaken and upset.  The boys went away but kept their eyes open for another opportunity.  When Tony heard about it, he was mad.

Tony’s study door opened onto our narrow stairwell right next to the front door.  I was out in the Gypsy and the boys once again assumed the girls were alone.  They had no idea what was waiting for them.

They knocked on the door and the girls open it.  They tried to force their way in and the girls shouted.  Tony flung his study door open and shouted.  The boys panicked and started pushing and pulling each other down the narrow stairwell.  Tony scrambled after them and grabbed two of them by their collars.  He knocked them together and dragged them up the stairs giving them “Charlies” all the way.  (Knees in thighs).  The others escaped.

The shaken up boys were presented to our landlord who proceeded to hit them all over with his chappal; the mother of all Indian insults.  The higher the swing the more humiliation is involved.  His swings were high.  They were then dragged off to their principal who proceeded to do the same with his chappal.  The parents were called in and they got some more.

Tony came home dusting his hands and chuckling in triumph.  No-one was going to touch his girls and every boy in the neighbourhood knew to stay away from the girls who lived in K66.

This experience shook us all up and Ash was even more upset about having to live in Delhi.  We prayed with her and talked about how there would soon be new friends and a whole new community in Delhi- just like the one in Mussoorie.  She struggled to believe it.

“But how do you know anyone is going to come?”

All we could say was, “You’ll see Ash.”

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Asha 12 and Zoe 11-Entertaining each other.

Mar28

Post 31. Do your own dirty work.

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The crèche I had an agreement with, finally opened.  I had worked in Point Road for two and a half years; travelling in and out of one of the most infamous parts of Durban.   The children had won my heart and I was sad when my time was up.

The church crèche was a disaster for me.  It wasn’t a happy place and the teachers were all really uptight.  I stuck it out but it was hard to get up in the mornings.

After 9 months and just before I went insane, I got a half day receptionist job in a building society in Yellowwood Park.  It was combined with an estate agency.  It was a small branch and from day one I clicked with the “naughty” estate agents.  They reminded me of the kids I was working with; they lied, they always wanted their own way, they played “I’m the king of the castle and you’re the dirty rascal,” manipulated and seemed to be fixated on  underwear and private parts.

They would constantly ask me to lie for them.  I somehow managed to get around it until the day my boss told me to tell a client he wasn’t in.  I put the call through anyway and he wasn’t happy.  He called me into his office and asked me to close the door.  He was upset.  He asked me what had happened and why.  I lovingly and calmly told him that I would not be lying for him or any of the agents.  If they wanted to lie, they could do their own dirty work.  I pointed out to him that he could trust me.  If I wasn’t prepared to lie for him, he could be certain that I wouldn’t lie to him.  If he was happy with that deal, then I would be happy to stay on.  If not, I would have to leave.  He was happy with the deal.  The agents just had to agree.

I loved them and they loved me.  I could say anything to them because of that love.  When they were getting out of hand with their jokes I would ask them, with a smile on my face,  to please close their door and they did.  They listened and asked questions about my faith.  We laughed at ourselves and each other.  They gave me a hard time and teased me until we closed shop at the end of the day.

I went back years later to visit them.  The lady at the front desk asked me my name.  With a big smile on her face she said, “Oh, THE Linda Lowe; the one who wouldn’t lie. I’ve heard about you.”

I found it funny that a simple thing like honesty had made such a big impression.

Mar27

Post 30. Wisdom

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Going home was difficult.  It was small and tight.  I had just travelled all over Southern Africa.  I was used to lots of space.  Poor Wilf and Val did their best to help me settle but it didn’t really work.

The only thing I knew was that I wanted to work with children.  I was promised a job at a crèche which was being constructed and it was taking forever.  I was frustrated and bored.  After a year of non-stop activity I found it hard to sit still.  I poured out my heart to God and into my diaries.  The pages were full of disappointment and discouragement.  As the months went by I started to lack confidence.  I hated telling people I didn’t have a job.  It became more and more difficult for me to socialise for fear that someone would ask me.

Seven months later I signed up for a one year Child Care Course.   The institute was in a dodgy part of Durban city and I attended evening classes.  My subjects were Nutrition, Child Development,  Child Psychology and Business Knowledge (accounting).

I dreaded the thought of accounting.  All my math teacher nightmares came back to haunt me.  I walked into my first Business Knowledge class slightly nervous.  The lecturer took one look at me and said, “You, in the front row please.”  What did she see?  Did I look like trouble?

I did well and got my diploma.  My love for children grew and I began to feel a stronger tug in that direction.  I applied for a job in the worst part of Durban and got it.

Port Natal Child Care Centre was at the end of Point Road, Durban’s red light district.  It was for children of prostitutes and sailors.  They lived with their mothers who had many visitors for many sleepovers.  There was such turmoil in their little lives and they were experienced beyond their years.  Sleep time was the worst time of the day for us; for many of them, sleep was not a happy thing to do.

We worked shifts so we could stay sane.  It was demanding and exhausting.  When we had mornings off we went down to Addington Beach to tan and swim.  It was during one of those mornings that I learnt the need for wisdom.

I had made friends with a hermit looking guy who seemed lonely. I wanted to help him somehow.  He seemed interested in my faith and he asked good questions.  One day he asked me to go for a walk with him.  I had time, so off we went.  He led me into an isolated park and before I knew it, he grabbed me and tried to kiss me.  Only God knows how I got away from him.  I ran all the way back to work with my stomach in my throat and eyes burning with fear.  I knew what I had been saved from.

Wisdom started to teach me:

I was not the saviour of the world.

I could not be a friend to every lonely person I met.

I needed to set firm boundary lines around my life, to keep the good in and the bad out.

I should NEVER again allow myself to be led into such a dangerous place.

I needed others to be with me in my mission to help the disturbed and needy.

 

I needed wisdom more than I needed anything else in my life.

Mar26

Post 29. A few sizes up.

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The tour was on.  I was the sound mixer for New Song.  Our minivans were packed to capacity and there was always plenty of junk food.  We drove from city to city all over South Africa, Transkei, Botswana, Bophuthatswana and Rhodesia.  We set up in schools, churches, fields and any hall that would have us.

It was intense; packing and unpacking sound equipment into the trailer, setting up and doing hundreds of sound checks; rolling up cables and picking up heavy equipment.  I got the nickname “Schweppes” for being such a good mixer.  I wasn’t sure I deserved such a compliment.

We went into some scary places.  Hillbrow was something else.  It was the downtown of downtown Johannesburg.  There were so many lonely people who didn’t have family like I had.  They were lost and very alone.  I had taken my family for granted and hadn’t given a thought to how others lived.  My life had revolved around myself and mine.

People wanted to talk and tell us their woes. There were times when there were tears; from us and them.  After every trip into Hillbrow, I could feel my heart getting bigger.  I was able to take more and I was feeling something that I hadn’t felt before; compassion.

We walked through the townships of Cape Town and Port Elizabeth to call children for kid’s clubs.  Whenever we could, we set up a place for the young people to come and talk.  We saw lives changes in front of our eyes.   The more I saw, the more I realised that what I had was something beyond me.  It had the power to change lives forever.

Our trip into Rhodesia was interesting.  When we drove between towns, we had to go in convoy and in some areas we were told to duck down and hide.  We would lie there expecting to be shot at and we never really got used to being followed by armed men.  It was the end of the war.

In every place we stayed with local people.  We were treated like kings and queens and we made some lifelong friends.  I learnt the art of giving even when I didn’t feel like giving.  After concerts, when we were exhausted and ready for bed, our hosts would want to talk and open their hearts to us.  I learnt to go the extra mile and to make time to listen.

So, we ate and drank and worked hard.  There were conflicts which we learnt to sort out and personalities we just had to get on with.  We learnt to accept different cultures and realised that our way wasn’t always the best way.  There were adjustments and changes, and our hearts grew many times over.

By the end of the year there were lots of tears and promises to keep in touch.  Most of us were twice our size and it wasn’t just that we had more than one slice of bread after dinner.

I had only seen Wilf and Val once that year.  I was tired and I couldn’t wait to get home.  I walked into No 28, up the stairs and into the lounge.  I was surprised.  Everything had shrunk.

Mar25

Post 28. Moo Hills

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I had itchy feet.  Rigby and Sue had left for Bible College and I needed to get out.  Youth for Christ was running a year programme called Y-1 so I decided to sign up.

I travelled with Rig and Sue to Half Way House,  to a cute little farm called Moo Hills.  That was to be my home for three months.   There were 30 young people full of life and energy, ready to take on the world.  I would be away from my home for a year.  It sounded like a life time.

Our dorms were converted cow sheds and it was very earthy.  Each room had 6 bunk beds so we lived in each other’s pockets and all kinds of lessons were learnt.  It was there that I learnt how to hand wash and iron my clothes. I really missed Val.

We dreaded the 6 am morning trumpet call.  It was loud and right outside our dorm.  I had sung many songs about an angel with a trumpet and people disappearing.  I was always relieved to see that it was just Johnny.

It was my first experience living with people who weren’t “white South Africans.”   Alistair Lowe from Rhodesia was no relation but he was a brother to me. On our weekend off he came to stay with us at No 28.   It was a first for my family too.  He was hilarious.

We had rules at Moo Hills.  Lobo the dog was not to be fed, lights out at 9, only one slice of bread after meals, no relationships between the sexes allowed and absolutely NO physical contact.  All those rules were broken,  but not much went unnoticed by Charlie and Wendy Paine and Sean Daly.

Lobo got fatter and fatter and so did we.  We talked way into the night.  One night we had a brilliant idea.  We lay on our bunks with our feet up against the wall.  On the count of three we stomped as hard as we could.  The girls in the dorm next door thought it was an earthquake and ran out onto the field in their pyjamas. It was freezing.

The girls joked that if ever we wanted some physical contact, we could go to Sean for a haircut.  Only if we were guilt free.  Once he got us under the scissors he would ask how we were doing.  We were convinced he could see right though us.  We didn’t have haircuts that often.  We heard that Alistair, when under the scissors and the stare, couldn’t take the guilt anymore and bellowed out, “Ok, ok, I fed Hobo!”

At the end of our three months of discipleship training, we were put into teams.   The music team needed a sound mixer so I auditioned.   Thanks to Wilf I had a pretty good ear and I got the “job.”

It was an intense three months of early mornings, excercise, study, kitchen duty, learning how to live and so much about loving God and others.

We packed our bags and jumped into minivans for our 9 months of road travel.  What we had learnt at Moo Hills was going to be tested.  We were going to find out if what we had learnt was going to work.  Or not.

Mar23

Post 27. No pork, no bacon

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I had NO idea what to do next.  I spent my “well deserved”  holiday a bit concerned.  I wasn’t qualified to go to college.  I didn’t want to anyway.  There was no way I wanted to work at the bank.   I was starting to wonder if I would end up in a supermarket, just as my maths teacher had said.

At the same time, there were three things I felt strongly about:   I had a feeling I wouldn’t marry a South African.  I had a feeling I would travel.  I had a feeling I would marry a pastor.

While I dated South African guys, I didn’t meet one  I wanted to marry.  Over the years there were a few serious proposals which I happily turned down.  Some were pastor-types.  Now they were interesting. One took me out for dinner. Forget about “should you kiss on your first date?”  He proposed to me all the way home and kept going at the gate.  He talked about a how I could help him in his ministry.  What an asset I would be to him.  He was desperate.  I was desperate too.  I couldn’t wait to get out of the car.  He became pretty famous- for doing the wrong thing.

Another one was a full on, “no pork, no bacon” type.  We had met at joint youth camps over the years.   He was the most eligible pastor’s son and in much demand among the young girls.  I needed a partner for a banquet so I plucked up all the courage I could find to call him.  He courteously told me he was dating someone but something could be arranged.   He called the next day to say he was available.  After lots of interrogation as to how it happened, I had a date.

He had a fancy sports car and Val made sure he got lots of avocado sandwiches.  He kept coming back.  He didn’t like that I wore earrings or make-up. He tried to convince me that eating bacon was the cause of my bad eyesight.  There were lots of rules and regulations except for the ones that really mattered.  We argued about everything and we didn’t last long.

A lot of time was spent getting them to keep their hands to themselves.  They didn’t make it easy for me to stick to my guns.  It wasn’t my  fault I was “so irresistible.”

I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t that.

In our youth group, we were encouraged to write down the qualities that we wanted in a husband.  My list was long. It was a perfect description of Jesus; except he played a guitar.

Mar22

Post 26. “I have NO idea.”

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I thought I would die of sadness when Lindy and her family left for the States. We were 15.  It was as if my life had come to an end.  We wrote tear-filled letters to each other for about two years.  Brenda was my first best friend and Lindy was my second.  I wasn’t sure how my faith would hold up without her.Mondays were especially difficult for me.  The girls came back to school after a weekend of partying.  They asked me what I had done and who I had slept with.  There were many discussions about virginity and the loss of it.  They just couldn’t understand why I had decided to wait until I got married.

My subjects were Biblical Studies, French, English, History, Biology and Afrikaans.  I kicked myself over and over for not taking Domestic Science and Typing instead of French and History.  I wanted to be in Lindy’s class.  Then she went and left.

So much had changed, but I couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble. There was still lots of messing around in class.  I was totally unprepared for my final exams and I did a lot of cramming and crying days before writing.  There was NO WAY I wanted to repeat a year of school.

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To add to my distractions I was a gymnast.   I could tie myself in knots.  Wilf said the circus was NOT an option so I worked hard and qualified for the National Gymnastics Championships instead.  I never could point my toes properly and skipped all my ballet classes so I didn’t win a medal.  I kept doing it anyway.  Just for fun.

I was always first to finish my paper.  I filled in whatever I could and then put my head on the desk and slept.  Some questions were answered with “I have NO idea.”

Everyone was convinced I would fail.  They expected me to be back the following year.

It was a miracle that I scraped through,  by the skin of my teeth. When I walked out of those gates for the last time, they were amazed.  There was a song on my lips.  It was deep and profound.  I sang it loud and I sang it proud:

No more school

No more stick

No more dirty arithmetic

If the teacher interferes,

Turn around and box her ears

If she wakes up in the night

Blow her up with dynamite.

With that, my school years ended.

Mar21

Post 25. Bev

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I was impressed with Dave for not fishing from my friendship pool and catching such a good fish.  Mowat Park Girls were having their matric dance and Bev Sumpton needed someone to go with her.  Dave was more than willing.  

We loved Bev.  She became part of our family and slept over most weekends.  It was fun to have another sister.   We tanned, swam, shopped and bathed together.  Sue, her and I would squeeze into our little bath and soak and talk for as long as we could.  We laughed so much at how Bev would wash her face with soap and sit and talk to us with mascara running down her cheeks.  

Mr and Mrs Sumpton were interesting.  Gloria was big and Clarry was small.  He wore a patch over his left eye and was always working in his garage.  When Gloria called, he dropped everything; immediately.  We went there to put our feet up, but Gloria wouldn’t let any of us sit down for long.  If there was food to make, we all had to help.  If there was a dirty cup it had to be washed, and dried. No laziness allowed.   She was definitely the boss. 

They were funny too.  We visited them on their small farm a few times.  They had a big black pig called Lesley, a lamb, a monkey and lots of dogs.  After our goodbyes we drove down the long drive and out onto the dusty road.  Wilf looked in his rear view mirror and told us all to turn around.  There was fat Lesley, the lamb and all the dogs chasing our car down the road.  We laughed all the way home.  They also had a parrot which followed them all around the house like a puppy. 

Bev could never stay awake in a movie.  Within the first five minutes she would be fast asleep.  They would go to the Drive-IN and sleep through the entire movie.  They were woken up by the security guard and found they were the only ones there. 

Dave was called up to do his army training and Bev was devastated.  We all were.  They wrote letters and she cried which made us cry. 

They survived the two years of separation.  Bev went on to work at the bank and Dave continued at the Daily News.  They fought, then broke up, then made up.  I was worried she wouldn’t come back but she always did.  They couldn’t stay apart for long.    

The thing I was happy with was that she was going to be my friend no matter what.  For a change, I had stolen a girlfriend from Dave.