In The Beginning – Broken Family

I don’t remember much of my biological Mother, but I have always felt a connection. Calling her my “biological” Mother feels a little shameful but I need to differentiate between the two “Mothers”. It will become clear in the wash (I hope). My Mother passed away when I was four years old due to complications with her sixth pregnancy. She was twenty three years old at the time of her death, and left behind our Dad and five very young children. I have vivid memories of sitting beside her casket and crying, despite being told years later, that we (the youngest) did not attend the funeral. That’s only a little spooky.

Our Tribal Meeting House Te Takinga, named after a prominent Ancestor, Te Takinga

Related Link; Te Takinga Pataka

Note: Traditional Maori funerals – known as Tangihanga, involved 3 days of grieving. The deceased is placed in a prominent position within the Meeting House, normally in an open casket so that tributes could be made following strict protocol. The deceased would be attended by their immediate and extended family. The process would be directed by the Tribal elders.

My only memory of the woman who dad remarried, was a beating I received for allowing myself to be bullied out of the money I was given to buy groceries, at aged six. That single moment troubled me enough to scorn her for the rest of her life. The only other time I saw her was when we buried my dad in 1994.

My biological dad maintained contact with us as often as he could I presumed. I can’t say I knew him but my lasting impression of him was a soft spoken, kind and gentle man. In the early years, he would show up out of the blue, acknowledge us, talk to the grownups then suddenly he would be gone. I enjoyed his visits. They were sort of mysterious, and opened all kinds of outrageous possibilities. Nothing changed as we grew into adulthood. Only this time we would indulge in big boy conversations – and I still enjoyed the visits however brief and infrequent they were. It hurt when he passed, more than I expected it to, but I believe it was a fair reflection of the bond we had established.

And so it come to be that we were given to our Aunt and Uncle. She was our fathers’ sister, an upstanding Maori woman strong on tradition, stubborn (as are we all) and a little racist. She also had strong family values. For several years, she took on foster children despite our already tight living arrangement. Altogether we were five. Four of us stayed and the youngest (girl) was given to another Aunt. Fortunately they lived just up the road.

Our aunt was without scruples. She called a spade, a spade and if it back-chatted her, she would slap it. I remember being turned away at the cinema because the Usher did not believe our ages and wanted us to pay the adult rate. We didn’t have enough money so we returned home. Our Aunt took a large framed photo of our late mother off the lounge wall. On the back of the photo was inscribed all our birth dates. She took it and us back to the cinema, collared the Usher and all but rammed that photo down his throat while explaining that her kids were just kids. Naturally, the poor usher was embarrassed when he signaled us through, we quickly complied because we were also embarrassed, and dear old Aunty left the building with her head held high and a spring in her step.

Our Uncle was a Tuhoe man from Ruatoki on the East Coast. He was a quiet, dignified man of integrity and humility. He was loyal to a fault and in my heart and mind, without peer. This was the man who would later become my adopted father. This is the man I would spend a life time trying to emulate his example. He was our fragile connection to the Tuhoe people and that’s how I viewed it. My respect for Tuhoe was always through my respect for the man and his family.

The adoption took place around the late 1960s/early 70s, can’t say exactly. I remember being asked by an official looking dude whether I wanted to be adopted. Dumb question I thought considering we had been a family already for several years. Just like that, we had a new surname, a mum and dad …. and I felt no different. It took a while to get used to the name and even longer to call Aunty and Uncle, “Mum” and “Dad”.

Our final family makeup is a little complex due to the nature of the Maori whangai system, but the final composition was as follows;

1. Sister – (Whangai – eldest), . Adopted
2. Brother (Sibling), …………….. Biological Father would not allow adoption
3. Sister (Sibling), ………………… Biological Father would not allow adoption
4. Me (Weirdo), ……………………. Adopted
5. Brother (Sibling), …………….. Adopted
6. Sister (Sibling), ………………… Raised by a paternal Aunt  a few houses from us.
7. Brother (Paternal Sibling),  Same father, different mother – Adopted
8. Brother (Whangai), …………. Our Cousins Son – Adopted
9. Sister (Whangai), …………….. Our cousin who live with us more often than not

I can’t recall any issues with us all living together in such cramped conditions. I thought it was the norm considering everyone we visited seem to be in the same boat. The living model was fairly uniform where ever you went. The babies and toddlers slept in Mum and Dads room, the boys in one room and the girls in the other. The youngsters would top and tail in a bed and the older siblings had their own bed, normally. Bathing was in a similar pattern. There was no shower. A bath was drawn and Dad was first in, then the boys starting with the eldest. The girls did the same with the bath redrawn. Meals were as expected for a big family. First in best dressed, guard your plate with your life and do not look away until your meal was gone, otherwise it would be. We would have a couple of sittings due to lack of room. The babies and young children always ate first, then the older kids and adults. In all cases, mum and dad always made sure everyone else were eating before they would join us. I’m sure it was influenced by the tradition of Hakari.

We all had our chores and we knew not shirk our responsibilities because retribution was swift. Mum and Dad were the bosses on top of the heap and shit rolled down hill. Some of the chores were Bizarre compared to today’s expectations, but for us it was fun and games. We’ll get into that next…… .

So what are you thinking. If you have any questions please put them out there. I know I am a little old school and that won’t change much. I find old school less chaotic, peaceful, which suits my thoughtful nature.

Peace and love to you all.

He waka eke noa, (A canoe which we are all in with no exception)

We are all in this together.