Daily Living – Work and Play

There is a lot to be said about healthy living these days but attitudes when we were kids were very different. A fat baby was considered a very healthy baby and that viewpoint continued on throughout our childhood to our early teens. I know we were never fat because we were so active and growing fast. By active I don’t mean some fancy weight loss or fitness regime. We were always doing something outside be it work, playing or getting up to mischief. During school days it was chores – light the fires, feed the dogs, clean out the kennels, gather snails for mum (make snail juice), chop the wood, stack the wood, chase the younger bro around dad’s man shed and not catch him because he was always faster than myself. We would mow lawns, move Dopey the goat, lose Dopey the goat and recapture him.  Feed the pigs, chase the pigs, be chased by the pigs. So it was all work, play or try and catch the bro; not much in between.

The weekends were different. We got to go to bed late and get up late. We often went exploring for the whole day, but most times we had a special job to do.

Every three months dad would bring in a half dozen sheep to slaughter for the freezer.  I hated those times because I couldn’t stomach the throat cutting part.  It wasn’t pity for the sheep or the excessive blood, it was the noises while waiting for the bleed out.  I had no problem with the dressing and cutting afterward.  It was this single event that made me run and hide every time dad come up drive with a trailer full of animals!

A favorite past time on the weekends was eeling. The methods were variable, outcome normally predictable and the process was a whole heap of fun. My first attempt with a hand line was also  the first time I used one. An uncle was teaching us and all went well up to the cast, when I forgot to put a foot on the end of the line. The Uncle was visibly impressed with the cast until the stick with the end of the line sailed out to the middle of the river. At first the uncle looked confused, and then realised what happened, grunted and moved over to one of the other kids. I eventually got another line to fish with.

Between the line fishing and hinaki there was normally a decent amount of eels caught and more than few big ones. Usually they would be smoked but there was a variety of cooking options such as baking, stewing, curried, fried – the point being, we knew what was for dinner over the next week, or two.

On another occasion, Dad took us out to where another uncle was digging the mud out of farm drains. Dad gave us a bag and lump of wood and said when a bucket is dumped on the ground, wait – if anything moves, hit it and put it in the bag. In due course, the bucket was dumped and we waited. When the first wriggly thing appeared under the thin layer of muddy water, we both jumped and missed it completely. The second, third and fourth wrigglies were caught and bagged. They turned out to be young eels barely a foot long and we ended up covered in mud from head to toe but both bags were full. Those ones were diced, stewed or curried.

By far the best time of year was summer. We often traveled to the coast to gather seafood and fish. We would wade in the shallows for pipi’s and cockles or when we were older we’d swim out onto the rocks and dive for mussel and/or kina. In those days, holidays were mandatory. Jobs shut down for three weeks and everyone went to the beach. Our spot was Little Waihi. Those were good memories over many years. One year dad put the Christmas hangi down near the waters edge. There happened to be a king tide at the time so the water come up over the hangi mound. Everyone had all but given up on the food but it actually come out beautifully and tasted extra nice for the spectacle it had become.

Hunting was another pleasant past time.  If Dad had a genuine passion, it was hunting. He was visibly at peace out there and I could understand why. I enjoyed the walks too especially in the native bush. The environment cleansed the soul and freshened the spirit. Many of the area’s we hunted were old haunts for dad and sections of the track, he cut himself. The problem there was height. Dad was five foot nothing. I was six foot four at thirteen years old. Despite having cut the track himself he still cut it low, so he had to duck, I had to all but lie on the ground. Fortunately they weren’t very long runs. When dad planned his hunt he made sure we were in the bush and walking before sunrise and getting into the car to go home, after dark. This made for a long long day on the trail.

By bed time we were pretty well hammered.  I don’t remember ever having any dramas sleeping, in fact over the years we developed the ability to sleep anytime and anywhere, especially on road trips.  That was a good thing because we had to readily adapt to Marae living at short notice on a regular basis – we’ll get into that next blog.

I received some interesting comments from previous blogs which caused me to reflect on the disciplining I received during my childhood. I admit there were very few beatings that in my mind were not justified. I was never afraid nor was I intimidated  by the process.  As I got older it turned into theatre for me.  I stopped growing at 13 years old and I was a big boy.  There wasn’t much mum and dad could do to me, not that they were trying to hurt me, (I think). Still, I needed to at least pretend that I was getting the message to avoid escalation.

I did develop a sizable chip on my shoulders that took a lot of grown up years to get rid of. My teenage years were angry years and I may have misdirected the anger for a lot of that time – but that was all me. I handled it my way and survived. I wasn’t the only one though. Everyone copped a flogging. I know my younger brother took way worse beatings than I. Physically, I felt for him but in my mind I assumed he would survive as well, but I don’t know. I might ask next time I see him.

… so I had a revelation which ends with a question;

As a child I was dealt what I believed to be tough love and I have never had a problem with that. In hindsight we knew no different. I thought it was the norm, until our own children arrived. I realised then what we have missed in our own upbringing. As children we were well behaved, polite and respectful – but I had an extremely short fuse and rebellious nature. Is that because of tough love, or in-spite of it?

In my righteousness as a first time parent I practiced tough love, but not on the same scale as my mum. My son, being the first born caught the brunt. I always felt remorse afterwards but I persevered with that. I took solace in the fact that  when the kids were put to bed, we kissed them, we hugged them and we wished them a good sleep, every time. Our children were well behaved, polite and respectful (and headstrong). Is that because of tough love, or in-spite of it?

As a grandparent I am in awe of our children and how well they raise theirs and why not, they have the information at their finger tips and the knowledge of their parents to tap into. They do not practice tough love but understand what it is. They each have their own regime and it is early days to gauge its success but my grandchildren are impulsive and expressive little balls of energy. They are free of fear, respect authority but will challenge its ignorance. They live in a family environment free of violence. Is that because of tough love, or in-spite of it?

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.

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Tangata ako ana i te whare, te turanga ki te marae, tau ana

A person who is taught at home, will stand collected on the Marae,

A child who is given proper values at home and cherished within his family, will not only behave well among the family, but also within society and throughout his life.