I always wanted to be a boy.
Boys' toys were so much more fun! They moved by themselves, they made noise, you could build with them. Girls' toys had to be made to move, and noises made for them.
I thought that if I wished it hard enough, and dressed like a boy, I could turn into one. Just to make sure, I checked this out with my mom. We were in a toy shop, in front of other shoppers (naturally) and I asked my mom the burning question: "Mom, how do you tell the difference between girls and boys?" (You have to remember that I only had one sister and had never seen the male anatomy.) My mother thought quickly and replied, "Well, little girls have pink tassles, and little boys have blue tassles." "Oh" I said, and although I didn't know what a "tassle" was, for years afterwards I wouldn't pronounce that word, as it sounded like a "rude word" to me.
However, that only confirmed my theory that there really were only outward, cosmetic differences between the sexes, and if I chose to dress like a boy, and wear my hair like one, I could grow up as one.
So I wore pants, with a leather belt and a pocket knife hanging down, and a chunky blue and white striped polar neck. I remember so clearly the two occasions on which I was actually mistaken for being a boy. I basked for days afterwards in the glow of those moments!
My dad, not having a son of his own, was only too happy to give me boys' toys for my birthdays. So I had a kite, a wind-up aeroplane, a clockwork train, and best of all, a battery-operated dump truck, with a siren! One time when I was ill, he bought me a racing car.
Only one time did my mother ever suggest the idea of my sister and I taking ballet, and it was shouted down to cries of "That's for sissies!"
My secret name when playing on my own was Davey (no doubt after Davy Crockett!) And when Daniel Boone was screened on Zimbabwe television, I was its most avid fan. Every Monday evening at 5pm would find me glued to the TV, unwilling to budge nor breathe for the next hour! I would have to live on that one episode a whole week! But that was fine, because I would re-enact Daniel's feats in my backyard, using a wooden stilt as a rifle. I was Daniel Boone! Sadly, I never did manage to procure a coon-skin cap. Despite my eyeing my mom's one fur hat which would have done admirably, and my many hints to that effect...
So what finally brought my tomboy ambitions to an end? My aunt, who had only had boys and always wanted a girl, was brushing my (now grown long) hair, and asked me why I wanted to be a boy? I was a puzzlement to her! I gave her my reasons, and she spoke these life-changing words to me: "Well, that means when you grow up, you will have to join the army."
Crash!! With that one simple statement, my dreams came tumbling down! I was committed to the cause - but not to that extent. That was going too far! Reluctantly, I accepted my fate as a member of the female species, and began embracing my femininity.
Whenever I get into a philosophical state of mind, I muse on the role my tomboy days have played in my life. My attitude growing up was often, "You cannot make it too tough for me." While other girls were screaming and fainting, I would boldly push through with the attitude, "Allow me to show you how it's done." There has always been a side to me that said, "Life is tough. Just get on with it." This outlook stood me in really good stead for the mission field! Senegal was not a place for sissies! It was a tough environment to live in, and raise babies in. I don't think I would have made it had I been faint-hearted. And here's the interesting thing - the more wives of missionaries I speak to, the more I find out one interesting fact: many of them were tomboys growing up too!
Oh and one more thing - living in the mountains isn't for sissies either!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Bugs, beetles and other beasties!
Growing up in Zimbabwe, Africa, naturally meant making friends with all sorts of fascinating beasties.
Like the chongololo. This giant African Millipede (Scaphiostreptus parilis acuticonus) was always to be found after the rain had softened the ground. As soon as it is touched, it rolls up into a protective ball, and we could pick them up and carry them in our hands. They would usually poop an orange substance as their way of saying thank you. They made excellent bowling balls, or could double as goons in a game of chongololo marbles! Wonderful creatures!
Then there was the Rhino Beetle. Phileurus truncatus. Totally harmless, it doesn't bite or sting, but because of the hooks on its legs, I always picked it up by its horn. They were excellent compost makers, so we would take them and deposit them in Rhino Beetle Paradise - the compost heap! 
Another creature with a horn was a worm we often found on our arum lilies. It was big and fat and green, and could grow to about three inches in length. I would not touch these, but my mother (who was deathly scared of feathers!) would pick them up and caress them. One time she put one on the front bar of my cousin's stroller, and he shuddered from head to foot!! She also once played with a chameleon, who repaid her kindness with a nasty bite on her hand.
One insect I dreaded were locusts. Ugh! They had spiny legs, and were just ugly! I do not like watching the animated film "It's a Bug's Life" for that reason. Ugh! Ugh! UGH! I also did not enjoy when the flying ants came out en masse after the rain. They would hit up against the windows, trying to get in the house, making one feel like you were living through the plagues of Egypt. In the morning, we would have to go and sweep up their wings which they had carelessly deposited on our front doorstep.
As far as domesticated pets went, I kept, at various times, guinea pigs, chickens, a gerbil, a hedgehog (for a week) and a budgie (Australian parakeet). Poor Tippy, he met an unfortunate end. I killed him. I didn't mean to!! I was holding him while my dad medicated his beak, and he began to struggle to get free, so I held him tighter... and then his little eyes closed, and ... poor Tippy!
The hedgehog was an interesting pet. I would collect insects for him during the day, and put them in his box. He was curled up asleep, and totally ignored these offerings. At night, only when once I was in bed and had put the light out, would he suddenly uncurl and go foraging for food. He would happen upon something (his favorites were chongololos!) and you can imagine how crunchy these are to eat! Kind of like the hedgehog version of potato crisps! I would hear a loud "Crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch!" Then a moment to digest followed by "Crunch crunch crunch crunch crunch!" This was why he only lasted one week!
I drew the line at reptiles. I don't like reptiles. Never have, never will. I did not like the giant iguanas who slithered around under the tables in the hotel restaurant in Senegal. Nope, I did not like those!! And I will never give in to my husband's request to keep a pet snake! Nope, that will never happen.
Oh oh, that reminds me of my seven "I will never" statements. Every one of them have come true! Eek! I never said that last one!! OK? You are my witness!
Saturday, February 19, 2011
My acting career
My first public performance was on national television.
Our kindergarten teacher managed to get us a spot on the television show called "Cabby". We performed a puppet show of "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" with the song "If you go down to the woods today". My role was prop manager. I set out the tables and chairs and removed them. It was a very responsible position. I did not have stage fright, and somehow did not even connect that I was on national television, and being watched by thousands of people.
That was a hard act to follow. The next year in Junior school, we performed "The Little Red Hen" and I was the duck. I held a duck mask up in front of my face, which meant I did not see the audience. This meant I was again without fear. When the little red hen asked us who would help her make her bread, the lazy dog, the sleepy cat and the noisy yellow duck would each reply in turn, "Not I". I couldn't figure out why each time I answered, the audience roared with laughter. It was only afterwards that I learned that I had been saying "Not-tie!" with two syllables on the "tie". Ah well, my career as an entertainer was launched.
The following year, under my mother's tutelage, I wrote a play, which was subsequently acted by our class. I helped make the props, and had the role of narrator. Imagine my surprise when the teacher introduced it, saying, "This play was written, produced and narrated by one of our own pupils." Wow. I had no idea! So now my career had blossomed into production!
My mother also tried her hand at writing plays, and wrote one for my sister and I to perform. We acted as "Noddy and Bigears" holding a conversation about the teachers in our school, making puns out of their names. They had such colorful names as Mrs Flanders (a poppy), Mrs Bell, Mrs Archer, Mr Fish, Mr Crabbe and Mr Schooler. Seems like these names just lent themselves to such puns! I remember it being a great success.
In High School I was becoming positively cocky about my acting ability. I performed several dialogue parts, until the inevitable happened. I was getting so confident, I made the mistake of not allowing myself to feel nervous before the performance. I thought I had totally conquered my fears. So when I got out on the stage, the nerves hit full force - and I went down in a cloud of humiliation! Unfortunately I did not climb back on that horse, and that pretty much spelled the end of my glorious acting career. I still wonder where I would be today if I had not given up so easily.
Our kindergarten teacher managed to get us a spot on the television show called "Cabby". We performed a puppet show of "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" with the song "If you go down to the woods today". My role was prop manager. I set out the tables and chairs and removed them. It was a very responsible position. I did not have stage fright, and somehow did not even connect that I was on national television, and being watched by thousands of people.
That was a hard act to follow. The next year in Junior school, we performed "The Little Red Hen" and I was the duck. I held a duck mask up in front of my face, which meant I did not see the audience. This meant I was again without fear. When the little red hen asked us who would help her make her bread, the lazy dog, the sleepy cat and the noisy yellow duck would each reply in turn, "Not I". I couldn't figure out why each time I answered, the audience roared with laughter. It was only afterwards that I learned that I had been saying "Not-tie!" with two syllables on the "tie". Ah well, my career as an entertainer was launched.
The following year, under my mother's tutelage, I wrote a play, which was subsequently acted by our class. I helped make the props, and had the role of narrator. Imagine my surprise when the teacher introduced it, saying, "This play was written, produced and narrated by one of our own pupils." Wow. I had no idea! So now my career had blossomed into production!
My mother also tried her hand at writing plays, and wrote one for my sister and I to perform. We acted as "Noddy and Bigears" holding a conversation about the teachers in our school, making puns out of their names. They had such colorful names as Mrs Flanders (a poppy), Mrs Bell, Mrs Archer, Mr Fish, Mr Crabbe and Mr Schooler. Seems like these names just lent themselves to such puns! I remember it being a great success.
In High School I was becoming positively cocky about my acting ability. I performed several dialogue parts, until the inevitable happened. I was getting so confident, I made the mistake of not allowing myself to feel nervous before the performance. I thought I had totally conquered my fears. So when I got out on the stage, the nerves hit full force - and I went down in a cloud of humiliation! Unfortunately I did not climb back on that horse, and that pretty much spelled the end of my glorious acting career. I still wonder where I would be today if I had not given up so easily.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Horses and me
My very earliest memory is of me on horseback.
And I was dead scared of falling off! I was so scared in fact, that I was grabbing hold of a big, red pole, and holding on for dear life. Yes, I was on a merry-go-round, the pole was actually a normal diameter pole, and I was two years old.
I saw a slide of this event years later, and there I am, chubby cheeks, blond hair, and the biggest, bluest, scaredest eyes you have ever seen! I looked at this, and thought, I remember that!!
This fear of falling off a horse never left me. And yet, despite this, my sister and I were both horse-crazy. Every birthday and Christmas, our lists were written in order of preference: Horse, piano, bicycle, and finally those items we would realistically get. We never gave up hope. And we never got a horse.
The closest my parents came to giving us our much longed for dream, was when my dad took two planks, nailed ropes on for reins, made wire stirrups, and placed them on our verandah wall. We added thick cushions as saddles, and painted manes and tails. For hours at a time, Wendy and I would ride the trails, trotting, galloping, giddy-upping and woahing. I was not so scared of falling off these horses as the ground was not far beneath our feet.
When I was about five, I finally had my chance to get on a real, live horse! I went to a birthday party at Colleen Lemon's house. She had a beautiful gray mare, and her parents were giving all the kids rides. I hung back until everyone else had had a turn, and finally when it was my chance - I chickened out!! I was so mad at myself! Finally I had been given the chance to fulfill my dream - and I was too scared! I promised myself then and there that the next time I got the chance, I would get up on the horse.
That day finally arrived. We were in high school when we made the acquaintance of Cherry Bowen-Davies. She lived over the hill from our house, and wonder of wonders, the Bowen-Davies owned not one, but two, horses. A large pinto named ... Pinto, and a smaller brown horse named Fleck. Cherry was kindness itself, and happily invited my sister and I to come and ride whenever we liked. Oh boy! We would have been there every day if our mom had allowed us. But we had to limit our visits out of politeness.
It was always an adventure catching these two horses. They would be out in their field, and the last thing they wanted was to be caught and saddled. So we would go out armed with treats and try and bribe them to come. It would take us ages. Those horses were not stupid.
As soon as I was sat on the back of a real horse, I discovered a disturbing fact: you are way off the ground! Way high!! I was not so sure I liked this. If you fell, it was a long way to fall. And I had no intention of falling! So the fastest I ever dared to go was a trot. One day we were on an out-ride, riding in the streets and fields around the houses. Wendy was on Pinto and Cherry and I were walking behind. We were going through a field and had made a wide circle and were now actually heading in the direction of home. We hadn't realised it - but Pinto had. All of a sudden, he started trotting and then galloping. Cherry and I started running and yelling, and were horrified at the fact that Pinto was heading towards a busy main road. Wendy was not able to stop him, and let out a frightened scream. I screamed back, at the top of my lungs. "Wendy!!!" Helpless to save her, Cherry and I were desperate. Then the unthinkable happened: Wendy started to dismount at full gallop!
She landed safely, without injury, and wonder of wonders, Pinto stopped after a few more paces and started calmly eating grass. Wendy explained that she had read somewhere that if a horse was running away with you, this is what you should do. Needless to say, when our mother heard about this incident, our horse-riding days were over. Neither of us seemed to mind too much, we had pretty much been cured of our obsession with horses. From now on, my birthday wish list would simply begin with a piano.
And I was dead scared of falling off! I was so scared in fact, that I was grabbing hold of a big, red pole, and holding on for dear life. Yes, I was on a merry-go-round, the pole was actually a normal diameter pole, and I was two years old.
I saw a slide of this event years later, and there I am, chubby cheeks, blond hair, and the biggest, bluest, scaredest eyes you have ever seen! I looked at this, and thought, I remember that!!
This fear of falling off a horse never left me. And yet, despite this, my sister and I were both horse-crazy. Every birthday and Christmas, our lists were written in order of preference: Horse, piano, bicycle, and finally those items we would realistically get. We never gave up hope. And we never got a horse.
The closest my parents came to giving us our much longed for dream, was when my dad took two planks, nailed ropes on for reins, made wire stirrups, and placed them on our verandah wall. We added thick cushions as saddles, and painted manes and tails. For hours at a time, Wendy and I would ride the trails, trotting, galloping, giddy-upping and woahing. I was not so scared of falling off these horses as the ground was not far beneath our feet.
When I was about five, I finally had my chance to get on a real, live horse! I went to a birthday party at Colleen Lemon's house. She had a beautiful gray mare, and her parents were giving all the kids rides. I hung back until everyone else had had a turn, and finally when it was my chance - I chickened out!! I was so mad at myself! Finally I had been given the chance to fulfill my dream - and I was too scared! I promised myself then and there that the next time I got the chance, I would get up on the horse.
That day finally arrived. We were in high school when we made the acquaintance of Cherry Bowen-Davies. She lived over the hill from our house, and wonder of wonders, the Bowen-Davies owned not one, but two, horses. A large pinto named ... Pinto, and a smaller brown horse named Fleck. Cherry was kindness itself, and happily invited my sister and I to come and ride whenever we liked. Oh boy! We would have been there every day if our mom had allowed us. But we had to limit our visits out of politeness.
It was always an adventure catching these two horses. They would be out in their field, and the last thing they wanted was to be caught and saddled. So we would go out armed with treats and try and bribe them to come. It would take us ages. Those horses were not stupid.
As soon as I was sat on the back of a real horse, I discovered a disturbing fact: you are way off the ground! Way high!! I was not so sure I liked this. If you fell, it was a long way to fall. And I had no intention of falling! So the fastest I ever dared to go was a trot. One day we were on an out-ride, riding in the streets and fields around the houses. Wendy was on Pinto and Cherry and I were walking behind. We were going through a field and had made a wide circle and were now actually heading in the direction of home. We hadn't realised it - but Pinto had. All of a sudden, he started trotting and then galloping. Cherry and I started running and yelling, and were horrified at the fact that Pinto was heading towards a busy main road. Wendy was not able to stop him, and let out a frightened scream. I screamed back, at the top of my lungs. "Wendy!!!" Helpless to save her, Cherry and I were desperate. Then the unthinkable happened: Wendy started to dismount at full gallop!
She landed safely, without injury, and wonder of wonders, Pinto stopped after a few more paces and started calmly eating grass. Wendy explained that she had read somewhere that if a horse was running away with you, this is what you should do. Needless to say, when our mother heard about this incident, our horse-riding days were over. Neither of us seemed to mind too much, we had pretty much been cured of our obsession with horses. From now on, my birthday wish list would simply begin with a piano.
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