Wednesday, May 25, 2011
When I was 10 years old, however, another man chose to love me and call me his son. For this I will always be grateful. He changed my life, and gave me one of the greatest things I was longing for. I was a small little boy who needed a strong man to shape my life. A hero, a big strong man who was not afraid of anything.
He taught me that real strength was not just in physical appearance or status, but in how you treated those who were weaker than you.
He always loved children, and seemed to prefer the company of laughing children to that of adults. I’ve never seen children who didn’t love Oom George.
I remember walking down the street with him. He would greet complete strangers as if they should know him, and would make jokes wherever he went. He never considered the possibility that anyone he walked into would not know who he was, and enthusiastically greeted them and asked about their welfare.
My dad would interrupt the middle of any conversation and point us to the nice sound of the clarinet or trombone in the song that was playing in the background.
Music was his life.
This was the language of my dad – scales and notes and melodies. He spoke this universal language and understood it well.
It is a great honour when someone is chosen to be the son of a hero. I was chosen – and I honour you as my father. May you rest in peace.
I salute you, Sammajoor.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Have a nice life you bunch of suckers! Haha
Sunday, May 15, 2011
My son and I went on a Men's camp this weekend, where we spent some time helping a young farmer finish his house.
On Saturday night we also spent some time hunting for roos and other pests like foxes and rabbits.
We built a bonfire out of what must have been more than ten large trees – a lovely sight!
We were not very successful with the hunt, because the area is quite dry and our furry little friends were keeping to themselves. I did have a change to have a go at a fox, but was just too late when he jumped underneath a fence and got away with my shot ringing in his ears.
This was lots of fun – I haven’t had a shot at a living thing for more than 3 years now, and found it quite invigorating. It is not quite the same as hunting for springbuck at 250m distances, as we used a double-barrel shotgun at short distances while the ute was still moving. Would love to do this again.
We also did some skeet-shooting and target practise on tin cans.
My job was to help install insulation in the ceilings. We wore these beautiful orange jump suites which made us look like we were working at a nuclear power plant: