For my Father on his 80th birthday

Ernie didn't want gifts. He doesn't need things. But as his son, I wanted to give him something. I wanted to give him something that is worthy of this milestone, and worthy of this man. And it couldn't be green bananas. What I decided on were words. And so I have written one of my pieces for my dad, for this day. That is my gift to you, Ernie:

Tide & Time

I am old enough, now, to remember things that no longer exist in my world, or that have been irrevocably changed: silver metal ticky boxes (as my mother used to call them) with concertina doors, and heavy, black telephones inside that actually required you to turn a dial; military conscription; my mother herself. All of these were once a part of my life.

Into unknown depths, again

Last night I listened to my friend Rob tell of a dream. The dream is simple. He is standing on the shore when he is engulfed by a huge wave crashing over him. Rob, like me, is in mid-life. For as long as I have known him, I have admired his engagement with life. Enthusiastically direct, incredibly honest and simultaneously simple and profound.

Boulder hopping through time

It has become something of a spontaneous custom in our family to have a short de-brief after a particular experience. Phoebe is often the initiator of these. At eight she takes on a family facilitator role with proficiency. "So how did that make you feel?", she might ask. Often her brief is, "What was the best part of your...?" and sometimes it includes, "What was the worst part?" We take time to go around listening to each one's input, and Phoebe ensures that each of us is fairly heard. On this occasion, around our large kitchen table with its exquisite cypress grain, we each have two turns, a chance to name the two best things from our weekend in the mountains.

Things that go growl in the night

Yellowwood Amphitheatre in the Du Toits Kloof Mountains is a truly captivating, wild and African place. The bivvy spot against its base is a compelling place to sleep. From my bed, the bright stars beyond are entirely framed by a fish bowl of dark rock, that includes the wall, its ridge-lines and the peaks across the valley. The wall, arching hundreds of meters overhead, dominates, both vision and mind. One can fall asleep in this splendid spot with a gratifying mixture of excited anticipation and peace.

Sorry we're late, teacher, but the dog ...

This morning, I suppose, was a fairly ordinary morning in the life of a parent, filled as it was with the usual ups and downs, and a little magic. Sebastian had been left at home once, so far. The squabbling over whose turn it was for the front seat, which had already delayed teeth brushing and final departures, was not yet resolved by the time I was trying to get Mila and Karl strapped into the car. That elusive even-keeledness with which we, as parents, aspire to ride the choppy seas of our children's emotions, was by now being buffeted amongst fierce white horses, far from shore. "Right", I shouted at Sebastian, "If you are not happy with where you need to sit, then you can get out and stay here."

The taxi man

Phoebe interrupts her game to swing through the front door and announce that the taxi is here. It irritates Sandra slightly that he arrives so early. It makes her feel hurried. So I go out to tell the taxi man that she will only be ready in half an hour. “I'm early”, he says through the wound down window, as I approach. He is finishing a mouthful of lunch. And still has some red stains from it in the corners of his mouth - maybe tomato sauce. “I came early”, he says, “so that I could sit and look at the mountains for a bit.”