ROAD RUNNING
They were too caught up in their own lives to deal with the trauma they were putting their children through . Grownups forget that kids may not show any sign of emotional trauma , but that does not mean the wounds do not exist .
The different ways my brother and I were dealing with our new domestic situation became apparent fairly quickly , as the reality of my ‘ missing ’ mother set in . Andy found his identity in the structure school provided , and the discipline it took to become better at the physical activities he was part of at school and at home . He excelled in all the sports he tried , like athletics , soccer and later even rugby . He was hard-working in class , and a popular boy with good manners and an eagerness to please . Everybody loved my brother , and everybody wanted to be in his presence , including me . But we were becoming like night and day …
I developed a heavy stutter . I was already labelled a ‘ sensitive child ,’ and this new hurdle was a major setback for me . “ Mother and I hoped you would just grow out of it , that it was just a phase you were going through . When you went to school and it got worse , we started to worry .”
Physically , too , Andy and I were very different . I was slight and tall for my age , while he was well built and his muscles always toned . I often thought of us as ‘ the soldier and the poet .’ I was never going to be the sporting hero Andy had become , even though I tried my best to follow in his footsteps , neither was I especially gifted academically – I was clever , but I was never really interested in excelling at school .
Our interests rarely aligned . While I was happy to sit for hours on end reading , he would be bored within minutes if he had nothing physical to do . When we went to the beach , I would find a nice spot and watch the waves , or sit watching the people jumping into the surf , while he would be among those diving under waves and running up and down , making friends with strangers .
My undisciplined approach to school , sport and life in general vexed him , and of course my ouma ’ s indulgence of my nonchalant attitude made it even worse . I was taking advantage not only of being the ‘ baby ,’ but also I think of the guilt my father and grandmother felt about my parents ’ divorce and the physical effect it had taken on me .
My ouma was sure doctors could help with my problem , so off we went on weekly excursions to seek therapy , but it proved little help . The time spent travelling once a week with my ouma were adventures to me . I found it exciting to get everybody ’ s attention for that single day , and I think that appealed to the scared boy inside , so even if there was a solution to my speech impediment , I was in no hurry to help them find it .
My stutter became part of my identity , and It reached a point where I felt that if I was not ‘ the boy who stutters ,’ then who the hell was I ? It became my crutch , my excuse , and my admonishing finger at the world around me . I was ‘ telling ’ everyone , by not being able to speak fluently , that this is the result of all of ‘ your ’ doing . “ See your guilt manifest , you bastards !” I was shouting accusations at the world with every struggled word escaping from my distorted lips . It was stirring the beast that was chained deep inside .
By the time I was a teenager , the violent ways of the township had caught my attention . The anger that was burning inside of me needed an outlet , and every insult thrown my way was met with rage . Ever since primary school , I was a little bit of a delinquent , getting into fights at school and in the streets , stealing my Dad ’ s ‘ long-toms ’ of Lion Lager , finding his smokes where he put them either on the bedside table or in his drawer and taking a few for me and my friends to smoke while we loitered on the corner or while we were learning the art of flicking a knife open in somebody ’ s back yard .
This was the life that I chose for myself , forsaking all my grandmother ’ s teachings , and my decision-making was helped along by drugs and alcohol that silenced the voice of compassion and reason shouting at me to change course and return to the proper path .
There were many gangs around when I was growing up , but you couldn ’ t just jump into any street-gang and shout , “ I want to be a gangster !” It did not work that way . You had to go through stages of acceptance , where you had to be brought into the fold by an existing member and then you just hung around with the others , slowly proving that you could be a useful tool to your ‘ brothers .’
There were three gangs overlapping each other ’ s territory in the area of Bonteheuwel where I lived . The Dixie boys had the largest area , the Dirty Night Pigs were not as big in numbers , but their reputation as street warriors was fearsome , and that gave their brand an almost mythical quality , and the Junky Funky Kids had the numbers and the flashy leader that made their stock rise in the eyes of any wannabe gang member .
But even in the world of street level gangs you had feeder groups , the smaller , lesser known gangs operating in primary schools and highs schools , recruiting kids into the ways of gang-life and spinning their own brand of bullshit to entice the boys to become gangsters . I joined the Jump Street Kids , named after a very popular TV show of the 80s . Most of the members were boys I grew up with – the same friends I stole my Dad ’ s beer and cigarettes for , the same guys I played soccer in the street with . I felt at ease with them , and I wanted to be naughty with them because it seemed like the cool thing to do .
Two 24 Oceans ISSUE 2018 136 DECEMBER 2020 / www . modernathlete . co . za