What a wonderful world

My father had an improbably sweet view of life on earth. Which is strange, thinking that he came from hardy farming and mining stock and lived through both World Wars and the then-Rhodesian bush war. He had a never-ending fund of stories about his life and my biggest regret is that I never wrote them down before he died.

Dad was born in 1905 onto a farm in Southern Rhodesia. That was what he did. He farmed. Bush, cattle and buck. His interests. In that order. Water, dip, mielies, whirlwinds, dust, gun dogs, gold mines, grass and acacia trees. The list of what evokes him and his stories is endless. By the time I really knew him, he had settled into a farming life in town and went almost daily out into the sometimes harsh and often beautiful Rhodesian bush to tend to his cattle and do what farmers do all day!

He only stopped farming in the Seventies when it became too dangerous to go alone onto the farm because of the armed struggle raging throughout the country. The farm was sold and he passed away soon after.

But Dad was a sentimentalist, a softy at heart. He cried when he was touched and loved romance. Louis Armstrong’s gravelly deep throated singing suited him just fine. He’d sing along with him

I see trees of green, red roses too

I see them bloom for me and you

And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

And you knew he really did love us, his family, and the countryside around him.

I often wonder how many of our memories from childhood are real and how much is built up like lego blocks from things we hear. Things that then become your memories. Are they things that really happened to you or did they happen to someone else? If you think your parents felt one way, did they really? Are you just projecting your ideas and opinions onto them and believe they must have felt the same way?

I read a moving newspaper commentary recently by a columnist who was honest enough to talk about having strong opinions. As he said, something happens, often something atrocious in another part of the world, and within hours of it happening, comment is already out there. So how does what you hear or read affect you? Does your opinion change depending on what you read? Should it?

If you feel sympathy for the victims of an attack, is it bad that you haven’t felt as strongly about victims somewhere else? And if you don’t express your opinion? Is it worse to not say something or to say something that seems inappropriate to some people?

He ends saying that all you can really do is to talk about your own feelings, your own opinions, however unsure you may be or whether you think you have said everything there is to be said. Not many people do that.

You wouldn’t call me gentleman

Who doesn’t like a bad boy? Is there a girl out there who at some time in her life not been attracted to the “wrong boy”? Whether wrong by your mother’s standards or wrong by what criteria you have set yourself, he is just wrong. And so appealing!

My mother had very fixed ideas on what was appropriate in a boyfriend. I’ve said already that she was the Cliff Richard vs The Rolling Stones type and translated this into her beliefs about what good girls should do and be. The seeds of temptation were planted right there!

At school I met a boy, three years older and everything I had been warned about – tight trousers, long hair, too much money and a great kisser. How did I know this you may wonder? Why ask. He was absolutely everything I had been forbidden and he, just like Lou Bega, was no gentleman

You wouldn’t call me gentleman

If you only knew my plan

You wouldn’t take the chance

To dance with dynamite

But Lou was right, I was so ready to “explode with [him] tonight”. I didn’t but just knowing I shouldn’t made the wanting more.

You go through life with all sorts of social norms swimming in your head – what you should wear, what to eat, who you should and shouldn’t mix with, how you should talk to people in different situations, what looks good or tacky in your house …

Who decided? What do we do out of habit and what is a conscious decision? And even if it’s conscious, is it the right decision? Some behaviours are obviously determined by ethics and values, and so they should be. Others are the result of upbringing and habit. But does that make them right?

Think about your house or your clothes. What is ‘good taste’? Surely taste is fundamentally personal and yet we get judged on it. I think one of the advantages of age should be being able to look a little more objectively at things and other people and value the incredible diversity around us. I think this but I still have to work at it. I have to chastise myself when I think someone looks a bit ‘tacky’ or if I don’t like pink floor tiles and sun filter curtains. There are so many variations on the ‘poor taste’ theme – unseemly, untoward, incorrect, disreputable, unrefined… Notice how many words tend toward the negative. The ‘un’s’, the ‘dis’, the ‘in’s’. One very seldom just says “it’s not my taste”. Behind those simple four words is a range of judgement, and all negative. All slightly disapproving. All thinking yours is better.

So, as I get older, I think I’m going to go back to looking at bad boys. Unfortunately the hair may be a lot thinner and the trousers not as snug, but I definitely want to find one who my mother would not have liked!