Oh Mama, Oh Papa

If my father was still alive I would have two heroes or more correctly, a hero and a heroine!

I could actually say that I have a living Heroine, my mama, and the Hero in the supernatural, my papa! Yes, I like that! I have a Heroine and a Hero! That's two for the price of one!

OH, MAMA!

You survived a ruptured aneurysm when told you would not!

Again and again, you would foil us all, coming back from the impossible, the doctors would say, yes, she's a miracle, an extraordinary divine intervention ... That woman is so strong!

"He sent me back", you would utter, almost disappointed! "I was ready to go, but your father sent me back", "The girls aren't ready", she would whisper.

I remembered that whisper and the day when she covertly told me that "I was her favourite". Now there were 9 of us all up! Six girls and 3 boys and I was her favourite.

However, it wasn't until I was 35 that I discovered that she had whispered the very same thing to all her children, and at 35 I should have known better, you would think, but instead, I felt betrayed, hurt, and shocked at this discovery, but I chose not to believe 'the others'. Of course, they are my siblings and siblings lie on matters such as these.

I was considered the spoilt one (so they said), the girls, yes all 6 of them! "Oh, that spoilt brat ...", they still complain today, and they had the audacity to spread the rumour to everyone we know, including their children and their children's children, to all our cousins, friends and foe, oh they were heartless with no shame! Spoilt? It's not true and only I know that because I feel it deep within my heart when I am with my mama and all the whanau (family) are present. It's too obvious, so I just smile and hug my mama!

So it's become a competition and like many families, we all compete directly for the 'favourite' role. Unfortunately, I am also challenged by a younger brother, who was 5 when I left home to discover myself at 16. He apparently became her favourite in my absence but I can handle that. I get it, someone had to step up, to give the role purpose! But I am glad it wasn't one of the others, the girls, my sisters! It's ok though, I simply claim the role when we are all together as her 'favourite son!'.

OH, MAMA!

It's your favourite son and I am here to apologise and oh so profusely, for all that I have done, for all I have put you and my loving papa through, bless his soul. For the struggles and challenges, you both endured in the past 66 yrs. The first 35 years must have been pure hell! I am sure it was only after 35 that some sense and maturity allowed me to become more thoughtful about my behaviours and habits. I am filled with remorse when I remember, when I remember, oh when I remember!

You two are my hero and heroine!

OH, PAPA!

I remember ... when the girls had their 16th coke party, yes coke as in cola, with security from some high school friends of theirs, who later would become famous New Zealand All Blacks. The garage below was rocking, and you and mama were so chill upstairs in the main house when 2 carloads of roughs turned up to gatecrash the party. At 14, I was obligated to follow you down to face off this rumble, this confrontation, as they spilt out of their cars, raging like fighting cocks and raring to crash the party.

I remember how you stood fearless, face to face, while I stood shaking like a leaf, clenching my fists waiting for the onslaught of the 10 to 1.5 odds, myself being the 0.5. You called them out with a roar, a Lion King's roar protecting his pride. You called one out by name, of course, you would know someone in the pack, this horde, this mass of testosterone, and by name you moved them on, backing them into their cars to quieten their roars to a sulking murmur.

The fact that the party and security boys came running down to the cars helped to shame the noise that had arrived, but you stood fearless!

As abruptly as the cars squealed off down the road, you calmly composed yourself and retired to the house, and the party returned to its rigorous onslaught of raging teenagers celebrating the victory of the night.

OH, PAPA!

I remember ... at 17 arriving back home one late afternoon to a message to pick you up at a pub across town. It was not a pub I had frequented but was familiar with its reputation of ill repute, and invective in nature. It is a shared perspective that the pub scenes in the movie 'Once were Warriors' reflected these loud and noisy drinking establishments, strong and affiliated bush workers, hunters and blowhards, sharing their spills and kills in drunken splendour, and I had to pick you up, step into this parlour of dominating male disrepute and find you.

Like the old cowboy movies when the gunslinger pushes his way into the saloon, I anxiously push my way into the bar. The moment the door opened, the room stopped.

No sounds but the humming of the fan above the pack of fighting soldiers, and the only movements made from these larger than life warriors, in black leather jackets, dirt and grime from a hard day's work, with the smell of manual sweat, alcohol and cigarettes, wavering in the quiet of the noise. All eyes were waiting, ready if the need to kill required the act. The next move was mine and there was no turning back.

If I had guns they would have been cocked and ready, but I only had my 17-year-old-long hippie hair, beads, Deep Purple tee shirt and faded jeans, wishing I had owned a dirty black jacket, holding a large as hell bottle of beer and a rolly cigarette burning in the corner of my mouth! The silence was deathly and I could only hope I was at the right pub and in the right bar because he was nowhere to be seen!

I remained chill, as my father had done in the past, and bravely asked the barman for my papa by name!

Just like that, the noise level went from zero to full volume as if time had been suspended for that long but brief moment and it was now time to breathe in the air of freedom. I was 'in'. I was safe!

Everyone started calling out his name like echoes in a dark cavern bouncing off the walls, calling him, respectfully abusing his presence, clanging their bottles with song and laughter into the noise and the dirt of the blue smoke hanging in the air of a New Zealand warrior public bar.

It was then that I heard that familiar roar, the roar that only belonged to my papa. The roar was in song and I could hear the joviality and the drunken stupor of his loud and powerful singing voice. Shouts were telling him to "... give us another song", and with the utmost respect, warriors were telling him to "... bring your son over let's have a drink together". He slapped and punched the bigger of them, in fact, he slapped and punched all of them, yelled, cursed and abused them as he made his way to the door still in a full singing voice, and in perfect melody, he sang 'Share your marijuana with me ...', a parody of the NZ hit by John Rowles, 'Cheryl Moana Marie'.

I waited and watched in awe. Actually grateful for who he was! They loved him, they respected him, they worked for him and with him, they cleared the path for him. Mostly 6ft they all towered above his 5'8 frame but they were gentle in their masculinity, as they guided him towards me, laughing and glowing with respect for this man.

OH, PAPA!

You only grace us in spirit but you are my warrior hero and always will be! Your steel-capped work boots are way too big to fill and I could spend each and every day trying to keep your mana (integrity) and the love and respect you exude, but I am not sure I can fill the boots to the brim, though I overflow with pride and love, for who you are.

OH, MAMA!

I remember ... at your youngest sisters tangi (funeral) when you sent me down to represent the whanau (family) because of your ill health and were too unwell to travel. At the last minute, you decided to make the journey regardless, and so it was arranged.

Prior to your arrival, the gossip of who you were was loud and obvious like cicadas' in the morning dawn. When the elders and inlaws had heard about the unexpected arrival of the 'older sister', the interrupted flow was set in an air of anxiety and curiosity to those who had not met you!

Who was this person, what did she look like, where was she coming from and what was her status? The curiosity filled the air in anticipation of your arrival. How should she be welcomed? How do we respond to any demands if she changes the expectations of the tangi that had been meticulously organised? If she is older than all of us she has greater authority and status, and it's her sister, what do we do?

"She's the pretty one", I overheard, "... don't you remember...", "Tall and strong but very pretty!" This was my mama they were discussing.

"I don't think she is that old though", commented another, "We are the eldest here!" That was settled. The elders were comforted by this.

And then you arrived, unannounced at the entrance, you strolled straight past all the formalities, your walking stick guiding you through the intellectual moral melee of the room. You went straight to your sister lying in rest in an open casket waiting for your comfort. No words were spoken but the wailing of the elders who realised you were the oldest, with the highest status and the curiosities immediately became respect. I could hear the aunties and uncles quickly rearranging the structures to provide the greatest respect afforded for you, my mama. Your presence in its quiet and unassuming demeanour had such power to move a room and immediately resolve all curiosities. I was in awe that this was my mama.

OH, MAMA!

I remember... another juncture ... being told of the time you arrived at a very special tangi (funeral), of a highly respected best friend to your daughters, who often stayed at our home, always shining with great frivolity and laughter. A tangi where hundreds had gathered to comfort family and friends of this wonderful and amazing entertainer.

Arriving at the marae where she lay, the elders heard of your arrival and the quiet whispers of your presence, like ripples on a lake, filtered through the masses who had come to pay their respects. The elders quickly organised a pathway through the crowd, they created the space in the crowded wharenui, the house for consoling the passing, and provided the seating and comfort to honour your presence. I was not there this time, but I remember being told of this experience, by many others who attended, who were also in awe of the love and respect you have never sought but always awarded, just because of who you are ... My mama!

OH, MAMA, OH, PAPA

There are many stories that could be told of all that you and papa provided for your loving, though belligerent children, spoilt or not. But this is not to just acknowledge the many stories of your children, but of the story of the work and the roles you both contributed to the wider communities that have never been acknowledged with the exception of those who have passed through the doors of your home.

For the sleep-overs by the many, many, many friends of your daughters. The support provided to them when troubles in their own homes and their own personal lives required external guidance. You both furnished a space of love and acceptance that would shelter them.

Way too many females in the household were more often than not, a reason why so many so-called male friends were interested in 'attempting an overnight stay' through me in our home. But I saw through this 'guise', this testosterone facade and I was on to it and made rules and regulations that controlled a testosterone 'sleepover' recommendation!

But this story is not just about the functionalities of friends and family in the home!

OH, MAMA, OH, PAPA

This story is about how you managed 9 children, all the friends, all the sleepovers, all the dynamics and dysfunctionalities that arise from the many scenarios that were awakened. How you managed extended family who sent their wayward children hoping you would help them find opportunities to change their lives, or misguided directions, be it drugs, depression, and/or simple personal family issues, where space and patience were required.

And on top of all those dynamics, accepting the lost, the lonely, disadvantaged, misrepresented or homeless from the then, 'Social Welfare Department', who often sought your 4 bedroom home as a place of refuge for troubled teens who had nowhere to go. A place with space to reflect and rehabilitate thinking, purpose and practice.

It was rare that you would not accept anyone who knocked at your door. "There's always room", you would say, "... always a blanket, a mattress, a floor a couch and a roof to keep them inside from the cold". Oh Papa, you were a true legend!

To make matters worse ... I remember my personal journey of self-discovery exploring the beauty of New Zealand from the North Island to the deep heart of the beautiful South Island. It seemed obvious to me that the safety and security, the love and compassion that was part of my life growing up in our home, seamlessly learning love and compassion would be a wonderful gift to share with anyone and I mean everyone that I met.

With this in mind, I would always recommend that they call into your home and stay. "Just tell my parents that we met in Auckland, Wellington or Christchurch or in the vast lands of the high country". Without a thought or concern, I sent so many people back to your home where I knew they would be welcomed, cared for and accepted for who they were.

This included a group from the 'Children of God', founded by David Berg, who claimed to have 10,000 full-time members in 130 communities around the world by the 1970s. Luckily I met the harmless 'disciples' that belonged to a sect of which I had no immediate knowledge and I was lucky that's all they were at that time.

I sent artists, musicians, travellers from Paris, Sweden, Germany, Canada and America, friends I had with Hare Krishna, dancers, the homeless and people I met, who later and unfortunately brought the police into your home in search of those who had committed criminal offences around New Zealand.

Without question you both trusted and welcomed anyone who knocked on the door with the passwords, "We met your son and he said we could stay". What was I thinking! OMG In hindsight, is ignorance really bliss!

However, and this is not making excuses for one of my many wrong-doings, but many loved you both, were so very grateful, and some I have met in surprising and very different situations, much later, attribute their change of life to that time in your home. Your love, compassion, acceptance and understanding has always been a Godsend to all those who have walked through your doors.

There are so many who testify to the love they received from being in your presence. So many memories have been shared and acknowledged, time and time again.

You two are my Hero and Heroine. You selflessly changed so many people by leaving them all with the love, compassion and acceptance irrespective of who they were, from petty criminals to cult followers.

As if your own children were not challenging enough, you embraced everyone, and for this, you both became the 'Best kept Secret' that I now expose to the greater universe. From those who were fortunate to have enjoyed and shared your love in your home, and from your 'most' favourite son, you are the Hero and Heroine in my life, and this is shared by so many others.

OH, MAMA, OH, PAPA

I know I can speak for all who have lived within your home and those who have simply just walked through your doors for a brief but fortuitous moment in time - we all love you both so much!

If I can achieve just 10% of what you have both given in your lifetime, I will be forever grateful, so simply acknowledging and recognising the beauty that you brought to so many people is the best I can do at this moment in time.

Aroha nui (the greatest love)

You are our Hero and Heroine!

Peace and Love Always

Teriu

GLOSSARY:

+ New Zealand All Blacks: Famous New Zealand Rugby Team. Link HERE

+ Once Were Warriors: Famous New Zealand Film. Link HERE and is included within the story.

+ John Rowles: Music - Cheryl Moana Marie. Link HERE and HERE. Also included within the story.

+ Māori: Māori, indigenous New Zealander, an indigenous person of Aotearoa/New Zealand - a new use of the word resulting from Pākehā contact in order to distinguish between people of Māori descent and the colonisers. Thanks to https://maoridictionary.co.nz/

+ Tangihanga/Tangi: (Funeral). Weeping, crying, funeral, rites for the dead, obsequies - one of the most important institutions in Māori society, with strong cultural imperatives and protocols. Most tangihanga are held on marae. . Thanks to https://maoridictionary.co.nz/

+ Whanau: Family, extended family, family group, a familiar term of address to a number of people - the primary economic unit of traditional Māori society. In the modern context the term is sometimes used to include friends who may not have any kinship ties to other members.. Thanks to https://maoridictionary.co.nz/

+ Marae: Courtyard - the open area in front of the wharenui, where formal greetings and discussions take place. Often also used to include the complex of buildings around the marae. Thanks to https://maoridictionary.co.nz/

+ Wharenui: Meeting house, large house - main building of a marae where guests are accommodated. Traditionally the wharenui belonged to a hapū or whānau but some modern meeting houses, especially in large urban areas, have been built for non-tribal groups, including schools and tertiary institutions. Many are decorated with carvings, rafter paintings and tukutuku panels. Thanks to https://maoridictionary.co.nz/

+ Children of God: Religious Sect. Link HERE and is included within the story.

+ Hare Krishna: The Hare Krishna Movement. Link HERE and is included within the story.

+ Aroha nui: with deep affection - often used in signing off letters to friends. More correctly, it should be written as two words, aroha nui.. Thanks to https://maoridictionary.co.nz/