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Monday, 5 January 2015

Hands big and tough



My dad will always be the bravest man I ever knew. He was scared of nothing and no one. A man who took pride in his work.

He always said "give your best when doing anything especially when working." Who taught me never to be a beggar.

I felt safe when I was around him even when he was old sickly and dying. I knew when I was with him I was in good hands and all troubles will fade.

My anchor. The one who had so much faith in me said, “You can do it and you will be ok my son.” and he made me believe it.
 
My First memory with my dad is with him holding my hands and counting. We were driving to the drive-in and I was sitting on his lap. It must have been close to the middle of year. As I recall it was cold and he was heating up my hands in his one hand, while he was steering the car with the other.

We were moving slowly the last fifty meters into the drive–in. How big and strong his hand were and rough from manual labour, yet so gently covering mine, one hand covered both my hands. We were counting. I always counted with him. My dad was a numbers man. A mathematical man.

“ 1+1 is 2, 2 + 2 is 4, 4 + 4 is 8 … ..” we would count together like this into the thousands. A thing I always enjoyed doing with him. It was a song to me. Something that relaxed me.

There was a traffic jam. So the car was a moving slow and I could sit on his lap while he was driving. Back then there were no safety belts and I suppose people were less aware. However, I felt safe. 

To get into the drive in was always a mission, the line was always long and slow. We used to go as a family. Mom, Dad and brothers, Geepile and Doosa.


The drive-in was very exciting. Back then there were no tv's in South Africa. We seldom went to the movies since it was costly. 

Sometimes we used to have projector movies at home. Old western movies. Or cow boys, with John Wayne. I don’t really recall the movies. But I do remember my uncle's house, in Lotus River. 

The extended family used to go there and watch these cowboy movies of John Wayne. What an event it always was. Uncles, aunts, kids,  cousins etc. Prob around 30 people crammed in a 30m2 room with a projector. My uncle loved those cowboy movies. It’s the only thing we ever watched there. 

Every time something happened everyone would scream aloud and when the bad guys where wining we would shout . "wait till the “rooketjie “ comes." That was a word for the hero. 

I never liked these western movies. Found them so boring and always the same. And it was so smoky all the adults smoking. The projector would stop and the picture would jump about. And then the operator had to move before the movie would burn.

Sometimes by my moms brother, the adults would watch erotic movies.

Reminds me of the time my parents and some aunts and uncles were watching erotic adult movies. I was allowed to watch with. They thought perhaps I was too small too understand. 

My brothers and cousins who were older were at the door. I could see how they were peaking through the  keyhole. I think even back then I got a mini erection.

But erotic movies then was like family movies now that even have more nudity.

Was I enjoying the nude females? I think I was. I cannot recall a time when I did not like the look of a beautiful nude female. Specifically the legs. I like smooth fit or muscular white legs. I would grab them and attach myself to legs. My mom told me how I used to dive onto girls with short skirts and just dig into their legs and pubic areas.

To be continued....
 



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