One for the 'Old' Man

This is a story of a peculiar man that’s still a bit too young to be a grandpa but too old to be my gym buddy.

Once upon a time, he was born. Fair enough. However, that’s just about the only normal thing about his life.

Craving an adventure one day after caddying at the Johannesburg golf course in his early years, he thought, “Hmm. I wonder what it would be like to go and work for some abusive, middle-aged Indian man who would keep me as a slave under the guise of employment. Let me give it a go!” So, off went he went into the sunset, telling his mom that he had found a job. Sending him off with a gentle motherly smile, little did she know that his son was about to tempt fate, as he would do for much of his early adult life.

Lo and behold, the peculiar young man got the slave treatment. The Indian man wouldn’t even let him go back home to his family. His mom, of course, was not worried: peculiar man would bring home an income, after all. Anyway, to cut a long story short, peculiar man ended up having to escape in the dark of night when he realised that being enslaved under the guise of employment was no fun.

Was this enough adventure for him? ‘Course not! One sunny day, when peculiar man was older and could choose a career, he chose electricity of all things. Shocking decision. Be that as it may, he went ahead with it. While he was in training, he was put in a group with a much bigger, scary white man who could probably break peculiar man’s bones just by thinking about it (he had quite a small frame). Logic would now dictate that he stay as far away from big, scary man as possible.

Not peculiar man. He went right ahead and picked fights with big, scary man, not just once, or twice, or three times, but all the time. Did big, scary man end up squashing peculiar man’s body into a pile of beef? No. Should peculiar man thank his lucky stars that this was the case? Absolutely.

As he got older, peculiar man’s taste for danger showed no signs of diminishing. He would come home in the dark of night from work during the violent days of Apartheid’s twilight, gunshots all around him, and furthermore, he’d shout a few nice words to the hostile Boer policemen who were salivating for an excuse to give a black stubborn black man some nightmares, euphemistically speaking. He’d run through  “police dog”-infested fields, being chased halfway to death, and still lived to tell the tale

Peculiar man’s craziest exploit was still to come, though. At a friend’s wedding, he met hurricane Suzan. Did he run for cover? ‘Course not! Instead, he proceeded to court hurricane Suzan. Furthermore, when hurricane Suzan’s father basically pointed a shot-gun to his head (in not so many words), did he give up? Negative. He went on to marry hurricane Sue. HE MARRIED HURRICANE SUE!!

From this crazy act, however, came me (and two other atomic bombs). This essentially means that I owe my existence to peculiar man’s insanity. For this reason, as you can imagine, I quite like peculiar man.

 And if you haven’t figured it out already, peculiar man is my dad Norman Moyo, who celebrates his 49^th Birthday today. This is a tribute to him. Dad, thanks for all the craziness you have gone through, for and with us. Looking back at it now, there is method to your madness.

Happy Birthday