Lucubration

As I sit in contemplation of what to write, I often reflect over life experiences, which accounts for the occasional memoir recently.

I don’t particularly like recalling my childhood as for all the occasional laughter there were several moments of unhappiness, being bullied for one thing or another, usually, though not exclusively, by a permanently angry big sister; and a rather heated cold shoulder from an estranged parent if ever our paths chanced to cross.

However, these drama queens aside, there were other problems that grew worse upon attending secondary school.  On the one hand, all had viewed me as black, and on the other, the black kids I met up with at secondary school considered me somewhat ‘white’. 

The bad dream of childhood became the nightmare of adolescence.

I was glad when my schooldays were over.

About fifteen years ago, I wrote a few pieces about growing up in the city, which were published by my local newspaper, but I had to keep them light for a mainstream provincial readership.  Besides which, as cruel as they can be, at the end of the day, kids are kids; with time, one can look back in languor.

However, kids are as much a part of society as adults, and society was different back then before political correctness had been as current a concept as today.  Attitudes were not as enlightened; admittedly nothing as retarded as say America or South Africa in the 20^th century, but well, excuse me if I sound like a grandparent at Christmas, the kids of today don’t know that they’re born – hopefully.

Anyway, enough of my sombre lucubrations.  Coffee doesn’t make itself.