Rodney - a personal tribute

Rodney, you were my big brother, my nemesis, and my hero. You always seemed so brave. It goes without saying you’ve had a profound impact on my life. I loved you and I feared you. You were as quick to hurt as you were to be hurt. So what to say when most of it’s been said...

Our childhood was a funny one. We were typical farm kids. We had animals galore on our little 5 acre lot. Cows, sheep, goats, pigs, chickens, pet cats, pet dogs, and pet rabbits and even a parakeet. And with animals came the need for electric fences. And my brother had this special knack of working out if they were going or not. So it was Rodney mum used to send out to check to see if the electric fence was going – simple – he’d just hang onto it and say “Yep! It’s going.” Or “No it’s not.” None of the rest of us were game for that. And it was a handy trick when it came to our trips to Ted’s farm across the road mushrooming and exploring the shooting range. Just like Mum we’d ask Rodney if the fences were electric…until he worked out how much fun it was to tell us it was off when it was on. Nice!
It's no real surprise that later I screamed and ran when he started chasing me with a Stick Insect or a Praying Mantis yelling “It’s ok! It’s not poisonous!” Not only were they freaking ugly things but they just happened to be in my brother’s hand – I still have a fear of those things today.

The fun we had as kids building tree forts and playing in them with you, Rodney, in the trees out the front. And, later, graduating to castles, in the 2 piles of left-over concrete blocks from building the new house. Forming opposing factions with the Rutters, the Goldings, the Dollimores or any visitors keen for a plum fight or stone fight from the turrets we'd built into them. And learning to ride your motorbike – obviously where I got my love of motorbikes from.

I didn’t realise how strong an impact Rodney had had on me until I started teaching. I remember one of my first lessons at Otaki College as a student teacher – a rough bunch of fourth formers who, after my introduction, proudly stated, “We’re gonna make you cry, Miss.”

“Hah!” I thought, “Bring it on – I came to this school too, and you obviously haven’t had a brother like mine”.

I hadn’t realised until then how he had taught me how to handle whatever came my way and pick myself up, brush myself off and just get on with it. Thus I survived the rough first years of teaching and am now teaching an awesome bunch of fourth formers – or in modern terms “Year 10’s”. We are currently studying the movie 10 Things I Hate About You and I have used this as the inspiration behind my tribute to my brother

“10 things I hated about you”

I hated the way you teased us all and the way you didn’t share.
I hated the way you changed the rules when we played truth and dare

I hated when you tripped or hit me when I beat you in a race

I hated when you hurt yourself and others at our place

I hated how you hurt mum and dad and sometimes made them cry
I hated the way you were so bright but mostly that you didn’t have to try

I hated when you drank too much – even more, that it scared me,

I hated how some friends didn’t understand just how frightening you could be

I hated the migraines that made you sick and totally ruined your eye

I hated that you left us so soon and I didn’t get to say goodbye.

I hated how you had no control and we couldn’t keep you from your fall.
But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you — Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

R.I.P. Rodney: 21 June 1967 - 5 July 2013

This is the eulogy my sisters and mother gathered together to write in memory of our late brother. I just wanted to share the Rodney we knew with those people who have offered us their love and support despite not knowing him. 

Born on Nana’s birthday, Rodney was her only grandson. Cheryl Golding, who was in the home at the same time, says of him “He had a rough time from the minute he was born” and that is the truth of it. As a baby he slept little and ate much. He was climbing before he was walking and had to have his cot-side down before he was 10 months old so he wouldn’t fall while trying to climb out. He had his first migraine at around 18 months old which hospitalised him for a week and began the closure of his left eye.

He loved pulling things apart and playing with the neighbour’s children – Paul Golding and Andrew Russell. His favourite toys were his tractor and his 3 wheeler trike which he didn’t know how to make move so Paul and Andrew got the honour of pushing him around on it.

As a toddler he was always a tearaway. He made his stage debut the first Christmas after his toddler reins were removed when he disappeared while out shopping. Mum found him in the display window surrounded by a crowd. He was running around and around the revolving display holding up the 6 foot Christmas candle he’d knocked off its axis yelling “Mum! Help me!”

It wasn’t long after this that Rodney began his hitching days. One day when Dad was coming home from work for his lunch he picked Rodney up hitchhiking on Gorge Road. Rodney was carrying a possum trap and said “I’ve been possuming Dad.”  - He was 4 years old.

His primary school days were measured by his migraines and visits to the hospital with his ‘mate’ Sonny Jim. His first day of school was one of those few non-eventful days we had with Rodney in our lives.

As a child Rodney loved pies, fishing, pies, camping and pies. On family holidays he enjoyed visits to the Waiouru Military Museum. He loved building things and built his own bicycle for a school cycling trip; and his own toboggan, which we all had turns on up the mountain. It was during this time he became well known amongst friends’ and neighbours’ children – but we won’t mention why.

At 6 Rodney had had enough of home and decided to run away. He took the dog, a tin of dog food, a loaf of frozen bread and his 2 year old sister, Selina. He got as far as Mangaone Road (a little over a mile down the road), where he hid until he saw Dad coming. He then stood up in the long grass and yelled “Hide! Coz here comes Dad!”

He struggled learning to read which launched Mr Moore (our primary school principal) on an anti-dyslexic campaign and resulted in Rodney jumping 4 reading levels in 6 months and he never looked back. Corporal punishment was still considered effective in those days and Rodney developed an intimate relationship with “Black Death” – the pet-name our principal had given to his strap.

We often accompanied our brother on excursions to the back paddock to go, pine-coning, or fishing or building dams and hunting for crawlies in the creek. We loved to dare each other to crawl through the culvert under the crossing between the front and the back of the paddock – one of those things you didn’t do unless you went the whole way or wanted to have to crawl out backwards.

He didn’t take well to secondary school life. But the school took it worse. He quickly worked out his Year 9 maths teacher was still learning the Year 9 curriculum and reading one chapter ahead in the text book at night – so Rodney started reading two chapters ahead and asking questions from those chapters. Rodney was one of the only kids who learnt just to spite his teachers.

This is when Rodney became a jack of all trades. He could make anything. He began playing with electronics and making radios, made a wood inlaid chess box, and got Dad’s go-cart going (a door with an old lawn-mower motor and pram wheels). He also began experimenting with playing a guitar and discovered Bob Marley, Jimi Hendrix, Metallica and Frank Zappa.

It was in his teens he developed a love for motorcycles and his dog, Bessy. He became a familiar sight riding his motorbike with his dog on the tank. Bessy shared all of Rodney’s trials and tribulations and became his closest confidante.

Rodney couldn’t get out of school fast enough but wasn’t allowed to leave school until he had a job. So 6 weeks after his 15^th birthday he got his leaving certificate; coincidentally, on the same day as I (Suzette) did, and went milking for neighbours.  Rodney had a variety of jobs including becoming a theatre aid at Wellington Hospital which suited the macabre side of his sense of humour – as he got many chances to put people off their food retelling his ‘better work place stories’ around the dinner table. During this time he developed a close bond with a very close family friend, Tim Dollimore and they had a number of adventures together.  It wasn’t long until he made the move across the ditch to Australia – and was kindly sent home 3 years later by the Australian government free of charge and became one of few people who have been deported from a convict colony.

On his return he lived with Mum in Wellington and picked up his friendship with Tim, pretty much where they left off. He enrolled in, and dropped out of, a computer course where he was given an assignment which he completed without a problem but didn't agree with the tutors who tried to tell him it was wrong – if we know Rodney, the tutors were wrong and Rodney was right.

It was also around this time he met his lovely wife Kirsty but it took him many years to work out what, or who, was best for him. After a great deal of too-ing and fro-ing he followed her to Christchurch where he took his vows and became her husband. Two years later we gained our newest wee member of the Thompson Tribe – Amy, now 8 – who became the most precious thing in his life. Daddy’s princess was named after Grandma – Amy – for whom Rodney could do no wrong. His life with his princess was short but special for all who got to witness it… and now we say our final goodbye to the son, brother, husband and father who always struggled with the establishments which confined him. The struggle is over now brother and now you can rest easy.

We want to thank Rodney’s friends and extended family for the love and support they have given to him and us throughout his life. Particularly those who were there for him in recent years and months who we did not get to know – the staff and boarders at Mary’s guest house and his bosses and colleagues at Wire Display Systems – it is heart-warming to know that Rodney was surrounded with people who respected him and spoke well of him.

Before I go I want to read you a memory of our brother an old family friend sent on hearing of his untimely accident

“I just wanted to message you to say how sad I am to hear of Rodney’s passing.

Thinking of you and your family brought back a lot of memories of visiting your family in Te Horo.  – the drive there – will we see the man in his undies with tin flowers today? Swimming in the creek, crossing paddocks with electric fences and bulls that would charge you.

And then I thought of a night in Wellington, I’d been out having a party, the night didn't end well and I was sitting on the side of the street feeling low when some random guy sat next to me and started talking. It took me a few moments to realise that guy was Rodney – he didn't know who I was when he sat down either. He shared a smoke with me, made me get up on my feet again and get myself home safely.

A lot of people probably looked at him as someone who needed help, but I never forgot that night and looked at him as someone who helped me. I've never really told anyone that story before. Vanessa"

Please feel free to comment on my blog and share your own memories/experiences of Rodney, My sisters and I would love to hear them. We heard a few at his funeral but I'm sure there were some who felt too shy to share or who weren't able to make it.

Bus Wrecks

I love the way our life path can be so damn good and then SLAM - it's like being hit by a bus. The trick is working out if the goodness is reality or the bus. I vote the goodness.

Sometimes it is a simple error of judgement, life is good so we are just ambling along thinking everyone is heading in the same direction and then...SLAM...we find out we're not. Other times we are so busy looking behind us at what's passed we don't see them coming. Too often we are so busy putting up barriers to keep ourselves safe from the buses that we don't see them coming. Or maybe we sit there quietly throwing rocks at the buses in the hope of keeping them away but instead it pisses the driver off so... SLAM...we bring it on. These errors of judgement and the defensive mechanisms we often use to keep ourselves safe from the buses; these, unintentionally, become the offensive. We're all guilty of it but it's hard to admit it. Having been hit by a number of buses we try to avoid or defend against them. When it's the same driver we begin to avoid or defend against the driver. It's instinct. We don't consciously do it (just as Pavlov's dogs don't consciously salivate at the bell) but we do. It's self-preservation.

And we forget we aren't the only ones who get hurt. We forget the bus drivers get hurt too. They could be one of our family; one of our friends or simply a friend we haven't met yet (a stranger). Yes, some of them may well slam into their victims on purpose - sick bastards - OR...maybe because they felt justifiably provoked. But I can bet your last bus fare home most of them were merely following their own paths only to suddenly find themselves trying to avoid the barriers or dodge the rocks. Their own version of self-preservation.

But why is it we don't see the buses as opportunities instead of disasters waiting to happen? We could get on board and enjoy the ride. We could tuck in beside the driver and enjoy the company for a bit until it's time to find our own way. Or we could just wave as they pass and wish them well. They don't all have to end in carnage, do they?  

Unfortunately, we aren't always taught how to deal with these 'buses,' we look at them in the wrong light, seeing them only as detrimental and missing the potential they offer. And as a result we think the looking behind us at what's passed will help us recognize the bus when we see it. Or the barriers we build will either hide us or protect us. Or the rocks we throw will give them the message we don't want to be hit...again. Whatever the case it doesn't matter how good life gets, too often we make the bus wrecks our reality and spend too much time focussing on defending, attacking, avoiding and dodging instead of looking the bus right between the headlights and waving it down. And then it's a matter of trusting the driver will actually stop. But in reality...what's the alternative? I guess if you can cope with the occasional carnage of a bus wreck in your otherwise happy life path then the barriers or rocks or busy-ness of looking behind are just a small price to pay. Otherwise get out there and get waving.

Wedded Bliss?

Wedded Bliss?
I often get the feeling people think I'm somehow defective for not having been married and not wanting to be. I often get asked why? And it's a hard one to answer. It's not that I've not had my 'suitors' coz I have, it's more that it's never been something I wanted. Just as some people want to travel while others don't or some people want to climb the career ladder while others don't, I just don't want to be married.

So why is it that someone who enjoys a fulfilling single life is seen to be defective by so many dissatisfied people who wear their marriage like a badge? Like it's some sort of proof that they are OK and loved. Why is it so many people need this? And why am I so sure it's not what I need? It's funny, I like the idea of having someone special to spoil and love and share rare moments with but I'm lucky enough to have a circle of friends who offer that. Sometimes I will look at the moon on a clear and cool night and just smile at how good life can be merely because I am. Each day I breathe and I know I'm alive and somehow I know I am loved, not necessarily by others but by me. I live the life I love.

The weird thing is that the less fulfilled a person seems to be in their marriage the more they appear to judge me for not wanting to be. While those who have found their soul mates and have wonderful and fulfilling marriages genuinely fear that, if I don't find my own soul mate, I will grow old and be lonely (that's why I love you Melanie and Andrew :). They are some of my dearest friends and I love them and admire the wonderful relationships they have. And also love that they respect my decision.

And I don't understand why it's so hard for so many to come to terms with the idea that I don't intend to grow old, anyway. Seriously! I'm the most existential person you could meet and yet I'm slowly being convinced I might live for a very long time yet. And then I panic! Shit! That's not meant to happen. I have no plan to get old. It's not that I expect to be young forever, I just don't think about it. I live for the 'here and now', the next party, the next sports game, the next trip overseas. Time and money are my enemy. I dislike them and they keep working against me to stop me from truly living. There are so many things to do and so little time and money to do it. I particularly hate sleeping for that reason - it seems like such a waste of a third of my life. Life is for living, not chasing the dollar and sleeping.

I love being part of this world and it's history

World Cup Fever

I can't go this week without professing my pride for our wonderful boys in white. They have done us proud.

Not only am I a footballer, myself, but I am a crazy mental sport nut. Therefore, I have been waiting for the FIFA World Cup finals with baited breath. Waiting to see how our All Whites would fare in their first appearance in 28 years. Waiting for the chance to, once again, see our boys competing on that world stage, a stage that was so high up in the grand scheme of things that, until 7 months ago, it seemed an impossible dream. Having not won or drawn a single match in our campaign of 82, a mere draw with Slovakia was our best chance of securing our first finals point for our history books. A feat comparable to catching a star.

Ranked 78th we are the 3rd lowest ranked team in the finals. The 2nd lowest is South Africa (83rd), who didn't have to qualify to enter (they are the host nation), and the bottom is Korea DPR at 105th. Compare that to the next lowest ranking team above us - Korea Republic at 47th - and you have a real indication of how nearly impossible our star is to reach, let alone catch. Add to that equation our pool: current world champions - Italy (ranked 5th), Paraguay (ranked 31st) and Slovakia (34th); and you realise our dream is light years away.

However, in the unbelievably dramatic final minute of extra time we somehow caught that star. Winston Reid scored the goal which drew our match with Slovakia and the universe was suddenly at our fingertips. One precious world cup final point and we have again surpassed our wildest dreams. With that we were satisfied. And a new pride descended upon our country while our neighbours wanted to claim our success as theirs... Australasians indeed!

On the eve of our showdown with reigning world champions it became apparent how much this point had affected our people. New Zealanders, who previously had no interest in football (yes even our artists), who didn't think we had a chance in hell of beating the Italians let alone drawing with them, made their plans to get up at 2am anyway. Many Kiwis, who were not really aware of the enormity of the feat our boys faced, only really wanted to have a look to see what the fuss was all about. Little did they know they would witness more history in the making...

World Champions? While the Italians go into mourning for the phenomenal 1-1 draw our boys pulled out of the great blue yonder, the Kiwis celebrate another deliriously dazzling result and exalt in the glory of our All Whites. While on the other side of the Tasman, not wanting to be outshone, our neighbours join us in celebrating and are suddenly proud to be Kiwi. (Woops! They mean Australasian).

The All Whites have shown us what can be achieved against the odds. But we are also humbled by our boys. They have worked hard in the face of a nation who usually only ever exalts rugby stars (I have been guilty of it myself). And they have won our hearts. From a nation where we have all of 25 professional footballers (Italy have over 3500), our rising stars have brought a proud footballing nation to their knees. These boys have, against all odds, created history. What more could we want?? Nothing! We are champions in our eyes.

GO THE ALL WHITES! Making us proud.

What a Wonderful World - WWW

Well, my baby has been in France now for 2 months and counting. Things are going really well and she is settling in well. It sounds like she is starting to hold her own in her ability to speak French now which is great, altho she is a bit slow on it. Whatever, I am impressed and extremely proud. But I think one of the most wonderful things in the world is watching how much closer my babies get despite the distance.

The wonders of the internet and it's ability to bring the world closer together should never be undervalued. I love watching my kids bring joy to each other over the internet despite being miles apart. Being an only child in a house with just a mum and staying in a town away from school friends every weekend has got to be tough on a kid so any time my son can get with his sister despite the distance is valued by him. My son misses his sister in ways I can never imagine so it is a comfort to know that he can quite happily connect with her early on weekend mornings, when I am still sleeping and recovering from a long working week, and 'hang out'. I wish I had had such a relationship with my siblings when I was their age.

As for me, I miss my precious baby. I am running long distances now and it hit me, the other day on my run, that it is still another 9 months til she comes home. It's nothing like boarding school where she is just down the road and she can come home when I feel the need to see her. She's a long, long, LONG way from home. But it's ok, I knocked that lump in my throat back into shape and swallowed my tears and continued my run. Every step brings me closer to the homecoming of my more grown up baby. In the meantime we have to blow kisses over cyberspace.

x

My First Half-Marathon

Woohoo! So stoked. I ran my first half-marathon today and am so stoked to have finished. I achieved my goals for both the first half and the second half. First half was to 'just keep going' and my second half goal was to 'just keep on keeping going'. Hehe! My knee was hurting the whole way around but it only really hindered me in the final quarter. Just getting too old eh??

It's funny the things that go through your head when you're running... like for instance Dori came to mind "Just keep running. Just keep running. Running, running, running..." Oh and that stupid song "Sunday morning, up with the lark, I think I'll take a walk in the park..." NUTS! And I can't believe I just shared that with you. No worse than sharing it with all those people running the halfie tho! But it was a beautiful Sunday morning, the weather really treated us well. :-)

People often assume I am far fitter than I actually am but it has taken a lot of preparation to get to this point I can tell you and my time wasn't overly fast, unofficially it was just over 2hours. I just know that I couldn't have done the preparation as a single parent and working fulltime. Finding two hours in a day after a full day's work to go for a run wouldn't be easy. Thank god for study leave!

Now that I have achieved this I intend to continue, I am so keen to do more so that should help motivate me. I hope that by the time I get back to work I will have developed myself enough that I am only having to run an hour and a half instead of two when I'm training. Time is just so precious and there is only so much of it.

Now to deal to this knee... ice :-( Urgh!