A 30-day challenge
Growing Up in New Zealand
Day 6 — Write about a childhood memory
Being the eldest, I had the privilege of sleeping on the top bunk. I remember waking up to a creaking ceiling and sincerely fearing for my life. I often pictured the upstairs neighbor falling through the roof and crushing me instantly. It sure was an incentive to get out of bed!
Breakfast was Weet-Bix or Marmite on toast accompanied by the odd hot Milo on special mornings. Saturdays were spent in studded boots sprinting through rain, wrestling in mud, and diving onto frosted grass.
Like a slow-motion movie scene, I would intercept the cold, egg-shaped ball and run like my life depended on it! As I crossed the line proudly, I would hear my family cheering amongst the crowd. The reward at the end of a tough match was a hot sausage folded in a slice of white bread with a squizzle of tomato sauce. At the time, rugby was life; I even represented the capital city of my country, Wellington, at the prime age of 11.
I was a green belt, brown tip in Kyokushin Karate by the same age — three gradings away from a black belt! Two kicks in the head won me many first-place trophies in tournaments across New Zealand. My grandma loved watching my fights. That’s sarcasm, by the way.
My go-to snack at 11 years old was buttered (or margarined) bread microwaved for 30 seconds. I could eat half a loaf in one sitting! I don’t know if my parents knew; I would hate to have been the one doing the shopping.
My all-time favorite activity was racing down the hill in my third-hand rollerblades alongside my neighbor, Amanda. I used to wonder if her tomboyish nature had anything to do with her name, A-man-da. I remember grazed knees and frozen peas! And playing handball on the cracks in the driveway.
Not my dad’s proudest moment, he had a near-death experience in a drunk driving car accident — rolled the car six times (don’t ask me who counted).
As a result, all of our supermarket trips were made on foot. The walking there was alright, it was the walking back that was tough! My dad would have three bags in each hand and my brother and I would carry our fair share of the load. Did I mention we lived up a hill? I could have sworn my arms would fall off!
I remember super-sized cockroaches in the shed, connected to the house by a few downward concrete steps. Come to think of it, they were probably normal-sized cockroaches, but my eyes were smaller back then.
My parents were separated but living together. My dad was a budding wedding and lifestyle photographer and my mum, a taste tester at the supermarket. My dad and sister slept on a pull-out couch in the lounge, my mum and brother in the bed below mine. Our house was tiny, but I didn’t care. We were together, and we were happy!
I guess it would have been a stressful time for my parents, but I was well sheltered from it. They made me feel like the most blessed, happy, and loved kid, and I will always appreciate them for it!
Check out this poem dedicated to my mum on Mother’s Day!
Check out this rap I wrote for my dad before he passed away!
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