Mick’s mixed tape
The long overdue about me piece.
So here we are. 29th of Jan 2023. It’s a Sunday afternoon here in Melbourne. The washing machines churn is comforting.
The dogs are asleep after their long walk.
I have a full tummy from some delicious food we’ve made and an even better iced coffee made for me with love by my eldest son.
And the day started in the best possible way — in the warm embrace of a Sunday morning sleep in with my partner in this life.
I am feeling pretty content at the moment — as I mentioned in a response to a comment left Blogs by J about 15mins ago.
And as I have read the words and truth of all you here (thanks Judy Walker especially for your authenticity and vulnerability in your latest piece) I now feel like I am ready to tell my story — not that I haven’t thrown more than enough pieces of the jigsaw puzzle of me on the table here on medium over the last year (over 100 pieces in fact — which amazed me!)
I’d also like to say that I am NOT writing this in a ra-ra-aren’t-I-incredible-it’s-all-about-me-ego-driven-kinda-way. It’s rather just a point in time when I feel like I can and want to write this now :)
So here goes.
I was born over 50 years ago in Durban — South Africa. A hot and humid east coast city of over 4 million people from a range of very diverse cultural backgrounds. I am the brother to 2 sisters, and as I’ve shared in some other pieces — I was lucky to be born at all.
I grew up as the privileged white minority under the ghastly apartheid regime of South Africa. A regime that separated and segregated to the benefit of the very few. And I was one of them. My family were able to live where they wanted, we had access to good schools and infrastructure and opportunity. We had the benefit of cheap indentured ‘labour’ in nannies and gardeners to help us — who often lived at our home away from their families.
I never knew the true hardship or sense of loss or frustration that so many in South Africa did. I only fully realised the true divide when I was listening to Trevor Noah’s — Born a Crime so many many years later whilst lying flat on my back here in Melbourne — whilst I started to process my reality of my mother’s cancer.
My father was an architect. He pulled himself up from nothing to become a senior partner in a large firm. And he did all he could for others to help — often at his own expense. He lost his ability to speak in the last year of life — but he was still there for us and those he loved in life. He was a gentle gentle man.
My mother was strong, and forthright. And pretty much always right in her mind but with a heart that was huge :) She yearned to have kids and ended up having me and my eldest sister despite some pretty big challenges. She fought for us — always. Until she had to fight for some of her own needs to. And then things changed. As they do. She too passed — and not with me by her side. And it has been hard to find and then process the grief. But writing and talking with truth has helped me.
As I said we grew up in Durban with many fond memories— and it was when I was 10 that our home and then world changed. And we were all apart. My mother doing what she could to give us the home she longed for, and my father beginning his life as a new father. And the two worlds intersected and bumped into each other on weekends, and Tuesdays and in awkward moments too.
And my sister and I and my mother moved from house to tiny house with our ever faithful Rosetta by our side. Rosetta was our maid (I HATE that word) — but she was there to clean, and wash and look after us when were at home and my mother was doing what she could to support us. She was always there. And my heart breaks for all the moments spent with her — but not truly with the love and acknowledgment for all she did for us and our family. Rosetta — and to all the others (Bessie, Joseph and more) — I thank you from the bottom of my heart. For all your sacrifices, and love and care that you showed us — despite the torrent of life you faced daily living in South Africa whilst being black.
As a teenager I grew up in a house full of strong women, my mother and sister in particular — and a LOT of strangers too. My mother’s home was a place for others. Her food was their’s too. And it kinda became a halfway house for those that needed it. Her warmth and compassion showed no bounds to all these visitors — but it came with a cost for me. I grew up feeling very apart from it all — alone — and with what felt like little of her love for me — and even less love for my rather chubby self.
I never went to parties.
I never invited friends home — as my home life was too ‘shameful’ in my eyes. A home filled with music, and drinking and dope-smoking of many. A mother finding herself in many relationships with both men, and then women too. And a shame for myself that was just too hard to bridge.
Movies (on VHS) and music (on vinyl, then CDs and cassette tapes) became my world. Followed by sketching others in my books in black pen. I never drew their faces — the sketches always stopping at the neck and at the pages’ boundary. Bruce Springsteen kept me company — as did listening to the blues — and then a plethora of 80s / early 90s indie rock — queue The Pixies, Nirvana, and more. I made so many mixed tapes for others. Queing them up on vinyl or CD and recording them on cassettes. Then hand-writing the tracks on the insert-sleeves. I can’t remember how many I made — but there were a lot. And as I said in the comment on the photo for this piece — music was MY way of relating to the world, and to express myself — my gratitude, my loneliness or as the hormones grew :) — my need for someone to love … me.
I finished school — and chose to study architecture much to my father’s admonishment :) He knew the balancing act that it required — and perhaps was broken by years of administering rather than designing. But University was the place that could start to be me. And with my new-found freedom with having a drivers licence and an old bright blue Citroen wagon I christened ‘Mud Honey” I lost a lot of weight running on the beach and doing my thing. I reconnected with friends and found myself — and the confidence to venture out into the world.
And I met someone through University — and the relief of being seen, and wanted and touched for the first time was huge. So so so huge. I could see myself in a way that was from outside of myself — and through the eyes of another. And it ended — as things do — and I moved forward by myself. And then met her, and kissed on my 21st for the first time. And then finished university, and travelled and returned to South Africa just as Nelson Mandela was released and the nation emerged from it’s shameful 50 or so years.
And we made a life together and married under the trees with friends with a handfasting and much love of all. And moved to Cape Town where the next chapter unfolded that lead to becoming a parent for the first time one very windy September morning.
And the gift of being able to truly see life from outside of myself was given.
The gift of outside love. The gift of being a parent to another.
A little piece of you now outside and in the world.
And this love and fear of the challenges facing the new South Africa became too much, and it was just over 20 years ago that we packed our bags and moved to New Zealand with not a lot of money — and a lot of uncertainty. Were we running away? Perhaps. Were we pulled by the life on the other side of the world in NZ? A life not fully known in the days before Google — and maps and instagram and blogs. But went anyway — and forged a life in a small coastal community in the beautiful Eastern Bay of Plenty. — with the help of many very amazing and generous people. People I call friends and family or “Whanua” now.
And it was here that our 2 other sons were born, and grew up. Running around barefoot, and marvelling when they saw lifts/ elevators or other big city things when we visited Auckland!
But all the time there were challenges. As there are in life.
And the 8 years flew by — until the GFC hit — and we decided to make our next home in Melbourne where opportunity seemed brighter.
I marvel and shake my head at how we uprooted ourselves. I am not one to plan too well — and I have a place deep inside me where I yearn for the chance to reconsider a lot of the impulsive and ill-considered decisions — and actions I’ve taken in life. Decisions that have led to those I love the most having to put up with a lot of shit and hardship.
And so it was again in Melbourne. Re-rooting a family in another unknown place. Without the support of a smaller community and with financial pressures a-plenty. And with 3 young boys growing up fast. All with their own sense of belonging being challenged. And my partner — plucked from her established career in NZ - to being a stay-at-home mother whilst we re-established. Shitty times indeed. A blur for me, and I know tough for all of us. I wrote a poem and drew a picture in these years. I shared it here It makes me so sad to read it. And reflect. But that is life. A series of moments.
But the roots grew, and we became a self-sufficient family that knew ourselves well. So well that Covid’s challenges didn’t veer us much off-course. We all knew each other so well. Yes we were sick of each other some of the time — but we had each other’s backs. Always.
And then there is the last year or so — with the passing of my mother back in South Africa (during covid), and then the BIG 50 Birthday. I hit a bit of a wall after 20 years of being busy. Of surviving. Of doing soooo much for others, and forgetting about myself.
And it caught up.
And there was a moment one morning about a year ago when I woke up and realised things needed to change.
And I joined a mens-group here in Melbourne to be able to speak authentically about all my ‘stuff’ and more importantly to listen to all the other stories, and challenges and hopes and losses.
And I started to reach out to others, and ask for help when I needed it. Both at home and with others.
And I started to talk to a counsellor. Who is here and reads and supports me as a friend. Thank you T!
And then I started to write and read and share here — with all you amazing amazing humans Natalie, Benighted, Daisy Bergmann-Reid, Blogs by J, Stella Lyn Norris, Hermione Wilds Writes, Mhstuart, Jenny Lane, Ted Czukor, We Speak Your Heart, Kunal Mehra, Judy Walker, Melissa Gray, Sara Larca, ItsAlwaysRightNow, Reece Reid and so many many others (apologies if I missed your name).
And the healing, and learning and connection continued — as my words flowed forth — and your words reached me.
And there you have it. A rambling unedited track of my life until today.
On this beautiful Sunday afternoon.
With Love
And hugs, as always, my friends and fellow amazing human beings.
Mick
