Fathers, sons and donkeys

My dad and I live together on the farm.

Most of the time we only have each other as company. He is 78 years old, his short term memory is very bad, for all practical purposes he made the days and places of his youth his home and he is unable to grasp modern concepts like Google, email, or blogs. Spiritual direction is Greek to him and I am unable to convey to him the importance writing has for me. Something that cannot be welded or turned in a lathe, or measured or calculated and for which you do not have to wear an overall in his eyes does not count for work.

There are conflicting emotions within me where my father is concerned.

 Quite often I am frustrated out of my wits.

Our conversations are repetitions of well worn phrases. First thing in the morning: “What’s the weather like?” or “Beautiful morning, isn’t it.” Watching him where he is pouring tea into our cups I wait for the familiar: “There are still left if you want some more.” Every time the washing is done, he wants to take of his sheets so that it can be washed. Constantly I am informed that the world’s economic situation is in dire straits, not because he is up to date with the state of the Dollar or the European Union’s negotiations with Greece, but because people are greedy. I wait for his regular prophecy: “It will be said about the kingdoms of the rich ‘and it fell: and great was the fall of it.’” I am well informed about the coupon system during and the shortages after the Second World War. Every day of the year is the birthday of someone in the family – dead or alive. He just can’t remember whose.

The questions never stop: “Which day is it? Is the maid coming in today? What is the pin number of my card? Have you seen my wallet? Do you know whether I’ve taken my pills? When are we going to the clinic? What is the date? Georgie, where are you?” when he phones me on the cell phone. “Do you know what the situation with my bank account is? Where is the chutney? Where is the bread? You take your tea black? Only one sugar? Do you know whether we closed the gate? Is the alarm activated at the workshop? Have I taken my pills? What day is it? Whose birthday is it today? Have you seen my glasses? Do you know where my wallet is?”

On and on and on. There are days when I feel suffocated by questions.

While I’m busy in the workshop he’ll come in to help, but before long he is directing the cuts and the tools to be used. The result is often an argument and hurt feelings because of me saying I can manage quite well on my own, thank you. I am of the opinion that all my previous projects that I’ve done – without him – have not registered with him. I become upset because I feel he is not giving credit where credit is due, or that he doesn’t trust me in doing things right.

But then, at times when he visits my brother or sister, I miss him and worry about him. He has been in hospital a few weeks ago for a minor operation and during that period it was a constant concern of mine that he mustn’t get lost in the wards. I can only imagine how frightening it must be if you’re in a strange place and you have to find your stuff in your bag when under normal circumstances you’re not even sure about the day of the week and you carry all the keys of the workshops and the cars with you so that you have them when you... . Yes, when you what? “Why did I take the keys? Where was I going? What was it that I wanted to do?”

By the day my father becomes my child.

Recently I started reading the history of David in the Bible again. I went way back. Up to Saul. There I got stuck.

It struck me how this handsome tall man – his beauty is mentioned almost immediately into the story (1 Sam 9:2) – chosen to be the first king of Israel, was still so much son of his father when we first meet him. Along with a servant he is looking for some lost donkeys of his father Kish. Then follows the whole history with Samuel and his anointment as king. And tucked away or half hidden within the flow of this dramatic narrative, in 1 Sam 10:2, we see Samuel saying to Saul that he will find people on his way home who will inform him of the donkeys that were found. But according to Samuel they will also say, ““Your father has forgotten about the donkeys and is worried about you, wringing his hands – quite beside himself.” (The Message)

I read that and feel as if to say: “I can only imagine how you must have felt, Saul my friend. If you were to live today and you have done all your rounds at the factories and suppliers for the day and you are on your way back from Benoni, just after 17hoo there in the vicinity of Etwatwa, your cell phone will ring on the seat next to you in the bakkie. You will pick it up and as expected you’ll see it is your father Kish. You will answer and he will say, “Hey there Saul my boy. Where are you?”

“… but George did not tell him about the matter of kingship about which Samuel had spoken.”

  (1 Sam 10:16 – International Standard Version)

Maybe one of Saul’s biggest concerns during his kingship was the fact that his father was getting old.

What I must get to understand is that for a long while now my father has forgotten about the donkeys. And it has nothing to do with his memory.

George