Quake

My first memory is of an earthquake. I was born in Wellington, New Zealand. But this earthquake occurred somewhere else, possibly Christchurch or Rotorua. The time and place are shaky, just like the geology.

I was standing in my cot, looking towards the glass doors. My father was standing in front of them – he was swaying from side to side in a jerky movement, but standing still at the same time. The whole world was moving from side to side.

My mother told me much, much later that she had rushed to my cot to remove the mirror that was hanging above me, because it was threatening to come off its hook and straight onto my head.

Twenty-two years later, my father told me I had been adopted – the world I had known began shaking again, and it hasn’t stopped since.

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This Coughing Will Kill Me

My mother was an asthmatic who spent a lot of time confined to her bed. My earliest memories are of her telling me, “this coughing will kill me one of these days”. I was terrified of her dying – at night I imagined her lifeless in her bed, her eyes wide open, glowing at me in the dark.

When I was about eight years old, I happened to be walking home from school when I saw an ambulance in our driveway with my mother being loaded in the back on a stretcher – I thought she had died. Too frightened to go home, I ran into my neighbour’s house and we watched the ambulance drive away.

My father came to take me home hours later. I’ve always wondered how he knew where to find me and what I would have done if I’d arrived home a few minutes later to an empty house.

My mother died when I was 32. “She’s actually gone and done it this time,” was the first thought that crossed my mind. Never again would I have to face this childhood fear that had accompanied me into my adult life.

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Something Else

I remember my mum spending hours plaiting my hair while I sat on a hard stool, struggling to stay awake. It was intoxicating – the sleepiness, the glow of parental attention, and my mother’s fingers tangling and twisting my hair while her friend stayed awake to help her.

It was only later that the night made sense. I eventually understood what they were talking about. It turns out it had nothing to do to me – I was just an excuse to stay up late talking about the affair.

This was what parenting was to my mum. Children were just an excuse to keep them busy while they thought about something else.

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Stray

As a child, I desperately wanted a cat to love, but my mother’s stance was firm. Occasionally I’d bring home a stray cat that had inadvertently wandered across the school yard. Once I put a kitten in our tree in the back yard and wondered why it wasn’t there the next morning.

One day my sister and I found a fluffy, black kitten at school and stuffed it in my school bag to bring home. We thought we’d keep it in our bedroom without Mum knowing. When Mum picked us up from school, she didn’t go straight home, instead she stopped at the shops and made us get out of the car. It was a 35 degree day but we couldn’t tell her our secret.

My sister and I went back to the car before Mum and tried to break in – to literally “let the cat out of the bag”. As we tried hopelessly to break into the car, a policeman came along and asked us what we were doing.

The kitten lived, but it ran away as soon as we got home.

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What Ever Happened to Jenny?

I am 55 years old, but when I was at primary school, my parents’ friends would come over on Saturday afternoons. They had a daughter who, sadly, was intellectually impaired, deaf and unable to speak. She communicated by making grunting sounds and using hand gestures. She was older than me, but I’m not sure how much older.

On arrival she would come up to my sisters and me, touch our long hair, then bolt through the house up to our swings in the back yard and swing as high as she could. She would then race back down to see us – she loved brushing and plaiting my long hair.

I would just stand there and let her do it – she was rough, as she would accidently tug my hair from the excitement. It made her so happy.

I remember being a little uncomfortable, but would still just stand there and let her plait my long red hair. I can’t recall when the visits stopped, but I’ve often wondered – what ever happened to Jenny…?

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Love Shack – 1980’s

In 1987, my sisters and I used to wear tasseled dresses just to dance around the living room to ‘Love Shack’ by the B52’s on 7-inch single.

My mother was bi-polar, but I was too young to know what she was dealing with. I was only seven years old, so all I knew was that she could be crazy-fun or really sad.

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Floods and Books – 2010’s

I remember the day well. It was after the 2010/2011 floods – my work was closed due to the floods and I had cabin fever, so I decided to go to Naio’s to see my god-child. It was then that I passed on my love of reading.

We read ‘Hairy Maclary’ and played with my yarn – I had hoped to crochet at Naio’s house but my love of books got in the way. It was a precious moment when I came to know that my god-daughter loved books too. Since that day, we have read the ‘Hairy Maclary’ series and Bananas in Pajamas.

Every time I visit their house, I always get asked the same question: “Aunty Annie, can you read me a book please?”

The answer is always yes, of course. I believe that books are the key to unlocking other doors. If her appreciation of books is fostered while she still has a desire for reading, it will set her up for a great start to life – a life hopefully filled with plenty of great literature.