My early years

Growing up

1973-1979

A story must begin at the beginning, a chronological tale must be told. The story starts with the stories of both my parents, who modeled me into what I am and who directed my life with the decisions they made. 

About 3 years old - Killick ave, Pretoria (1976)

My parents

Mom was one of 10 kids and my dad grew up on a farm in the Bushveld as one of 3 kids. My dad is the oldest of his siblings. His father died when he was a boy of 10 years old, and his grandparents played a huge role in his upbringing. Mum, on the other hand, was child number 7, and with her very unique personality disappeared into the background of a very large and vocal family. She used to hide away with a book and a candle in the closet to read and retreat into her own world. Both of them grew up in strict disciplinarian families, where things were black and white. In the 1940s and 1950s in South Africa, Afrikaner families were usually very large and mostly poor. The post-world war 2 era produced the baby boomer generation.

They both aimed for a better life. Even though mom had to leave school at 16 and work at a bookstore to partly support her large family, she completed her matric in her spare time at her own cost. Later, when she was in her thirties, she completed a diploma in horticulture and pursued a career in landscaping, in contrast with the majority of her siblings, who never pursued higher education. Dad joined the military, but despite a promising career left to pursue a career in education and training. He attended university after working hours and graduated with a degree in Public Administration. In his family, he was the only one who received a higher education.

Both of them were sort of black sheep in their respective families, not really fitting in with the status quo. What people don’t understand, they will reject, and what I have witnessed and experienced is that in my larger family group, we never really fitted in. They could not relate to us, neither could we with them.

With mom and dad at my Grade 7 farewell function - 1986

As my parents, never really shared with me many details of their histories, there is not a lot to go on. I only know that they met, because they lived in the same youth hostel in Pretoria. Mum was at one point, before she met my dad, engaged to another man, but she broke the engagement off, because she felt she was too young. She still wanted to experience the world. A big event she always talks about was the boat cruise she took when she was 21. The man she was engaged to, had a house, a car, and a good job, and her family approved of him. They were furious with her when she broke the engagement.

I’m not sure how long after this event, she met my dad, but I think it was too close for comfort. He had nothing much materialistically to offer-so at least I know she married him for love-and with his very sensitive and emotional personality he was not someone her family approved of. They got married in 1971.

My Birth

The fact is they decided they wanted a life together and I was the result. I was the ‘reason’ my mom nearly died in childbirth, I’m usually reminded of. During my premature birth, she fell into a coma. After an emergency C-section, I was placed in an incubator for several weeks, without being held by my mum, so no bonding really took place between mum and I. It has enabled me later in life to leave home for extended periods of time without being affected much. What took place over those weeks of my birth is sketchy. 

Neither mum nor dad can’t or won’t fill in the blanks. I am told that dad nearly assaulted the doctor who delivered me; that he rarely went to the hospital in that time due to the ensuing trauma and that mum was out of it. The question remains: What effect did the circumstances surrounding birth had on me, specifically the time I spent in the incubator.

Cute and cuddly 

I was born in 1973 in Apartheid South Africa, in Pretoria, the seat of government and religion in South Africa, an Afrikaner stronghold. As a white, I was born into a privileged class with access to all the wonderful opportunities, afforded only to whites. Most whites were brainwashed into thinking that they were superior to blacks and oblivious of the consequences that Apartheid brought. They never saw the living conditions in the townships and those who knew of it, never really cared. This mindset set the tone for the events and reverse racism in Post-Apartheid South Africa for which my generation is still paying the price.

Floor crawling - with Ceasar the dog

At family gatherings, my family made a point of telling me what a difficult baby I was, always screaming. Mum apparently had to alternate between feeding me and putting a dummy in my mouth, because as soon as there was nothing in my mouth, I started screaming. Consequently and not surprisingly I became an overweight toddler. 

In later years, I discovered through research that I have a Hypersensitive Personality (HSP). In the seventies, with Google absent and knowledge limited to doctors, difficult children were disciplined without really understanding the reasons for their behavior. I had constant nightmares as a kid and in retrospect sensed certain things absent to people devoid of a sensitive personality type.

Feeding time - 1973

Constantly moving

My parents struggled financially in the early years of their marriage, and consequently, we moved around a lot from one cheap rental house to the next. Dad was a Regimental Sergeant-major in the reserves of the military and had to go on military exercises quite frequently, leaving mum and me alone. I think she was very alone during these times and to keep busy as a stay-at-home mom, she worked very hard in upgrading the rental houses and their gardens in order to keep herself occupied.

I have very fond memories of a house they rented in Rietondale, Pretoria. The house was at the foot of a hill and formed part of the garden. I had rabbits and two black Labradors for pets and it is here that I learned how to ride a bike. It was a bright red bicycle with training wheels that gave a 4-year-old boy tremendous freedom. I have a very vivid memory of my fourth birthday party in 1977. Mum baked a ‘train’ cake for me, decorated with colorful sweets. Friends and cousins were invited over to run around and play in our beautiful garden.

During that time, dad bought a brand new Toyota Corolla for R 4 000. Forty years later, he still has the car, even though he doesn’t drive it much anymore. The engine is still good, but the body is falling apart. He cannot seem to part with the car. Once in a while, he takes it for a drive, and lovingly shares the other road user’s reaction. The car later in life became my ‘university’ car and I named her Katie. ‘She’ is an autumn brown, which were quite fashionable in the seventies…..but not in the nineties. With all her bumps and bruises she stood out on campus.

On my red bike - Rietondale (1977)

My great grandmother was still alive during those days. My dad was the apple of her eye as her oldest grandchild, and I the oldest great-grandchild. Favoritism in my family is an acceptable practice. Because dad was favored, his siblings and even his own mother resented him for it. When she died in 1980, dad was slowly ostracised by his own family and his younger brother and his children, were favored by my grandmother. Because my dad lost his father at a young age, and his mother lacked the necessary emotional skills to raise him, he was brought up by his grandparents. So when his grandmother died, it was as good as his other parent dying. She was the rock in his life and losing her shook him hard.

With my great grandmother - Rietondale, Pretoria (1977)

The house was owned by a medical doctor and he wanted to sell it. He gave mum and dad first option to buy, but it was simply outside their budget. Today R 40 000 is hardly the price for a well-worn second-hand car, but in the seventies, a fortune. Needless to say, we had to move again. This time it was extreme in reverse. We moved to a small flat on the 20^th floor of an apartment complex in the inner-city of Pretoria. No gardens, no bikes….I guess that is why and mom felt they had to buy a TV to keep us sane. It was our first TV and I nearly 6 don’t have memories of watching TV prior to this purchase. It was a Philips color TV and I distinctly remember the first show I watched. It was a Sports show, Sport 1979 and there was this presenter with his seventies Afro hairstyle, sideburns, and a wide striped tie. I have memories of watching Heidi, dubbed in Afrikaans. I have distinct memories of mum buying me lots of puzzles and educational toys and books. She taught me how to read and write, and by the time I went to school, I was well away in life.

With my plastic yellow scooter - Pretoria (1975/6)

There are two vivid memories that have stayed with me over the years. The first one when mum left after a fight with dad. She did not take me along, but left me with dad. She was gone only one night and returned the next day after spending the night with her sister. I can’t remember whether it traumatized me, but the uncertainty a five-year-old must have felt when his mother left, without knowing when or if she would return or not, must have left its mark. The second incident was when mum and I walked into the city. Suddenly I broke away from her and ran across a very busy road. I could have been struck by a car, but made it across safely, but she nearly suffered a heart attack. I was informed that my dad would hear of it, so I naturally spent the rest of the day in fear waiting for his arrival back home from work.

My fifth Birthday party - Schubart park flats (1979)

Mom and dad were both strict disciplinarians and mistakes were punished with the belt, or shoe or any instrument they could lay their hands on. Spare the rod, spoil the child. I can’t quite recall why I received so many hidings. Maybe I was a strong-willed child, who needed to be ‘broken’. Maybe they did not have the tools to cope with a busy-body kid, who could not take no for an answer.

Happy days - On the farm with my step 'uncle' and my cousin Daleen

My dad, like I mentioned before, grew up on a farm in Koedoeskop (Limpopo province) called Doornfontein, in the Bushveld. His mother remarried a man called Paul de Kock, after 13 years being a widow. He was 10 years her junior and they had a miscarriage when she was 45. They decided to adopt a little blonde boy, the exact same age as I, and he became my ‘uncle’ playmate. Many weekends we drove to the farm to visit my grandparents and we became good friends. In those days the road was still a dirt road that took more than 4 hours to cover a distance of a 140 km from Pretoria. Today, of course, one can cover the distance in just over a quarter of the time.

I spent many holidays on the farm with my grandparents and ‘uncle’ and have such good memories. We walked miles on end in the mountains and in the veld to explore, swam in the creek and farm dam, participated in herding the cows, and going down to the river for a picnic. We made houses of mud and played with our toy cars, and threw the mud at each other. I remember we both had yellow plastic scooters that we moved around on.

On the farm - 1978

Later in life, the relationship became very strained due to the fact that my father was replaced by this adopted family, his inheritance basically lost. As the oldest son, he was entitled to the farm. He wanted to include his siblings into his inheritance and my grandmother changed her will accordingly. The farm was placed into a trust, of which after several attempts, he is always refused a copy of. He was allowed to choose a section of the farm where he could use that space for private purposes, but his siblings manipulated and maneuvered themselves into it and him out of it. On his piece of land is a house with considerable value. Previously tenants paid rent that came to him. One day his brother just moved in without asking consent, without paying a cent, and now makes decisions regarding the property as he wishes.

When mom and dad divorced after 33 years of marriage, they both lost a home and their pensions. Both of them, still at 70 still have to work to keep the pot cooking. My uncle and wife both get pensions and have money after they sold their property. Yet to this day they have not offered my dad one cent as rent for his home they live in, even though there were extended periods of time that he was unemployed and had no source of income. My grandmother has always favored her second son above my dad, and this has caused a rift in my family. Not only has she favored blood over blood, but she has favored her adopted child and my stepfather above her own eldest son. Since my brother and I were connected to my dad, we were both denied a place of honor. My brother, however, had it far worse than me. I guess that is one of the reasons my mother over-compensated and favored him above me. She has paid forward the favoritism and rejection she received from her mother-in-law and to a certain extent, I have suffered the same fate as my dad. 

New baby brother

Since mum nearly died in childbirth with me, I don’t think my parents planned another baby. But if one is cooked-up in a small apartment with little recreational activities, one never knows what might happen next. This time they were prepared for complications during delivery and in the end, even though he too was delivered through a C-section, everything else occurred without any difficulties. Mum was fine and she could bond with little Gerhard. No comas, no premature births, no incubators, no trauma. I guess that today I realize that my existence is associated with pain and trauma, still unspoken of.

With my new baby brother Gerhard - 1979

I remembered the day dad and I went to the hospital to fetch mum and the baby. I grew up alone and now I had a new playmate; I was so excited and proud. I did not always protect him as I should have done. 

Another cousin, Marcu, and I were the same age and often spent time with each other. On one occasion, we threw eggs from the 20th-storey onto passers-by below. We took mouthfuls of water to spit it on my brother in his crib. It was fortunate he did not drown. Marcu and I received a proper hiding from my mum. Today I feel guilty for not protecting him. It was something I did out of peer pressure and to gain acceptance. Later in life, it became a big theme in my life.

Picture highlights

Engaging with a bird - Hartbeespoort dam (1977)

Taking a nap with my bear

Going to church

On the beach

So many toys

The story continues in part 3

Read it here