How does one follow a universal act of stellar proportions that produced physical feats in Tokyo that rewrote sports history? Or the reshuffling of a Parliament and the likelihood of replacing one set of rogues with other possible malfeasants?
How does one continue to beat the drum of the need to observe pandemic protocol when this thing has been with us so long that it seems to be the new normal? And how do families reconfigure and reposition relationships with everybody at home and not away for most of the day?
We do it by buying sanity with the coin called nostalgia. It is still a viable currency. Even now we can say things like: Remember when we could leave home at eight in the evening for drinks at the club, when we now have to leave the club at eight in order to observe the national curfew?
We recall with nostalgia the gathering around an open fire with the smell of sausage and chops mixing with the carefree laughter lubricated by a few friendly brewskies.
Yes. We need not visit the distant past for the ‘Do you remember when …’ stories that are the fabric of society and bonhomie. But let’s do that, if only to get away from the death-grip that inflicted itself on society just over a year ago.
I thought about my school friends the other day. I went to primary school during the 1940s and high school during the 1950s. How long ago is that? I have thought of my two years at Hewat being trained as a teacher. The question begs: Where are the friends of those years?
The answer is a hollow silence, for many of them are gone. Those with whom I played ‘kennetjie’ and ‘bok-bok staan styf’. Or played my top ‘skippie-seil’ down the length of Klapperbos Street in Kew Town.
I remember the bus depot in Black River providing us with ball-bearing wheel for our push carts, large ones for the rear and smaller ones for the front. Nothing fancy. Just durable wheels for our go-karts sans engines, that ran by the power of your pals’ willingness to push. Fun in the sun without battery-power or complex power-recharging. Our smaller toys were driven by unwinding steel springs.
It is quite uncanny how we, the older ones, have adapted and adjusted to the new world and the step-over to a new century with such relative ease. Dates that start with 19- seem distant, yet it happened only the other day. And how do we find relevance in a world that has changed so vastly and so rapidly? How do we cope with these times of Artificial Intelligence, instant gratification, entitlement and entropy?
It is worthwhile visiting the past. Thanks, Bob, for reading the poem I suggested. To those who do not find anything worthwhile in revisiting the days of yore, don’t shoot yourselves in the foot by losing out through dubious attitudes of dismissal or effrontery. We couldn’t have made it this far if we didn’t do something right somewhere along the line.
So I recall with gratitude the efforts of the teachers of yesteryear who have faded into antiquity. I preserve the old-fashioned dicta of honesty and a respect for myself and others. I recognise those who brought brave change but who agree with me that a blast from the past is sometimes intensely therapeutic.
And that is how we preserve our sanity and focus. Start with the songs, or the names of past heroes. Remember that the days of ugly racism still produced great singers like Joey Gabriels and Danny Williams. Think back to black-and-white Westerns, where the good guys wore white Stetsons and the baddies black ones. And they all seemed to ride at full gallop past the same trees time after time.
Then smile inwards, and nod with satisfaction that these days are spectacular days, but the past holds its own fascination.
* Literally Yours is a weekly column from Cape Argus reader Alex Tabisher. He can be contacted on email by [email protected].
** The views expressed here are not necessarily those of Independent Newspapers.
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