Where there's a will, there's a way

When life chucks lemons at you, you make lemonade, don’t you? I made a lot of lemonade and with a bit of luck and an unwavering case of wanderlust, I got to travel across the world. I’ve been to, seen, and done things that I would never have imagined possible. I’ve been a tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, spy, so please allow me to regale you with my tales of joy, sorrow, regret, turmoil, wonder, delight, and unabashed debauchery.

But, before we go there, let’s look at a few of the hiccups I had to overcome along the way. My grandmother died while she was babysitting me. My own father kidnapped and then unceremoniously dumped me, resulting in me being subjected to a*******d South Africa’s childcare system for the next eleven years.

I was the first ward of the court to win a scholarship at a most prestigious bastion of education, and then dropped-out of school. I was a gang banger and I had coloured friends as well. A strict no, no at the time. One did not associate with someone who had the wrong color skin.

This was shortly followed by compulsory military service and at the ripe old age of seventeen, I was deemed fit enough to die for a cause I didn’t necessarily believe in, but at the same time, I was too young to drink alcohol or drive a car.

Somewhat jaded after that little stint I went on walkabout, which found me spending fifty-five days in the notorious Pollsmoor Prison (the same one that housed Nelson Mandella) as an unlikely guest. That wasn’t fun.

So now what? Being back in the fold wasn’t going to swing it for me, so I turned my back on everything and everyone I knew, and set off to see the world, which was easily and unequivocally, the best decision I’ve ever made. See for yourself……Broken home

We were in Grammy’s spotlessly clean kitchen, the lights were on, the kettle was screaming, the windows were all steamed up, and there was water everywhere. Spilling out from an open tap, and an old lady, my Grammy, was lying lifeless, in a big puddle on the floor.

She’d been dead for quite some time, but I didn’t know that, and I was probably wondering why she wouldn’t play with me. I just sat there, tugging on her ear, shaking her, trying to wake her up.

A good while later, the front door opened, and mom called out to Grammy. "Hi mom, we’re back, everything okay?" No answer and then a shriek from mom, as she spotted me sitting on the floor next to her mother, who was spread-eagled on her back..

We were both soaked to the bone, but Grammy wasn’t feeling a thing, not anymore. Mom was besides herself; she was seeing but not believing, with all sorts of s**t’ running through her head, when she cried out to dad for help

Hearing the distress in her voice, dad’s come flying through the open doorway, slipped on the wet vinyl, and gone arse over t**s, stopping up under the kitchen table. He wasn’t quite taking it all in, and mom was sobbing hysterically, trying to tell him that her mother was dead.

Pandemonium barely averted, dad took control, quickly wrapping a strong, sinewy arm around me, scooped me off the wet floor and gently placed me on a kitchen table before turning his attention back to mom.

He pulled her away from her mother, holding her tightly, talking to her very calmly and soothingly, as only he could. Mom eventually calmed down, stopped struggling and grabbed a hold of me, hugging me fiercely to her breast, while asking herself, over and over again, how, or why she’d gone out, leaving her mom to die alone.

To make matters even worse, Grammy’s death would prove to be a crippling blow to an already troubled young couple, living with mom’s mom. Now that Grammy was gone, there was no way Gramps was going to allow my dad to spend so much as a single minute more in his house, and as much as the old bastard professed to love his daughter (my mom) and me, he issued her with an ultimatum, it was either gonna be his way or the highway.

Mom and I were welcome to stay, but not dad, dad could f**k off and die. The man was a goddamned womaniser, a drunk and a braggart. Anyone could see that, couldn’t they? To add to the fire, mom waspregnant with her second child, so we were all heading for a major disaster, something like a head on steam train collision.

Gramps was big man, arrogant and too proud to admit defeat. He refused to budge and he really, really f**king hated dad, so mom had to make a choice, one that would bite her in the arse for the rest of her life, and one that she’d bitterly live to regret.

Dad was her husband, she loved him, so what was she supposed to do? He had a decent job, so it didn’t take too long for us to find a small family apartment in the city. It was a hell of a long way from the big, comfortable, family home we’d left behind, but hey, a home of our own, and we all pretended that everything was just hunky dory.

The next few years slipped past, a turmoil of frustration and bitter disappointment. Dad was unemployed and mom was telling me, again, what a bastard dad was......