Christine

Family Affair

Paul, my gentle 9 year old arrived home from school with a blood nose and what would become a black eye. Bloodstains on his school shirt, grazed knees as well I saw.

"What happened?" I repeated whilst pushing him down on a stool and wetting a face washer ready to start cleaning him up.

"Well," said Paul hesitantly. "Well, I don't really know. I was walking home from school with Matthew and we were talking when this boy came up to us. He stopped right in front of us and asked me 'Are you Craig's brother?' and when I said yes I was, he just punched me and said, 'Well, give him this!' "

That's Life!

"Mum!" yelled my teenage son. "Mum! You've got to take me to Midland train station right now. I've got a job interview at 10 this morning."

Before I had even pulled my toothbrush from my mouth my school age daughter got her piece in.

"No way! Mum and I have to leave right now for school. I won't be late for a lousy job interview!"

I shot a look at my watch, grabbed my bag, checked I had my purse and keys. Miriam was dressed and ready. Craig, the potential worker, him, well …

"Go and put on a clean T-shirt, Craig, and make sure you take your CV this time and hurry!"

Ignoring Miriam's mutterings from the back seat I got Craig to the station and both Miriam and I jumped out of the car and wished him good luck with the interview.

Endeavouring to get Miriam to school on time we ran back to the car. I turned the key and listened in dismay to the silence. I tried again. After the click of the key there was silence once more (but not for long)!

"Oh, Mu - um!" wailed my darling daughter. "What are you doing?! I'll be late!"

I took the key out of the ignition and pushed the button to release the bonnet.

"Better get out of the car and stop scowling. We'll have to find someone to have a look at the motor." At that time of morning in front of the railway station a steady flow of males, young and old, passed us on the way to the ticket office.

Miriam, astonishingly quickly, grasped the idea.

"Oh, that one, Mum, he's cute and I bet he's good with engines … oh, Mum!"

I ignored every cute/handsome/queer young man she pointed out and waited for a suitable figure to approach.

A few minutes later there was one, well, actually two, dressed in disreputable jeans and scruffy T-shirts, grubby feet in thongs … Yep, these were the ones I had waited for …

Once again ignoring Miriam's dismayed mutterings I tried friendly/casual.

"Hi guys, you look as if you know something about cars. You got time to have a look and tell me what you think the problem is? She suddenly refused to go."

They stopped, glanced at Miriam, at the open bonnet and asked the obvious question first.

"You got petrol left?"

"Yes, that cannot be it, she's half full."

At that they got serious and checked out the leads and cables etc. Finally, one of them looked up and said, "You got a spanner, or a screw driver?" He then got busy with the battery, banging away at it and cleaning the caps. "Try to start her now," he said at last. And lo and behold, the engine started at the first turn of the key.

We were all beaming at each other.

"It was the battery," said the so-clever mechanic. "Have you got a husband or something at home?"

I nodded.

"I've got something," I replied, thinking of my two teenage sons.

"Well, get him to clean up that battery tonight."

Then, with a casual wave, dismissing my heartfelt thanks but kindly accepting the fiver I offered so they could reward themselves with a drink, they disappeared into the train station.

Miriam learned a very important lesson that morning. When your car is broken down you don't ask for help from a white collar, document case carrying office worker in a hurry to get to his desk. Instead you approach a scruffy looking individual who looks as if he knows about 'old bombs' from experience.

It works nearly every time.

Pronunciation

"Tonight," our Greek born history teacher informed us, "tonight we are going into American history. The New Deal you know."

Several of the students nodded. They were obviously more knowledgeable than myself. I was doing the History class as a prerequisite to University entrance.

"We shall touch upon quite a few of the American Presidents but shall concentrate mainly upon Rshfull and his New Deal," announced Koutsikus, speaking full of enthusiasm, and walking up and down in front of the class. I was searching among the names of American Presidents in my memory bank … Rshfull? It did not sound at all familiar; I remembered Kennedy and Johnson but Rshfull?

So it came as a shock when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and pointed a finger at me.

"You, Christine," he boomed. "What can you tell us about Rshfull?"

I felt myself go red in the face but still quite breezily announced, "Nothing, I'm afraid. I've never heard of him."

Koutsikus was astounded. "Never heard of him! Oh, shame on you Christine and you a mature age student. Well, let me tell you - " and on and on he droned. Feeling quite humiliated I slumped in my chair and only half listened, then suddenly I caught on.

"Roosevelt," I gasped. "Of course I have heard of him, but why do you call him Rshfull?"

Now it was Koutsikus who looked dumbfounded. "Is that how you pronounce it?" he asked of the class in general.

For a few seconds there was silence then the amused voice of a relaxed Aussie sounded.

"Look, I have no idea who either of you are talking about. Could you print the guy's name on the whiteboard so we dinky di Aussies can let you know who he is?"

We all had a good laugh and since the class was very multicultural indeed, hence forth all names were jotted down on the whiteboard.

It stopped a lot of confusion.

 

What's in a Name?

 

"YMCA!" blared the CD player at the local Senior Citizens' gentle gym club. Forty sweating middle aged or older women tried frantically to keep up with the exercises.

"YMCA!" right to the bitter end.

The second after the music finally stopped a young male voice hissed from the walk way next to the gym floor, "Mum!"

Forty women's heads swivelled sharply around searching for the owner of the voice. A young man with forty Mums? Impossible. Forty Mums with a young man somewhere was much more likely. But this one was mine.

He wanted to know what size undies he should buy.

 

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