Heir-line cracks

I think it’s perhaps time I gave dear ol’ Dad a turn in the spotlight.

Kyknoord Senior has two modes of operation: on and asleep. The man is completely incapable of loafing and the simple pleasure of indulging in a little recreational indolence is totally lost on him.

He takes a keen interest in sport, but he can only enjoy a game on television if he’s keeping himself busy with something else, like gardening. He bridges the divide between these two seemingly incompatible activities by strolling in from outside every so often to check the score (usually leaving a trail of muddy footprints in his wake) and then immediately heading back out to continue raking leaves from one side of the lawn to the other. I once suggested to him that a portable radio might simplify matters (and simultaneously reduce my mother’s blood pressure to acceptable levels), but he insisted that he likes to “watch the match”. Activity is the important thing here. Efficiency and logic don’t really feature in his world.

I have long suspected that I am a bitter disappointment to him, as I positively excel in inactivity and on occasion, have even been known to dabble in logic.

He finds an outlet for his apparently boundless energy by having numerous arse-brained interesting projects on the go at any given time. In one of his schemes, he decided to plant a tomato garden on the garage roof. To his way of thinking, tomatoes need sun and there’s plenty of sun up there – ergo it is the ideal spot for tomatoes. The truth of the matter is that while tomatoes do need sun, they also require shelter from the wind. Since my dad managed to locate his fledgling tomato empire in what is quite possibly the windiest spot on the face of the planet, his success has been somewhat limited. In the two years that this venture has been going, his crop has yielded up a grand total of three shrivelled and poisonously sour specimens.

Nevertheless, despite his obvious lack of agricultural prowess, his enthusiasm remains undimmed. He still continues to have high hopes of becoming the next tomato baron of the Deep South, so every day – come rain or shine – you’ll see him up there, lovingly tending his shredded charges.

Please note: this is one of the people I got to see daily during my formative years, so if my outlook on life is a little bit – shall we say – off-centre, I believe I have an excuse.

Advertisements

25 thoughts on “Heir-line cracks

  1. Want to swap? You can have my dad, he doesn’t do ANYTHING because he is always “too tired.” This in itself is a tad bizarre because he never does anything other than sit on the couch in front of the tellie and threaten to die on us.

    Like

  2. Totally unrelated to this post comment to follow:
    Headline seen for Die Son newspaper:
    Kyk van Evil!
    WHHAHAHAHA…
    When I picked self up off floor from laffin fit, I vowed this shall be your new name. I dub thee Kyk van Evil!

    Like

  3. angel: I thought I did

    other-duke: I haven’t actually set up an anemometer, so I don’t have scientifically verifiable results, but anything’s possible, not so?

    katt: It certainly sounds like I have more in common with your dad.

    anne: Clearly, but a genius is seldom recognised in his or her own time.

    peas: So is that a picture of your dad on the Pringles tube?

    bee: I like it. All I need to do now is get my PhD and I can be Doctor van Evil.

    Like

  4. Aw, my old man actually lives and breathes for sports. If a hurricane was carrying his children off to the land of Oz he would be checking the lastest football logs on SuperSport and yelling at us to keep it down.

    Like

  5. My dad grew up on an island, flew planes, flings himself off cliffs, swims raging rivers, and rescues people from Certain Death Out At Sea for fun and relaxation. He’s a philanthropist, collects weapons and gadgets, can tie a round turn and two half hitches with one hand, and bakes a mean batch of rock cakes. When he retires he plans to coordinate disaster relief operations in war-torn countries. After he gets back from Antarctica, that is.

    And you think you’re a disappointment?

    Like

  6. You’ll want to eat these words if that old-man of yours is secretly cross-breeding tomato species with the aim of creating a wind-resistant variety that fruits prolifically.

    Like

  7. You know – you’re the ONLY one who has changed my Blog name on you blog!! thanks for making my day – yet again. What I wouldn’t give to have a brother like you – Oh but wait a minute, I DO!!!
    “Tomatos on the roof” – now there’s a title for a story if I ever saw one!!

    Like

  8. Oh my, Kyk … looks like BarbedWire’s dad takes the cupcake! Sheesh … what’s with all this “daddy-0-energy?”

    Smooch,
    The Tart

    Psssssst. BarbedWired: is your dad single? All that death-defying action sounds fun! Let me know. ; )

    Like

  9. choosy: You have to respect a man with priorities.

    barbedwire: I can’t imagine how disappointing I’d be to your dad. Must seek tranquility… What is the sound of one hand tying a round turn two half hitches?

    alan: As long as I don’t have to eat his tomatoes, it’s all good.

    spookie the warrior: Got to look after the family. Know what I’m sayin’

    the tart: I dunno. Don’t you think the big red ‘S’ on Daddy Barbedwire’s pyjamas would be a bit off-putting?

    terri: If only. *sigh*

    Like

  10. Kyk: you’ll be happy to know that he can’t play Putt-Putt. (Either.)

    Tart: I’ll have a word with my mum – she might be interested in trading him in for someone a little less… Indiana Jones. : )

    Like

  11. He sounds just like my Dad too, who was convinced he was the next honey baron and kept 5 hives in the bottom corner of the front garden – you didn’t want to be there when the buggers swarmed. The neighbours got very upset. But it did keep the thieves away. A plus.

    My Dad never ever stopped doing things until his heart and lungs actually said..’Enough old chap’ and he shuffled off the mortal coil. But at least he lived well.

    Like

  12. It could have been worse. You ask how? His tomatoes/pumpkins/beans/beetroot could have been a HUGE success with the result that the produce then needs to be frozen/bottled/whatever. My dad planted enough vegetables to feed a small country. I still have the scars of scrubbing what seemed a ton of beetroot with a nailbrush. I don’t talk about the beans.

    Like

  13. And they said men cannot multi-task! What with watching the tele and gardening, your dad is practicaly a pro.
    3 tomatoes… only 33 to go and he has a bottle of All Gold.

    Like

  14. bibi: Oh yes. Misguided, but good.

    peas: Definitely. A joker, or maybe a sympathy card.

    barbedwire: I’ll be sure to go for a putter if I ever get choice of weapons in a duel.

    geena: I’m hoping my dad will outlive me. If I have to deliver a eulogy for him, It’s going to be along the lines of, “Where the hell do I even start?”

    esther: One thing is certain: It can always be worse. A ton of beetroot, huh? Is your father buddies with the good Doctor Manto, by any chance?

    chitty: This is true. We should have enough for a bottle in another 22 years or so. I’ll keep you posted.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s