My Dad is Hairy...

My dad is in the hospital. My wife wants to visit him and wants my daughter to take down the details. (For those who don’t know, I’m out of the country and my daughter has a mixed accent.)

“Paap, so what’s grandpa’s full name?”
“Its H. B. Wijesekera, H as in Harry and B as in Bravo…”

Then I hear her shout at the background:

“I got it… Grandpa’s name is Hairy Bravo Wijee-si-keyra..!”

This one is for our Minister(s) of Education

BTW, why have I been quiet for a while? Too much to say, really. Until I gather my thoughts and find my way to creep back in to the Lankanosphere, enjoy the video and give it a thought. ;)

I’m half Buddhist.

“Pap, I’m half Buddhist” declares my son. There’s nothing surprising about this opening statement from a 12 year old, but then he continues to claim that his other half is Christian. I would’ve expected him to announce that he is half-Muslim – considering that his birth mother is of that faith. I certainly didn’t expect this.

When we moved to Colombo five years ago, he learnt the ABC’s of Buddhism. He used to go to the temple with my sister, he was fascinated by the little rituals. He loved to light the oil lamps and joss sticks, he liked arranging the flowers on the offering table at the temple and he loved to sit around the Bo tree scribbling in the sand, watching people chanting aloud. An occasional firefly or a bug would draw his attention and distract him, but he was a well behaved kid once set foot in the temple premises.

Then he moved to Dubai to live with the mother and came back an atheist a year later.

So I wondered how did he become a Christian, out of the blue.

Apparently, every evening he follows his boarding-school mates to the Chapel where he gets a chance to pray. He says he likes to kneel down and ask God for all his wishes to come true.

And he loves the fact that he gets blessed at the end of the service. “Paap, the father keeps his hand on my head and says ‘God Bless You my son, Rafael!’ and it makes me feel good...” he says in a cheerful voice over the telephone as I enquire about his new-found life in the boarding school.

As long as the religion teaches morals and provides him with guidance in life, as long as it gives him hope and instils faith in him, I wouldn’t care too much about the label it carries.

When it comes to one’s faith, does the label really matter? Either way, I’m just glad that my son is in safe hands. ;)

Homework

My son gets some homework in English Writing.

The task is to write a dialogue.

The scene is home, his room is supposedly (supposed to be?) messy. The mother wants everything back in it’s place and the room tidied.

You know kids, they could never keep a tidy room. And the teacher thought this would be a good exercise, the perfect setting for a good, 10 minute dialogue.

And Rafael does his homework:

Mother: “Rafael... will you please tidy the room, NOW!”
Rafael: “Ok.”

He gets 2 out of 10!

A New Chapter

Monday was the d-day.

My son was beginning his life in a boarding school. The books bought, bags packed, long lists completed and every clothing item clearly marked with his initials. Stitching three initials each on six pairs of white socks was only the beginning of an arduous three days for his grandma, but she was glad to help with the heap of clothes that lay in front of her.

“You will be locked out of the dormitories from three-thirty to five-thirty everyday. It would be up to you to sit in a corner and bury your head in grief, or make the best – get involved in any game or sport of your choice...” said the Warden, focusing his attention on the bemused child at the interview. There was a sparkle in Rafael’s eyes and I could see that he has taken an immediate liking to the idea of “compulsory playtime.” The little fella couldn’t believe that there are schools that encourage young boys to spend their time in the playgrounds, not only in libraries and study rooms.

At the end of the interview, he was smiling like a Cheshire cat and I knew he was going to like the place. One, there was a farm in the school. Two, there was a swimming pool. And there were many other reasons.

A week after the interview, with a heavy heart, my wife leaves him at the new school. He gives her a big hug and waves good bye. Not a tear in his eyes, he was ready to take on a new adventure in life.

24 hours pass-by, as we wait eagerly to hear from the new kid in school. He was supposed to call us back during his playtime Tuesday evening.

But there is no news and my wife begins to panic. She is worried if Rafael has slept well, if the old mattress was comfortable enough, or the food was good enough for his liking. She wants to know how he managed to wake up at 5.00 in the morning, when he is used to take a 5 minute nap on the bathroom carpet after waking up at 6.30 in the morning.

Finally, as the playtime ends, kids go back to their dorms and there is no news. My wife calls the school. “Oh, we have seen him with the boys. For a new kid, he seems to have loads of friends...” is the reply.

That, puts an end to our worries.

We leave a message with the school for him to call us back.

The next day, Rafael returns the call. He is bombarded with a barrage of questions on food, studies, living conditions etc., but every reply ends with the same sentence:
“...its all fine, I have to go, my friends are waiting...”
“...its all great, I have to go, my friends are waiting...”
“...its all okay, I have to go, my friends are waiting...”

Looks like the young man is going to be just fine.