Aren’t kids great?
Posted on June 28, 2006
Filed Under Outside Dublin, Politics, children, culture, history, nature, society | Comments Off
Aren’t kids great? I’m staying in a motel in Enniskillen tonight. I’ve never stayed in an Irish motel before but it’s not too bad for stg£50. From my hotel motel window, I can see the kids from the local estate building their bonfire for the 12th. It’s only about 1.5 metres tall so far but by the time they’re finished on the, err, 12th, it’ll probably be two storeys high. I’m not gonna get into it but the 12th has an historical significance that goes back a couple of hundred years and has divided communities in Northern Ireland for generations. But for the kids, in all their innocence, it’s probably a second Haloween or Guy Fawkes night for them. Another chance for them to play with their fireworks. For obvious reasons, fireworks are banned in the Republic of Ireland. I thinking safety reasons…what were you thinking!!
I’m not familiar with Enniskillen but I didn’t see any of the usual kerb-painting or murals that you normally see in a N.I. town. I also saw an advertisement for Stuart’s Sunday Gospel Singing in a local carpark. Just to be clear, the signing actually takes place in the car park! Since dancing is forbidden by their religion, they probably all drive in, roll down their windows, and sign away to their hearts content. Probably keep their seatbelts locked in place, just in case.
Last night in Dublin, I had to mind Myra for a couple of hours. Her mother is an illegal immigrant from Brazil and had to visit her solicitor to talk about her possible deporation. We didn’t tell Myra but she also wanted to see the 2nd half of the Brazil match with her partner and enjoy a few beers in peace. Myra is eight years old and can speak 3 languages fluently. When she gets excited, herself and her mother jabber away in all three languages – it’s amazing to witness. She’s very intelligent and far too clever for the school/afterschool creche she attends.
I have a shed in my back garden! Myra doesn’t because she lives in a city-centre apartment. She’d never seen a garden shed before and didn’t recognise it for what it was. Her natural curiousity took over once I told her what it was. She was desparate to get in but I wouldn’t let her. With her enthusiasm, she would certainly stab herself or me with a garden shears or a rake. Her intelligence took over and ‘I should let her in‘ because all she wanted to do was ‘water the plants with a garden hose‘. I didn’t fall for that! Instead I gave her a pitcher of water.
And she did water the plants, but only the leaves. I had to explain how plants prefer to get fed through their roots as that’s where they drink their water from. How the leaves are where they breathe in and out. She took it all in and went back out to water them in the correct way.
I used to think that children should be locked away somewhere and only allowed out in public when they turned 18. Yeah, childish I know but, hey, the only thing I could think of to put in my profile was that I had 6,000 songs on my ipod! I might have to revise 18 years down to 8 years. Maybe they’re not so bad after all.
How would a black 8 year old child who can speak 3 languages in a strong Dublin accent fit in up here? Not very well, I would suggest. Whose fault is that? Myra or the God-loving, dance-hating Christians who live here?
How does it go? Suffer the children….
Bit of last minute revision (googling!)…
“But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto Me: for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.”
(Matthew 19:14)
Tears For Fears, one of my favourite bands, had a song called ‘Suffer the Child’ and the lyrics are:
It’s a sad affair
When there’s no one there
He calls out in the night
And it’s so unfair
At least it seems that way
When you gave him his life
And all this time he’s been getting you down
You ought to pick him up when there’s no one around
And convince him
Just talk to him
Cos he knows in his heart you won’t be home soon
He’s an only child in an only room
And he’s dependant on you
And it seems so strange
That at the end of the day
Making love can be so good
But the Pain of birth
What is it worth
When it don’t turn out the way it should
Hmm, not sure about what my googling has turned up. My father is/was a good father (exceptional tbh but don’t tell him!) and I don’t believe in my Father.
