Electric Fences, pigs and the shocks in life

I had walked along the seafront in Rhodes on my way to tutor a student who lived a good fifty minutes from where I lived.  Not only that, but the last 30 mins were up a very steep hill that made the heart speed up.  To add insult to injury just halfway into my walk I tripped over an uneven paving stone and twisted my ankle.   Lying in a crumpled heap a passing good-natured group of young tourists lifted me up and carried me to a nearby bench.  Their support was really appreciated but after they left I realised that I would have to continue on my way to work.  Strangely after 15 minutes of walking gingerly, the severe pain in my ankle had subsided to only an ache and I could even manage the final steep climb.  

My student lived in a wealthy area on a ridge above the town.  As you get higher up the hill the houses grow in size and opulence.  Swimming pools grow large and the villas spread out over more land and gardens.  My student’s house even has a security gate at the front and gaining access involved endless buzzers and video doorbells on both the outer garden wall entrance and front door.  My lesson took place in a huge living room that held four complete sets of armchairs and sofas in different positions scattered across the thick piled carpet.  Their housekeeper asks us if we want coffee/tea and a snack.  My student is a sulky teenager and he demands a toasted sandwich with an expresso coffee. I say “nothing, thanks”.  Having never had servants I resent this middle-aged Asian woman having to take orders from this bad-tempered teen.  It makes me want to smack him.

Totally unfair I know but, on a day, when I have had to walk with a sore ankle up steep hills to work for obscenely rich people in their penthouse villa with a massive pool my mental irritation seems to trump my physical discomfort.  His younger brother is watching a video, on a massive screen the size of a wall, of killer whales attacking a seal on an ice flow.  

It shocks me that so often rich people’s kids are often so unhappy and resentful.  It shouldn’t, so many things are given to them that the excess seems to have leeched all happiness out of their veins.  It is as if having so much feeds a growing desire to have much more and they perversely feel deprived constantly.  I have observed it in many cultures and this teenager’s constant whining and complaining was not a surprise to me.  Neither was his parent’s constant guilt towards him.  This too I had come across often.  His mother treated her sixteen-year-old with exaggerated care and concern handling him like an unexploded ordinance.   It was of immense satisfaction for me to give these spoilt teenagers a different sort of treatment from what they usually expected.  

In my experience, a parent's guilt acts as rocket fuel for self-pity in teenagers.  I apply the foam extinguisher of ‘not giving a rat’s ass’ and follow it up with the electric fence of high expectations.  During our hour together, I make him work his socks off, and however hard he applies himself I radiate disappointment that he is far below the standard I expect of him.  Such students are so unused to this treatment they try all kinds of distraction/coping strategies.  Whatever they come up with it is vital to keep one’s own composure and to quickly rip off whatever protection they try and apply.  In my experience the faster you react the less chance they have to feel secure about the whole interaction. In fact, keeping such students off balance is exactly what keeps the lesson on track.  

I’m sure there are more knowledgeable ways to make this situation work but my method has the advantage that I quite enjoy their discomfort and lack of control.  It helps that I had only brothers growing up and have three sons of my own and each and every one of them had brains to burn as they say.  Such exposure makes you learn to be pragmatic and to focus only on what is effective in such interactions.  

As a father of a friend of mine said during a speech at his son’s wedding, “You all know Christopher!  He met Yolanda at primary school and decided within a week that she was the one he would marry.  We made him wait until he finished secondary school but you all know Christopher, trying to get him to change his direction is like trying to turn a pig at a gate!”  The farming audience howled in laughter, most having faced many a stubborn pig in their days.  My grandfather reared pigs and I knew all about them having been chased down lanes by his monsters many times.  Trying to get a pig not to go through an open gate was impossible.  My grandfather’s solution was to use electric fences and these usually did the job. However, he had one very bad-tempered boar that just got furious at the shocks from the electric fence and demolished both it and the gate behind it.  

My childhood was full of electric shocks.  When I was a child my grandfather would ask me to take a metal bucket from him in the field and have his hand, behind his back, on the live electric fence.  I would instantly feel the painful shock of electricity blast through me.  He was clever to use other methods to distract me and I remember having to learn to outthink him to avoid getting such shocks.  Years later I remember visiting the farm to find my elderly grandfather in an armchair, no longer so mobile. I introduced my eldest 3-year-old son to him.  My grandfather greeted him warmly and then hauled out his false teeth and set them dramatically on the small table in front of him.  My son ran howling in fear from the room and refused to even enter the room again.  I found myself amused, Granda hadn’t changed and we all just learned to accept the funny unique style of this guy.  My sons would have to learn that lesson too.  They all grew to love him as much as we did. Life takes all of us by surprise at times but it sure helps to learn a bit of robustness early on.  It makes everything else that follows a little easier.

I found when I left the villa my ankle was in agony, being seated had allowed time for the thing to swell.  I limped down the steep hill in front of plush gardens and huge cars to the nearest bus stop.  By the time I got there, I wanted to cry with the pain but sat on the seats in front of the bus stop relieved to be sitting at least.  There were two benches and on the other bench further up the street sat a young school girl with her school bag on the ground in front of her. 

A group of youths appeared pushing and shoving each other and shouting at the bus stop.  They had drinks and became louder and more noticeable.  When would this darn bus come, I thought? One of the youths approached the schoolgirl and started laughing putting his face down close to hers.  She backed away into the seat and he immediately picked up her school bag and tossed it to one of his friends.  Her distress was clear but they were having a great time tossing it between them and laughing.  She didn’t try and get her bag back, she just sat very still.  

Another boy sauntered over and sat down beside her and put his arm along the back of the bench behind her shoulder.  She moved along the bench away from him and there was a chorus of laughter from his mates who were holding out her bag asking her to come and get it.  I was tired and I was in pain but I had had enough.  I limped over to the other bench and sat in the space between the boy and the young girl.  Then, I took my shoe and sock off to inspect the damage I’d done to my ankle. It was hugely swollen and a very odd colour indeed.  I told the boy to move and put my ankle on the bench where he had been sitting.  Just having it elevated brought huge relief.  Now, I just had to worry about getting the sock and shoe back on if the bus came.  

My presence had ruined the gang’s fun and there was an embarrassing moment where they looked at the girl and then at my ankle and then at each other.  One brought her schoolbag reluctantly and dropped it at her feet before drifting back to his mates.  The schoolgirl lifted her bag and hugged it to herself in relief. Nothing was said, nothing needed to be.  Sometimes actions speak louder than words.  In my mind, I remembered my grandfather’s electric fences, his stubborn pigs, and the effectiveness of a bit of a shock in changing perspectives.  

Eating Sand and Ballooning Heads

I remember being on the beach in Portrush with my three children when my youngest son, under two years old, began eating great fists full of sand.  No remonstration on my part could persuade him to stop.  At one point my mother suggested I was making it worse by drawing attention to it and it would be better by far to ignore the practice.  I tried, and sat as if totally unconcerned while he seemed to spend the entire afternoon enjoying the beach as if it were fish and chips!  Later, his nappies were full of this disgusting grit filled paste, so I suspect most of what he digested went straight through his system.  Nowadays, the chances of animal poo/glass/syringes/heavy metals/pollution in the sand is higher and I would have found it impossible to ignore his determined efforts.  At the time, however, I remember it was the oddity of it that disturbed.  Other people’s children paddled in the sea, dug in the sand, made sandcastles and ran to and fro, while mine focused on eating all the sand within reach.  It was like a judgement call, spot the disturbed child, the mother who obviously has screwed up.  Where had I gone wrong?  How far back had I made fundamental mistakes in my child’s upbringing that he had this emptiness needing to be filled with the nearest dirt he could cram in?

Mothers are filled with such thoughts of ill ease.  There was a baby clinic opposite that I attended with each new born.  We would stand in rows handing over our little ones to be inspected and weighed by trained personal.  I remember with the first one, the woman weighed him and told me he was not putting on enough weight.  I cried all the way home mortified with my failure and apologising to my starving baby.  A month later his weight had improved but his nappy was filled with a liquid coffee-like poo that she told me meant he had diarrhoea and that this was very serious indeed.  More tears followed along with a growing conviction that I was not a fit mother.  It took an experienced friend to point out that the clinic was used to bottle fed babies whose quick weight gain and solid stools bore no similarity to breast fed babies, such as mine, to calm me.  By the time it came to my third baby I could watch mothers retire in tears from the row in front of me, while steeling myself not to be upset by what the nurse would say to me!  Then my turn came and she put a measuring tape around his head and showed me on a graph just how far outside normal his head size was.  There was a lot of discussion about brain development, concerns expressed about what was going on inside his colossal head.  I walked home sobbing in panic and fear as usual, while my baby’s head seemed to inflate like a balloon before my very eyes. 

Which all goes to show that as mothers we can feel we are on an impossible mission and are always ready to believe the worst and then blame ourselves bitterly for it all.  So if you happen to spot a baby stuffing handfuls of sand/dirt into his mouth, please just smile and act as if it is totally normal, you will sooth a troubled soul.

PS this June’s edition of Scientific American (2012) “The Scoop on Eating Dirt” highlights the fact that eating dirt, geophagia, is found in 200 species of animals including baboons, gorillas and chimpanzees.  Humans have been doing it since Hippocrates in 460 BC and the Mesopotamians and ancient Greeks used it to treat ailments, especially of the gut.  Soil contains minerals such as calcium, sodium and iron, an invaluable source especially in times of famine.  Soil’s detoxifying properties are also noted in this article and pregnant women who eat soil may be not only cleansing their system of toxins but also boosting their immune system.  Kaolin, a clay mineral, is used by the pharmaceutical industry to treat nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea.  It is found to bind to not only harmful toxins but also pathogens.  So I put forward the hypothesis that my youngest son, he with the enormous brain, was fully aware of the therapeutic benefits of soil/sand eating at the time of his visit to the beach.  As such, he was an early genius, not demonstrating mental instability at all!  Oh, the folly of motherhood!  Is there no end?

PPS (mind you don’t go eating the soil or sand around you as it is likely to also contain bacteria, viruses, parasitic worms, lead and arsenic) – according to same article