The Quest

Thinking of my boy who now has the requisite 2 kids and a mortgage and yesterday’s constrained xmas visitation to the new flat which they’ve just taken possession of.

We had to do the Rapid Antigen tests which were mandated or else we’d be the ones that ruined xmas. Of course, both the missus and I failed … well, we got zero which, these days is apparently a pass.

Anyways, it settled them all down except the daughter in law. Beautiful, creative, and intelligent, she still had to have the windows and doors open anyway. I suppose it was to give the virus easy ingress and egress and no reason to linger.

So, they say there’s really only 7 stories one of which, is The Quest where the proper outcome relies on trust, courage, and belief.

The rest, as they say, will write itself.

That stove’s hot boy. Don’t touch it. And with one eye on me and another on the stove he reached for the old Kookaburra anyway. Yeah well … now you know.

I’m haunted by the memory of the day I dragged his sorry 7yo arse outta the surf by his hair. I’d cautioned him but he stripped naked and did it anyway. One minute I’m standing there talking to Chrisso and the next minute I see that face looking at me just before it went under and almost disappeared without a trace. Never told his mother and, I still see that lad’s defiant and independent face today.

Yesterday I saw that face on the grandson who’s not yet 2yo. See we made scones and had this year’s berries that had already been jammed with a dollop of cream. After he polished off the first scone, he looked me and held my eye while one snakey hand reached for another scone.

I looked him back and said, “it aint me you need to worry about mate, it’s the old bugger over there with the apron who’s on your case”. And the lad took a fork and stuck his new scone copying his older sister who had just run her knife through hers from top to bottom.

Reckon I know exactly what both of them were thinking.

Aunty. My daughter. She was there with her girlfriend who I remember from their primary school days. Two Aunties. All play-dough and nose rings and tattoos. Aunty didn’t utter a word until she was about 4yo. Not a bloody peep, and then one day I’m tying her shoes and she gets frustrated and dismissively brushes my hand away, “I’ll do it myself”, she says.

My head spun and I stood up and looked her and she looked me back with that face I was talking about.

So anyway, yesterday I grabbed my own scone and said to myself as I ran the butterknife through it sideways, “I think I’ll cut mine this way”, then dumped a lump of jam and a lump of cream on both halves. My daughter looks me and smiles. Right then, grand daughter who you would have thought was paying no attention at all, cocks her head and flashes that one-eyed look.

She looks her dad (you know how) and cuts her scone my way just like it was her idea all along. Her with the jam spoon was hilarious but it was too much for her dad and he had to swoop.

I chuckled and he looked me … and I looked him back.

And he knew … just like the story said he would.

I’ve been all at sea for a decade waiting for this arc to come back around.

The youngest who I kicked outta the house a while back had us over for breakky on xmas day. Nearly cost me my marriage that gambit. Yeah, was touch and go.

The lesbians, they seem to have abandoned marxisim in favour of an internet business and are exploiting other queers’ vanity for money. Forlorn hope for an acting career lies fallen like an offering to late-stage capitalism (xir words, not mine). A hairdressing course because of course, Marx still needs a bloody haircut.

And the boy … LoL

Who’d have thought 25 years ago that in the future he’d be the one playing Spock, and I’d be playing Kirk?

Captain, there’s a 91.4% chance of failure.

It’ll work Spock … don’t worry, it’ll work

27 thoughts on “The Quest”

  1. Thanks for the stories Matrrix. Our Christmas was alot tamer. My Kids are inner-city lefties though not to the announcing-their-preferred-pronoun level. They have well paid jobs allowing their indulgences. If we had our time again I wonder what I would have done differently as a Father.


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  2. That’s a Boomer Christmas.

    No values or virtues, and the “What went wrong?” squeal. Perfect.

    “yeah we voted for Gough, but we changed our minds 40 years later”

    There is only forging ahead and calling out stupid for stupid, even if they’re “Beautiful, creative, and intelligent”.


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  3. What is the point of this passive mewling?

    So you’ve foisted a lesbian and a whipped covid Karen son onto us.

    Great. Thanks.

    At least explain yourself and become a morality tale so that younger fathers will not fall where you did.


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  4. The point stix, is that I used to be Spock and not one damned bit of difference did it make.

    Best you can do is give them brains and balls.

    How they use either is up to them.
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  5. No family is perfect. Not even mine.

    Nor mine, all of whom have now been banned.

    Feels like many, many tons have been lifted off these struggling shoulders.

    The stupid sanctimonious hypocritical hysterical gullible nazi bastards.

    They have no inkling of what is in store for them.


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  6. Lovely, wistful tale of a family, and of growing old & seeing the hands come full circle on that old clock. Everything these days makes me a bit weepy, and this does too.

    Me? I am back at the farm & that grandson who was laid low 7 weeks ago by a king hit is now, after two operations, up here with 8 nineteen year old mates! Joy of joys (despite the meals, the prospect of NYE -yikes – etc etc) how lucky are we, in spite of the Plague and the general hysteria of the population.


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  7. Both my parents are retired marxist teachers.

    The only thing marxist teachers hate more than an honest day’s work is an intelligent child.

    I spend Christmas alone and happy, enjoying the fruits of my labour.

    They spend Christmas yelling at each other and my siblings, as adduced from reports of their neighbours.

    I win.


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  8. Surely a lesson can be passed on here, to help others not fall into the same traps as you have.
    You may lament some of the things you did as a dad, we all have, and you can make up for it now by telling us what to do better.


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  9. Family eh?
    Can’t live with them, can’t murder them all and flee to a South Seas paradise and live out your days on the beach in an alcoholic daze with a always changing bevy of wahines.


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  10. a South Seas paradise and live out your days on the beach in an alcoholic daze

    welcome to Chelsea
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  11. … a bit like owning a chihuahua.
    Sure, technically it’s a dog, but it doesn’t prevent you at some point buying an actual dog.
    The chihuahua is hardly going to put up a fight.


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  12. Thanks for sharing MT.
    When reflecting on my own conflict ridden, weirdo birth family, I always come back to the poem of Phillip Larkin.

    They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   
        They may not mean to, but they do.   
    They fill you with the faults they had
        And add some extra, just for you.

    I was sure I would never make the mistakes they did but, of course, I most certainly did. As well as making plenty of my own. And as Larkin concludes the poem, the only sure way to avoid the mistakes, the angst and the regret is not to have kids yourself.
    I’m certainly don’t regret ignoring that advice.


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  13. I tell my kids that if they want to fret about global warming then they’ll go without electricity.

    This is the same policy that every right wing government should have adopted for the past 40 years. And with the advent of social media such “careful what you wish for” policies should have been turbocharged.


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  14. I have the opposite problem.

    They all want to be here and fight over who has dibs. Just had another this morning over the b&b changeover date. So now they’re going to try blow up mattresses on the floors and the portable cot. Even the derg wants in, so he’s coming up too.

    When asked my opinion, I lobbed it back – not my circus, not my monkeys. You work it out.

    And they did.


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  15. We had the 22 year old son over for Christmas day to join us and his 17 year old sister. We couldn’t talk him out of getting tatts when he turned 18 but he’s doing ok with a real regular job and good prospects. He discussed the ending of a tinder interaction with a prospective female who survived on eating other people scraps.I think he’ll be fine. The daughter complains about the lack of real prospects in her future because she thinks they are all soy boys or druggies. She hates what Covid rules have done to her life for the last two years. She also doesn’t understand why we still interact with some of our Covidiot friends. I think she will also be fine.


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  16. “Can’t live with them, can’t murder them all and flee …”

    God grant me the courage to change the things I can’t accept,
    the patience to accept the things I can’t change,
    and the wisdom to hide the bodies of all those I had to kill because they really pissed me off.
    Amen.


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  17. and you can make up for it now by telling us what to do better.

    LoL Dredd … sorry mate, that’s your quest.

    refer: calli : December 30, 2021 at 9:34 am


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