N.Z. time
Wednesday, July 27th, 2005
7:56 a.m.
After returning from Arizona, it was just before my mom and my aunties blew up the big white house, I remember playing out in the backyard one day. I had some little toy cars and trucks and I was playing over by the side of the fence. Next door was a little girl about my own age and she was playing with her dollies just on the other side of the wire fence that separated our backyards. I watched her for a while and then asked if I could play with one of her dolls, she said, “No!” Well, all the ladies in my house used such dock worker, truck driver, locker room language, and one of their favourite expressions when something wasn’t going their way was, “well, just piss on the son of a bitch”. In my 5 year old brain I thought that was the acceptable course of action, so I stood up, unbuttoned my trousers and peed right through the fence all over the little girl. Needless to say it did not meet with the little girl’s approval. She jumped up and went screaming and crying into her house. Thinking I had responded appropriately, I just kept on playing with my cars and trucks. It wasn’t long before my mom, my grandmother and a couple of my aunties came out the back door demanding my immediate presence in the living room. They chewed me up one side and down the other. How could I do such a horrible thing to that beautiful little girl?
I tried to tell them what she had done, and that I only did what they were always saying someone should do if somebody didn’t treat you right, but they didn’t hear a word I was trying to say. I mean they marched me next door right into that little girl’s living room. There she stood all dressed in white, looking just like a little angel. Her father was there, all dressed up in his uniform, looking down at me, he was an L.A. city policeman and it seemed like he was about twenty-two feet tall. Her mother, looking all flustered and hurt, was sitting in a chair right next to where her little girl was standing. Everyone was acting ashamed and angry, and it was all directed at me. I was told I had to apologise, so, even though I thought I had resolved my problem within normal family protocols, I mumbled out the words, “I’m sorry I peed on you, please forgive me; I’ll never do it again.” “What was that”? My mother said in angry disbelief, “we couldn’t hear a word you said”. So I said it again, louder, “I’M SORRY I PEED ON YOU, I’LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN.” I don’t remember if she accepted my apology or not, but to this day I’ve never peed on another person.
This story of my life is a long, long story.
So many people have been asking me about a complete biography I thought I might as well start at the beginning. I love putting it all down for my children and my grand children, but if you’re getting bored with it, I can always go back from time to time and write about what I call, my airplane theology. Email me and let me know…..
I’ll be back …… (Maybe)
B Mc G
