from my mother's kitchen

  "The picture doesn't show me", I cried. Not being noticed, or left out of the group, was my greatest fear, and it has come about. Pictures don’t lie. Ranting and raving won’t reverse the situation. The damage to my ego was complete and disastrous.   The memory of posing for this photograph is etched in my mind. Somebody, or some accident had removed me. All my mates are there. Sorrel Waks, John Miller, and Kenny Resnick are all there. Loyal buddies as they were, it’s unimaginable to think that they allowed themselves to be photographed without me.   Some said that I was hallucinating, a common accusation among kids playing a joke on me, making me think that I was crazy or something. Impossible, I was there, why doesn’t my image show up?   Mrs. Deacon’s voice rang loudly in my ears, "The grade photo will be taken tomorrow". Neatly dressed in full school uniform was a strict requirement. Black blazers, and grey socks up to our knees. Ma was informed ...

There was a beautiful, big, black Remington typewriter in my father’s office. It was used by a pretty lady, called Thora. She typed business letters, lists of stock in the shop, accounts and so on. The typewriter was always clicking away, but sometimes I would come into the office, and see the typewriter standing there, unused and silent. This typewriter fascinated me. One day, when I was about 10 years old, during the school holidays, I didn’t have much to do so I climbed on the bus that used to stop near the firestation, near where we lived at 031 Percy Stewart Str and rode to my father’s shop. I entered the office, as was my habit and found the typewriter standing there all forlorn. It may sound ridiculous to most people for a person to be scared to do such a paltry thing as to climb on a chair in my father’s office. But it’s a fact that for me it took a lot of courage to sit on Thora’s chair in front of the typewriter and even more courage to start banging on the keys. I was a v...