enough to get on with the boy. But
in the circumstances, it wasn't possible and nor was I inclined. He was in
his own world; his mother spoiled him but I was indifferent to what they
did. He was not my son.
The kid was inseparable from Chud, whose father Ted was a big-time
regular at my bar: a real low character I'd banned more than once for
fighting, hated by everyone except the company he kept, same ilk, men
not from here. I could see plain as day what the parents were making of
Chud, felt sorry for him even if he was Yank's best pal. He didn't stand a
chance with those hidings his father and mother dished out to him, all the
Kohu kids, poor little blighters. They'd grow up and do the same.
But I couldn't go and bash Ted stupid or next I'd be minding everyone's
business. Fix the village problems first, I thought, then I'd start cleaning
out the handful of undesirables, as well those shameless women who'd get
drunk opposite the pub, Shirl Kohu one of them.
The war taught me a higher sense of duty. I wanted to look after my
family and serve my community. Perhaps one day at a political level. Not
saying I'm perfect — I have flaws like every person. But in my essence I'm
a good man. I trust myself. And the boy was not my blood.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
POOR NAIVE VILLAGE MAORI BOYS. High school robbed us of our innocence.
We cut it physically, sure, but physical didn't count for much in
the eyes of our white peers. Or not in the B class I was streamed to. Even
though I was no rugby player, I came from the robust outdoor world of
the river, our baths, the mountain; everything of life a physical adventure
and experience, a world I'd expected to continue on much the same — till
high school.
The streaming system tore friends apart from starting day. Not one
Waiwera boy got into the A class, only me and one other in B. Most of
the rest were in the dunce H category, including Chud. Low levels ceased
talking to higher levels. It was like we suddenly spoke different languages.
High school shook us rudely awake to find ourselves lost, confronted
by sons of fathers with jobs we'd never heard of. Surveyor. Accountant.
Doctor. Lawyer. Banker. Chemist. Landlord. Pilot. Scientist. Sheep,
cattle and dairy farmers. Businessmen of description endless. Engineers in
different fields. Sellers of every imaginable service and product.
It hurt to see the different thinking that rubs off on the sons, what
they talk about, how much they know, how they apply themselves to
study while we, the Waiwera boys, feel like dunderheads straight out of
the backblocks who can't apply ourselves to anything of the mind. Alien
beings of limited ability from planet Waiwera in outer space just a thirty-minute
bus ride from high school.
Just a few of us woke up, Chud not one of them. He and the others
latched on to a term picked up to blame: the system. Being white man
superiority, anti-Maori. I'm not sure it was any of that. Three Waiwera
boys were expelled for fighting. Throughout the year Maoris dominated
in detentions and canings, academically but a few of us and then not at the
top level. We'd just arrived like at a rugby match to find better-prepared
opponents, fitter and smarter, and in a different game. I might be Waiwera
through and through, but I wasn't blind and deaf.
I looked at these people and reminded myself I was a chunk of white
on Mum's side and white with maybe a bit of Spanish, given the coppery
complexion, on my father's side. If I was going to play this game then I
better know the rules. There must be some advantages us Waiwera boys
had through our unique growing up.
The very time I needed a father who could help steer me through this.
I looked at my Waiwera mates and peers reeling, saw how more and more
resorted to fists to even things out. I knew if Henry was on talking terms
with me he'd advise me to take the Pakeha boys on with my fists. But he
wasn't and I was not a person like that.
If I just focused on my music, got to know my father
in the circumstances, it wasn't possible and nor was I inclined. He was in
his own world; his mother spoiled him but I was indifferent to what they
did. He was not my son.
The kid was inseparable from Chud, whose father Ted was a big-time
regular at my bar: a real low character I'd banned more than once for
fighting, hated by everyone except the company he kept, same ilk, men
not from here. I could see plain as day what the parents were making of
Chud, felt sorry for him even if he was Yank's best pal. He didn't stand a
chance with those hidings his father and mother dished out to him, all the
Kohu kids, poor little blighters. They'd grow up and do the same.
But I couldn't go and bash Ted stupid or next I'd be minding everyone's
business. Fix the village problems first, I thought, then I'd start cleaning
out the handful of undesirables, as well those shameless women who'd get
drunk opposite the pub, Shirl Kohu one of them.
The war taught me a higher sense of duty. I wanted to look after my
family and serve my community. Perhaps one day at a political level. Not
saying I'm perfect — I have flaws like every person. But in my essence I'm
a good man. I trust myself. And the boy was not my blood.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
POOR NAIVE VILLAGE MAORI BOYS. High school robbed us of our innocence.
We cut it physically, sure, but physical didn't count for much in
the eyes of our white peers. Or not in the B class I was streamed to. Even
though I was no rugby player, I came from the robust outdoor world of
the river, our baths, the mountain; everything of life a physical adventure
and experience, a world I'd expected to continue on much the same — till
high school.
The streaming system tore friends apart from starting day. Not one
Waiwera boy got into the A class, only me and one other in B. Most of
the rest were in the dunce H category, including Chud. Low levels ceased
talking to higher levels. It was like we suddenly spoke different languages.
High school shook us rudely awake to find ourselves lost, confronted
by sons of fathers with jobs we'd never heard of. Surveyor. Accountant.
Doctor. Lawyer. Banker. Chemist. Landlord. Pilot. Scientist. Sheep,
cattle and dairy farmers. Businessmen of description endless. Engineers in
different fields. Sellers of every imaginable service and product.
It hurt to see the different thinking that rubs off on the sons, what
they talk about, how much they know, how they apply themselves to
study while we, the Waiwera boys, feel like dunderheads straight out of
the backblocks who can't apply ourselves to anything of the mind. Alien
beings of limited ability from planet Waiwera in outer space just a thirty-minute
bus ride from high school.
Just a few of us woke up, Chud not one of them. He and the others
latched on to a term picked up to blame: the system. Being white man
superiority, anti-Maori. I'm not sure it was any of that. Three Waiwera
boys were expelled for fighting. Throughout the year Maoris dominated
in detentions and canings, academically but a few of us and then not at the
top level. We'd just arrived like at a rugby match to find better-prepared
opponents, fitter and smarter, and in a different game. I might be Waiwera
through and through, but I wasn't blind and deaf.
I looked at these people and reminded myself I was a chunk of white
on Mum's side and white with maybe a bit of Spanish, given the coppery
complexion, on my father's side. If I was going to play this game then I
better know the rules. There must be some advantages us Waiwera boys
had through our unique growing up.
The very time I needed a father who could help steer me through this.
I looked at my Waiwera mates and peers reeling, saw how more and more
resorted to fists to even things out. I knew if Henry was on talking terms
with me he'd advise me to take the Pakeha boys on with my fists. But he
wasn't and I was not a person like that.
If I just focused on my music, got to know my father
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