Category: Whitianga

I remember when I was three, having a bath with my mother, and when I was four, leading my sleepwalking sister back to bed before she woke up and freaked out. And I remember wars with the kids down the road in which we threw stones at each other. Once, I even hid in our garage and thrust a metal bar through the spokes of an enemy kid’s bike as he roared down the hill outside our house. I had to run like crazy and lock the door to escape the wrath of his elder brother, who chased me up the path. 

We must value the old folks in our lives, realising that they have all had experiences we know nothing about. Sometimes, it’s astounding to hear their stories.