I’m still catching up on the prompts for Lisa’s Bite Sized memoirs. For compilations of other stories with this theme, click on the elephant under the post.
So Camping is the prompt for this week’s Bite Size Memoir – I’m thinking ‘outdoor recreational activity’
My love of camping comes from Dad: always happiest by water – fishing, drinking, reading – whilst one of us kids watched the rods.
My first memory of camping was living in a tent; most likely we were ‘between’ homes. I think it was at Victor Harbour, South Australia: sand dunes, the ocean, and other children to play with. I don’t know my age. I must have been extremely young. You can judge from what happened.
My calls of nature were usually conducted in the sand dunes. I was amazed one day, whilst taking care of business. I yanked up my panties, rushed along to the tent and burst in, shouting.
“Mum! I did a pee and a poo at the same time!”
These words initiated the first of two smackings I ever received from my father. We had visitors in the tent, and dad was embarrassed by my outburst.
As to smacking, there are only two incidents where I remember being chastised by smacking on the bottom by Dad. He might have used his belt, I do not recall. I would receive the odd biff under the ear, now and then. Earning such a biff, for example, during helping dad in his blacksmithing, when letting the forge fire get too cool because I was busy reading a western, instead of turning the blower handle at the right speed.
Swearing was a no-no, in dad’s hearing, too. If he was too far away to smack you under the ear, you would get the piercing blue eyed look. In a way, that was far worse.
Gee, I’m talking about my dad a lot. One of my new blogging friends has recently lost her father, and I think this has made me think of mine a bit more. He was a bit of a bastard, really, but I loved him. He died before his 50th birthday. Basically, he drank himself to death.