My Pa en daardie boek van Mr Pirsig

Ek lees almal blog oor 8 goeters. 8 boeke meer as een keer gelees ens. Boeke is ‘n groot deel van my lewe en ek het seker al baie honderde gelees en ‘n groot chunk van die Afrikaanse oevre heelwat daarvan twee keer gelees.  Dit laat my toe een van my baie ou blogge iewers te gaan uitkrap en probeer vertaal. Hier is dit;

 Ons het sekerlik almal as jy dit nog nie self gelees het nie al die ten minste Mr. Pirsig se boek se titel iewers raak geloop, “Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance”

Nou Mr Pirsig se boek is seker die een wat ek al ‘n honderd keer  gelees het, maar nog nooit klaar gemaak het nie. Daar is ware juwele in die boek en daar is ook lang dele waar Mr Pirsig heeltemal verval in sy eie pretensieuse ego trippie en filosofiese argumente oor kwaliteit en goed. Skip daardie dele by all means ek weet watter dele ek van hou en dit is die motorbike trip dele.

 Verder het ek maar die Ingels gelos soos dit was

 On the first page of the book,Mr Pirsig described a scene of a Father and his son touring somewhere in the USA on a motorcycle. I am immediately transferred to my own relationship with my Dad. He described the feeling of sitting on a motorcycle so precise and with so little description it is amazing.

 From Mr Pirsig’s book page one;”

“I feel as if the engine is purring underneath me and I can tell the time by just looking at my wrist, the wind rushing past  ahead of me I see the open and then … a flock of birds.”

 

I whack Chris’s knee and point to it.

“What!” he hollers.

“Blackbird!”

He says something I don’t hear.”What?” I holler back.

He grabs the back of my helmet and hollers up, “I’ve seen lots of those, Dad!”

“Oh!” I holler back. Then I nod. At age eleven you don’t get very impressed with red-winged blackbirds.

You have to get older for that. …….”

My Dad died in 1982, I was 17 years old and for a long time was angry at him and blamed him, saying he never talked to me or that we never had a single conversation that I could remember etc. I was angry that he was gone and that we missed the opportunity of a deeper relationship.

 Then later in life I realised like the son in Mr Pirsig’s book, my Dad also pointed out the Blackbirds to me. He was the one who taught me to be a gentleman and respect my Mother and women above all. He instiled pride in me and who contrary to the nationalist mentality of many of his peers  was progressive and taught me respect and acceptance of all people. He taught me what it is to take responsibility and work hard and in the manner how he took care of his family.

 I was the son who hollered back ” I have seen many of those, dad” I just never then took notice, immersed in my own important little world.

 Today  I miss you Dad,  and I want to say thanks for showing me the black birds. It did stick to me, I am trying to be like you although it is not easy. I am not as brave as you were.