This is the humorous reaction of one teenager when confronted by another teenager who also is her sister and who is armed with camera.
Merel does not work hard to pass exams. Homework was never of primary interest. But when needed, she would do enough to get through. At 15 I was top of the class in some subjects without doing any work. There were two sets of marks, one for exams and one for homework throughout the year. My report said that I was 29th out of 29 for term and homework, and first at exam time. I was asked to stand next to the teacher. I was so proud. I was asked to explain what these numbers meant. Like a fool, I said it meant that I was the best in the class. I recieved several hard whacks around the head from a huge hand. No, it did not mean that I was the best. It meant that I was the laziest sodding wretch that it has ever been my displeasure to teach. What does it mean? Say it loud or I'll have your trousers down and six of the best in front of the class (in the 1950's being beaten to a pulp with a bamboo pole was good for the building of character. It didn't do your arse much good though).
Merel had a camera for her birthday. I hope it's a better one than that which took this picture in the Wok Palace
Biology lesson at the Wok Palace.
Part 4. The entrails of the hedgehog.
This I fail to understand. 'Be all that you can be' is one thing. If someone has to work their balls off to get a diploma, while another gets it without much effort and has some fun, then I know which I would rather be. In other subjects I did work hard to make the grade because I had to. But only because it was the only way. Some people end up being good at the process of learning but cannot stop or they lose it, others get good at taking it in and hanging on to it.
Sisters in the kitchen. Rare moments of loving cooperation.
'Just the one salad, then?'
I digress. Merel did not get good marks at school because she did the minimum. On the other hand, she is responsible and well organised. Maths and logic were never a problem for Merel. At the age of 6 Merel was the only one who could work out the Ikea diagrams for the new bookshelf. Because we were worried about the final exam, Bernadet offered financial encouragement, pennies for points. I did warn Bernadet that money for points over the pass mark for each of the 8 subjects could be expensive. What if she started pulling books out and learning stuff? Well she didn't, and we were more concerned about failure. In Holland you are not allowed to leave school until you are either 18 or have a higher diploma. The exams that Merel was taking were to gain entrance to a higher college for a course that might let her out at 18. We started to get worried when we checked the Maths exam answers on the internet. Yep, got that one. And that. Yep, the next is good too. And so on. Not one wrong answer. Having just bought a car, our bank account cannot support too many correct answers. When the results were published, we were presented with two documents by our very proud daughter. An invitation to a Diploma Ceremony, and a bill for 450 euros for points earned. It was hard to explain to her that we were hoping and expecting that she would just scrape through, and could she wait for a few weeks? Seriously, it was worth every cent. Half of it pays off the loan to us for her second scooter (the first having been tinkered to destruction) a sum which we thought never to see again.
Well done Merel, and now she is also accepted into the college of her first choice, on a course of Animal Welfare and Management. It probably helped at the interview to be able to say that her pets were fish, hamsters, mice, rabbits, cats, rats and a horse. And she worked at weekends in the animal department of a huge plant and animal mega-market handling all kinds of beasts, including snakes and tarantulas.
To celebrate her birthday we had agreed to go out for a meal including boyfriend Thijs. I mean with boyfriend Thijs as a guest, not as a main course. Having arranged to borrow money from Merel for this feast, we all set off for the Wok Palace at the Tudor Hotel. For 20 euros, all you can eat in two and a half hours. For 30 eruros all you can eat and drink in that time. We unwisely went for the 20 euro deal, and drank ourselves into the poorhouse. I am usually suspicious of these places, having being spoiled by the wonderful Chinese buffets in Toronto (all you can take in for 10 dollars), and the nauseating Mr Woo's in London (everything you can keep down for a fiver). This one was very good. Soup, sushi and salad bars, many chinese dishes, superb salmon and fresh-water fish and a build-your-own wok counter which would then be fired up for you, whatever unlikely mix you chose. After two hours and 5 kilos, back home. A stormy night with a roaring tempest and much wind.
During the week I spent much time tying to erect a party tent. Good erections are a blessing at 67. All the bits were there, but there seemed to be too many poles and in odd numbers, strange for a symetrical tent. And some of the clicky bits didn't stay clicked together. Each time I managed to get the roof assembled, it all collapsed and rained aluminium poles on me when I tried to raise it up on its supports. Eventually I tied the whole structure together with string and it all went up. Ropes of light and a hi-fi and all is ready. The idea is that Young People would be in the tent, partially screened off from Old People so that they could do what Young People do at parties (mostly anatomical investigations of each other) without being seen by Old People. There would only be about 10 friends of Merel as there was another birthday party going on at the same time, and this party would, en masse, migrate and fuse at 10 p.m. The rest were family and other Old People.
Saturday the day of the party. I was sent out the day before to purchase food and drinks. Bernadet had left a list. Since the 10 or so young people would be on scooters, we would go easy on the alcohol. Two crates max. And Jan's magnificient barbecue machine would supply them all with cholesterol and unsaturated fat. The young people would not be staying after 10 oclock as they had a 'real' party to go to. I myself was appointed to run the barbecue. I hate barbecues after biting into a chicken that was burnt to toast on the outside, but cold and wet inside and started to bleed when I bit into it. And a barbecue some years ago in which a totally drunk neighbour was seen to be enjoying a leg of chicken. Raw.
Eva's dad is not impressed with my story of how I pushed a grand piano up the North Face of the Eiger while playing Schubert sonatas.
When I first saw the drinks list, it was quite short. After loading up the trolly with cola, 7-up, orange juice, Sisi, cassis, lemonade etc, I was then directed to the wines department for the six bottles of sweet white and the eight of rosé. The supermarket did not have any vodka, rum, gin jenever, absynthe, chivas, whiskey, bourbon, cointreau, cognac, malibu or champagne I went home with only half my list. I explained to my true love that I needed to find a liquor shop and she snatched the list from me. 'It looks like my writing, but I didn't write all that stuff after the soft drinks!'. Merel suddenly remembered that she had forgotten to be somewhere else, in great haste.
All went very well. I actually enjoyed the leadership over the barbecue apparatus. We did however get too much meat out of the freezer, so it looks like barbecue again on Sunday and Monday. The addition of the chip-fryer was also well recieved by the Young People. All in all, a great success, measured by the width of Merel's smile during the evening. And Merel's happiness was what it was all for.
The Young People were all well behaved and nobody got drunk. And very polite too. Politely asking if we would mind if they smoked a joint or two, and graciously accepting that we didnt mind if they didn't, upon which the Young People went for a walk to re-generate an appetite for the next round of the barbecue. And appeared a short time later, somewhat quieter than before, as if the walk had mellowed them somewhat. Those at the front end of the scooters seemed to have behaved quite responsibly, and helped those at the back onto their seats or draped them over them. And the Young People left to go to a proper party, while the Old People had a few more bevvies as the light faded. A nice time was had by all.
The party is off for a walk round the block, with ample refreshment.
Older people having a Good Time
.. and Young People wishing they knew the Old People's secret of how to have a Good Time.
Emma's party is next week, and everything is already in place. Only Emma has invited about 80 people and her entire Hyves swarm. Live broadcast on the Garden Cam of course.
Well done Merel. You are great.
Posts
Geen opmerkingen:
Een reactie posten