Ivan The Terrible-- Ha ha ha
Without Prejudice
Grazie I have known since she was a child of 12, Ivan M's fey little sister. She was cute and adorable then, always wanting to hang around with the older kids, I was 16 or 17, when I first met her. There was Michael too, called Mickey Munchan, a name which Bob and George had a lot of fun with, sniggering and murmuring Micky Munching, behind his back.
We lived In Murrumbeena then, Bob and I getting a flat and taking George in with us. And he brought home Ivan one day and that was it, we were friends for life, Well I am anyway.
I consider Ivan a good male friend and being male, drunk, twice has made a pass and I have good naturedly pushed him away, he's not my type and I'm not his and he knows this, when sober.
But I love a male friend or three, I have my brothers, and they are good friends, too, but I can listen to Ivan all day, so many complaints he has and rails at the world.
But he is also kind and generous and always laughing or exercising his trim 60 year old body and he talks avidly of the "Chicky Babes" he has known.
Alienating most of them with his openly chauvinistic behaviour, and politically incorrect way of addressing them. And in the Summer he rises like a animal from hibernation and comes into his own.
He dresses only in shorts, no shirt and is tanned as old leather, a body like Iggy Pop or Golum, older but still firm, every muscle defined in his perfectly sculpted body. And in Summer it's invites to his place or his Mum's Maria's.
He lives in the house but outside has a good sized dwelling, with a bed and all the comfort he needs. A radio for the horse races, a fridge for beer, a phone for placing bets. he is a many very happy with his lot. One grown daughter that visits him every week and loves him decidedly.
And in the summer he knows I love to swim, so it's pool time or beach time and we swim and roast on the hot sand and talk of times gone by and times that will come and we are the 19 year old and 16 year old we always were back then, always swimming and talking.
He smokes like a train, always has, as do a lot if his family, and that seems faintly ironic as they are all health nuts. Eating little and well, their bodies finely tuned machines, exercise is a must as is smoking, drinking and good times spent together.
Going to doctors is an absolute last resort for the Seventh Day Adventist, and Ivan says he doesn't give a shit for all that Mumbo Jumbo and is irreligious, except for when it comes to healing his body, expecting nature to heal and it does for him.
The only one in Ivan family that I have ever ignored their beliefs in was Clint, Ivan's nephew. I knew he had Tourettes Syndrome within four day of knowing him. The family merely thought of him as "Special", even though his schools knew he had Tourettes and said so, years earlier.
They had let him go on antidepressants after his Dad died, but they weren't happy about it. For his Tourettes, no treatment, no mention of that word at all.
His Tourettes went untreated until one day I took him to my doctor and he was given help amd medication, which he naturally refused to take.
And it became worse and one day I had enough of him popping in to see me, Tourettes out of control and I told him to leave in no uncertain terms. he didn't understand at first, the big lug, but he finally got the picture and I didn't see him for a bout a year.
Then I called down to Ivan's one Sunday and there he was but different. Quieter, more subdued but still Clint, only better. And I had 2 of the grand daughters with me that day and we swam in Ivan's pool and ate plums from his tree, warm and plump with juice running down our chins. And Clint began to talk of his Mother, angry at her for something and said,
"I told her, why can't you be like Janette, she's always there for her kids, no matter what!, She's a good mother!"
And he looked at me and I thought what a good friend you are Clint, really.
I liked him that day and I met up with him again this year. And he was taking medication for his Tourettes, had been since I had ordered him out of my house. exasperated.
And the medication worked as did the antidepressants and he was so much more happy and relaxed and had more self esteem.
He could finally let out his real thoughts, without stuttering or "ticking" or calling out obscenities in other rooms or stuck on themes like repeating the words Raphael Nadal, everytime he saw Ralph. He was a changed man and never was I more glad to see it
And one day he will introduce me to his wife and his children, that one day he wishes to have, and I will be delighted for him. Knowing the beauty within can come out now and shine in him.
Clint is outstandingly beautiful on the outside, big handsome and strong, like a wild horse, that you draw to you with coaxing and gentleness and when he approaches finally, flanks a quiver, nostrils wide, he might just let you pat him, might.
But he might skitter too and run away, frightened and shy. But he'll come back and eye you off,
"Will you hurt me, or not?"
The same little cheeky boy you knew and loved all those years ago, knowing there was something wrong with him, but coming forward anyway, to inspect, defy, throw something at and runaway laughing.
And when you least expected it, peeping at you from around a corner, not being able to help himself. shyly looking and curious. And I would "Boo" him and chase around after him, him laughing so much he would chortle, delighted with the game.
Never knowing one day that I would meet him as a Man, the same open curiosity on his face, the same game of catch me if you can, but this time reversed.
And one time when we went to see Alena and Dean together, just the two of us, Clint and I Ivan drove an aerial from his transistor straight through his hand, the blunt ended aerial coming out the other side.
I'm not sure whether one of his horses had just lost or what, but Clint and I returned to Ivan's and it had just happened. His wound was awful, he had crucified himself in temper, slamming his hand down in fury and spearing his hand.
We tried to get him to go to the hospital but he was having none of that. Alcohol and time would take care if it, he was sure.
And being Ivan it did. He had gone to get some antibiotics and paid for them, but typically didn't take them. $20 dollars down the drain.
And the wound healed quickly, the jagged hole in his hand mending, rejoining tendons and nerves, we were outstanded at his healing capacity with no medical intervention and he suffered no long term damage.
He openly encouraged me to take Clint on as a project and then would get darkly silent when I did. Ivan liked me well enough and as an older woman figured me good company for his nephew for a while.
But "Clinty" as he referred to his grown nephew was "special" and had been treated as such all his life was beginning to rebel against the cloying religion and family, it not working for him.
He was too intelligent to believe Dogma any more, having lost his Father at an important age for a boy and being expected to not grieve for him as much as he had.
His Mother not understanding depression as she should have only becoming alarmed only when he refused to come out of his room, after a year. I was old friends with depression, my Sister and I being diagnosed with it within 6 months of each other a few years earlier.
She shocked.... me too. We knew our Mother was a clinical depressive, suffering hospital stays in psychiatric hospitals, having electric shock treatment that didn't work. she and I were terrified at first, thinking we'd end up like my Mother.
Until I finally remembered asking the question of Yvette's child psychiatrist, many years before. I had asked him would I end up like my Mother and his very reassuring answer,
"Don't be stupid, your Mother was ill"
And that was true, Mum was very ill, war trauma, perhaps schizophrenic. post traumatic stress latent in her, returning with a vengeance later in life, round Menopause, an overactive thyroid calling up the latent mental condition and the latent mental condition keeping her thyroid overactive.
It was a depressing circle and we always hoped she would come back to us, our Mother, whole and strong, but she didn't.
Retreating from us into her own world, of madness, not being able to help herself or not wanting to. She could convince psychiatrists she was sane, such was her cunning towards the end.
and Dad and I would look at each other appalled. Knowing as soon as she was out of the hated psychiatrists office, she would revert to her nutty behaviour.
So now we are in Spring again and Ivan will call and ask me to go swimming or sunbathing or picking plums at his pool and drinking. And it is a ritual we both love and want, old friends talking about there lives, and sharing plans and dreams.
Ivan's very simple as he regards that he has all his up to date.
And he will have, Ivan is a man of simple tastes. A beer, a good sunny day, the races on in the background, he is a happy and contented man.
And I will be glad to go, bit harder now as I don't smoke, and they all do. but that's ok. People tolerated it in me all those years and I will tolerate it in others until they too are ready to stop.
Ivan will offer me a smoke and a beer and I will have a coffee and refuse his generosity on the cigarettes and we will be friends laughing together and worrying about our grown children and as ever, it's great.
love janette
Grazie I have known since she was a child of 12, Ivan M's fey little sister. She was cute and adorable then, always wanting to hang around with the older kids, I was 16 or 17, when I first met her. There was Michael too, called Mickey Munchan, a name which Bob and George had a lot of fun with, sniggering and murmuring Micky Munching, behind his back.
We lived In Murrumbeena then, Bob and I getting a flat and taking George in with us. And he brought home Ivan one day and that was it, we were friends for life, Well I am anyway.
I consider Ivan a good male friend and being male, drunk, twice has made a pass and I have good naturedly pushed him away, he's not my type and I'm not his and he knows this, when sober.
But I love a male friend or three, I have my brothers, and they are good friends, too, but I can listen to Ivan all day, so many complaints he has and rails at the world.
But he is also kind and generous and always laughing or exercising his trim 60 year old body and he talks avidly of the "Chicky Babes" he has known.
Alienating most of them with his openly chauvinistic behaviour, and politically incorrect way of addressing them. And in the Summer he rises like a animal from hibernation and comes into his own.
He dresses only in shorts, no shirt and is tanned as old leather, a body like Iggy Pop or Golum, older but still firm, every muscle defined in his perfectly sculpted body. And in Summer it's invites to his place or his Mum's Maria's.
He lives in the house but outside has a good sized dwelling, with a bed and all the comfort he needs. A radio for the horse races, a fridge for beer, a phone for placing bets. he is a many very happy with his lot. One grown daughter that visits him every week and loves him decidedly.
And in the summer he knows I love to swim, so it's pool time or beach time and we swim and roast on the hot sand and talk of times gone by and times that will come and we are the 19 year old and 16 year old we always were back then, always swimming and talking.
He smokes like a train, always has, as do a lot if his family, and that seems faintly ironic as they are all health nuts. Eating little and well, their bodies finely tuned machines, exercise is a must as is smoking, drinking and good times spent together.
Going to doctors is an absolute last resort for the Seventh Day Adventist, and Ivan says he doesn't give a shit for all that Mumbo Jumbo and is irreligious, except for when it comes to healing his body, expecting nature to heal and it does for him.
The only one in Ivan family that I have ever ignored their beliefs in was Clint, Ivan's nephew. I knew he had Tourettes Syndrome within four day of knowing him. The family merely thought of him as "Special", even though his schools knew he had Tourettes and said so, years earlier.
They had let him go on antidepressants after his Dad died, but they weren't happy about it. For his Tourettes, no treatment, no mention of that word at all.
His Tourettes went untreated until one day I took him to my doctor and he was given help amd medication, which he naturally refused to take.
And it became worse and one day I had enough of him popping in to see me, Tourettes out of control and I told him to leave in no uncertain terms. he didn't understand at first, the big lug, but he finally got the picture and I didn't see him for a bout a year.
Then I called down to Ivan's one Sunday and there he was but different. Quieter, more subdued but still Clint, only better. And I had 2 of the grand daughters with me that day and we swam in Ivan's pool and ate plums from his tree, warm and plump with juice running down our chins. And Clint began to talk of his Mother, angry at her for something and said,
"I told her, why can't you be like Janette, she's always there for her kids, no matter what!, She's a good mother!"
And he looked at me and I thought what a good friend you are Clint, really.
I liked him that day and I met up with him again this year. And he was taking medication for his Tourettes, had been since I had ordered him out of my house. exasperated.
And the medication worked as did the antidepressants and he was so much more happy and relaxed and had more self esteem.
He could finally let out his real thoughts, without stuttering or "ticking" or calling out obscenities in other rooms or stuck on themes like repeating the words Raphael Nadal, everytime he saw Ralph. He was a changed man and never was I more glad to see it
And one day he will introduce me to his wife and his children, that one day he wishes to have, and I will be delighted for him. Knowing the beauty within can come out now and shine in him.
Clint is outstandingly beautiful on the outside, big handsome and strong, like a wild horse, that you draw to you with coaxing and gentleness and when he approaches finally, flanks a quiver, nostrils wide, he might just let you pat him, might.
But he might skitter too and run away, frightened and shy. But he'll come back and eye you off,
"Will you hurt me, or not?"
The same little cheeky boy you knew and loved all those years ago, knowing there was something wrong with him, but coming forward anyway, to inspect, defy, throw something at and runaway laughing.
And when you least expected it, peeping at you from around a corner, not being able to help himself. shyly looking and curious. And I would "Boo" him and chase around after him, him laughing so much he would chortle, delighted with the game.
Never knowing one day that I would meet him as a Man, the same open curiosity on his face, the same game of catch me if you can, but this time reversed.
And one time when we went to see Alena and Dean together, just the two of us, Clint and I Ivan drove an aerial from his transistor straight through his hand, the blunt ended aerial coming out the other side.
I'm not sure whether one of his horses had just lost or what, but Clint and I returned to Ivan's and it had just happened. His wound was awful, he had crucified himself in temper, slamming his hand down in fury and spearing his hand.
We tried to get him to go to the hospital but he was having none of that. Alcohol and time would take care if it, he was sure.
And being Ivan it did. He had gone to get some antibiotics and paid for them, but typically didn't take them. $20 dollars down the drain.
And the wound healed quickly, the jagged hole in his hand mending, rejoining tendons and nerves, we were outstanded at his healing capacity with no medical intervention and he suffered no long term damage.
He openly encouraged me to take Clint on as a project and then would get darkly silent when I did. Ivan liked me well enough and as an older woman figured me good company for his nephew for a while.
But "Clinty" as he referred to his grown nephew was "special" and had been treated as such all his life was beginning to rebel against the cloying religion and family, it not working for him.
He was too intelligent to believe Dogma any more, having lost his Father at an important age for a boy and being expected to not grieve for him as much as he had.
His Mother not understanding depression as she should have only becoming alarmed only when he refused to come out of his room, after a year. I was old friends with depression, my Sister and I being diagnosed with it within 6 months of each other a few years earlier.
She shocked.... me too. We knew our Mother was a clinical depressive, suffering hospital stays in psychiatric hospitals, having electric shock treatment that didn't work. she and I were terrified at first, thinking we'd end up like my Mother.
Until I finally remembered asking the question of Yvette's child psychiatrist, many years before. I had asked him would I end up like my Mother and his very reassuring answer,
"Don't be stupid, your Mother was ill"
And that was true, Mum was very ill, war trauma, perhaps schizophrenic. post traumatic stress latent in her, returning with a vengeance later in life, round Menopause, an overactive thyroid calling up the latent mental condition and the latent mental condition keeping her thyroid overactive.
It was a depressing circle and we always hoped she would come back to us, our Mother, whole and strong, but she didn't.
Retreating from us into her own world, of madness, not being able to help herself or not wanting to. She could convince psychiatrists she was sane, such was her cunning towards the end.
and Dad and I would look at each other appalled. Knowing as soon as she was out of the hated psychiatrists office, she would revert to her nutty behaviour.
So now we are in Spring again and Ivan will call and ask me to go swimming or sunbathing or picking plums at his pool and drinking. And it is a ritual we both love and want, old friends talking about there lives, and sharing plans and dreams.
Ivan's very simple as he regards that he has all his up to date.
And he will have, Ivan is a man of simple tastes. A beer, a good sunny day, the races on in the background, he is a happy and contented man.
And I will be glad to go, bit harder now as I don't smoke, and they all do. but that's ok. People tolerated it in me all those years and I will tolerate it in others until they too are ready to stop.
Ivan will offer me a smoke and a beer and I will have a coffee and refuse his generosity on the cigarettes and we will be friends laughing together and worrying about our grown children and as ever, it's great.
love janette
