I read some story a while back - at JWF's place - about Indian's and Muslim's practicing some ritualistic "baby toss." They have got to stop. Just stop it. You are causing irreversible damage and harm to little children who are at a ripe young age, and who, after you've thrown them from some 15 meters high into the air to land on a sheet being supported by the hands of a dozen men, stand absolutely no chance of maturing into normal adults with fully functioning brain cells. Nary a one. Functioning brain cell, that is. JWF posted the video, which, admittedly, I had not watched until this morning. Sweet Mother of PETE!?!
File under: What The F^ck ???!!! It's not bad enough you're throwing babies off a roof or a balcony, but you're holding them by the feet and hands and SHAKING THEM FIRST?!!! Words cannot adequately express... If you can stomach it. Watch it. Wait for the end. The little baby girl you see get shaken then tossed? Her eyes are rolling. Don't tell me that this stone-age practice hasn't caused a good number of innocent BABIES to be brain damaged! What is the reasoning? Because this was done to you as a child and caused you severe malfunction you are going to impose it on the next generation? When does it stop?!! Madness, I tell you. Sheer and utter madness.
I'm not sure if this is what has happened to Pool Guy, but something happened to him as a small child. I have often thought "shaken baby syndrome." Pool Guy? He has my sympathy. His mother died when he was a small child and it is more than obvious just looking at the man that life has been very rough and hard on him and for him.
My gardener? Appuk? I don't know what kind of childhood he had. He "looks" normal. He isn't. Part of our problem is a communication barrier - it is a small part of our problem. The other part? The sun has fried his brain. Or else he was part of the ritualistic baby toss. No matter what I ask him to do or ask him NOT to do, he smiles and laughs and says, "Yes Madam." It comes down to showing him what I need him to do. That works fine. Most of the time. But not all of the time.
This morning? He asked me over a week ago if it was time to "cut" the bushes. Yes. They need done. They were supposed to get done last Thursday. They didn't. Appuk depends on his son, Hadar, to come and help him [his nephew, Inom, is our houseboy] when the bushes get done. I don't pay Hadar. I pay Appuk and if he chooses to pay Hadar, that is their deal. On Thursday Appuk told me "Hadar not come today, Madam." Yes. I see that. When are we going to trim the bushes, then? "Saturday, Madam." Well, they didn't get done on Saturday, either. A week later? They still aren't done.
Well at 6:50 A.M. today I hear this funny noise. What is that? Are one of my precious Kids getting into something they are not supposed ot be in? Very odd sound. Cannot duplicate it in words. I was in the study when I heard it - then it stopped - seconds later it started up again. I went to the kitchen to see if it was one of my Kids - nope. They're both still in bed, sleeping with Daddy. I look out the back window from the kitchen - is the Rooster here, again? Nope. It is Appuk and Hadar out front attacking my bushes and shrubs with their hedge-trimmers. Oh, I DO mean attacking. [Is there some internal private war you have with my bushes Appuk? Are you mad at any growing living green thing? Or just "mad?" Do we need to get you some professional help with this? An anger management course, perhaps?]
I went out front to see what was being done and could not believe that they actually thought they were doing a good job. "Trim bushes today, Madam." Yes, Appuk, I can see that. Only that isn't a "trim." That is a slaughter. Have I ever specifically asked you to trim everything in a haphazard zig-zag shape? No. I have not. Ever. Not a single even height hedge in the entire dayum yard! By haphazard zig-zag shape I do not me some sculptured design that you might see in a botanical garden. Oh, no I don't. I was actually gasping at what they had done. I was mortified. I should have taken a picture - but then, I would have had to have taken a "before" picture - then a picture of their "attack" - and a then a picture of the "after." The "after" being after my blood returned to where it is normally supposed to be in my veins instead of shooting out my eyes.
We had words. It was early, still. I had only had but a couple of cups of coffee and a few cigarettes at that point. I remember some waving of the arms and frantic hand gestures. And something about "Do you know what e-v-e-n means? What the heck are you doing?! Stop! Do it right or don't do it at all." The response I got from Appuk? Enough to make me want to grab his hedge clippers out of his hand and beat him to a bloody pulp. [I do not advocate abusing help and I am quick to admonish anyone who does. That said, I can see quite clearly how it is that it happens in the heated moment of frustration! Of course I didn't beat him - but if I thought it would knock an iota of sense into that dense mass he wears on his neck in that empty head of his - I might be tempted to do it.] Here is how Appuk responded, he chuckled and said, "Yes, Madam." No. You did not just "chuckle." I had a hard time controlling my voice and not screaming at him. "There is nothing remotely funny about this Appuk. You do it right or I'll find another gardener to clean up this mess. You can work somewhere else, but it will not be here. Do you understand?" "Oh, yes, Madam." No chuckle, either. Did he understand? I think so. Dayum. I hope so.