Words Feel Meaningless
#birthday memories
Words Feel Meaningless
49 Memories
Remembering my mom around my birthday now also makes me remember my dad.
My dad passed away in 2023 from a very bad lung infection in South Africa after spending three days in the hospital. He’d been coughing for years and had been a smoker off and on since the age of 9. I’m convinced he also had COVID at some stage as he worked as a freelance handyman, electrician, and plumber during the last few years of his life. He passed away a week before Christmas.
I was close to my dad and have many memories of him. He was a big part of my life and my kids’ lives. After my mom passed away in 2001 I invited him to stay with me in Cape Town so I could keep him company and help him heal. When I joined Cats and then ‘retired’ from dancing in 2003 I also invited him to stay with me in Taiwan. He lived in Taiwan for two years before moving back to South Africa. He came back to Taiwan in 2008 for my wedding.
He found love again and remarried in 2010. He married Marty Azor. I was so relieved that he wasn’t alone any more.
Dad had big dreams about developing the large property we grew up on, but bad tenants, vandals, and a lack of funds really took the wind out of his sails. I sent him cash about two or three times a year to help out, but my dad was never very good with money.
Name: Stephen Douglas Ashby (aka “Black Panther”)
Editor and publisher of a scout recipe book and newsletter.
Born: 1953/06/26
Died: 2023/12/16
Married: to Ethney Lydia Mulder on 1975/06/18
Remarried: to Marty Azor on 2010/09/21
Star Sign: Cancer
Chinese Zodiac Sign: Water Snake
An incomplete list of memories:
Funakoshi karate. My dad trained with us for many years. I got my junior black belt and I remember him barging into the dojo while I was doing my grading for it. My sensei told him he would keep me safe in his dojo.
I was traumatized and very upset with my dad for embarrassing me and quit karate soon after. I have since realized that he was protecting me. I was 16.
Saturday rugby and cricket matches. My dad came to almost every one of them. He would bring my mom along and they would cheer me on together, even though I was not particularly talented.
Dad became a Scoutmaster (now called a Troop Scouter) and he dedicated his Friday nights to running the First Bellair Boys’ Scout Group for many years. I just missed my Springbok Scout Award because I forgot to put a compass sign pointing to North on my maps.
I attended many PLTU (Patrol Leader Training Unit) camps during my holidays because my dad encouraged me to do so.
Dad also edited a scout magazine and published scout recipe books to raise funds for the scout group. I was the COH (Court of Honour) scribe.
Piano classes. My dad drove me to my Thursday night lessons in my last two years of high school. He drove 15 minutes each way and would wait half an hour while I had my class with Rodney.
Dance classes. My dad also supported me when I started ballet classes with Glynis Van Blerk in my last year of my drama degree. He supported my dream of being a dancer, letting me leave the safety of the nest to struggle with my second degree in Classical Ballet in Cape Town. I moved nine times in four years in Cape Town.
Dad attended many of my drama school performances in Durban and my dance performances in Cape Town after my mom passed away.
Pocket Money. My dad encouraged me to be independent and to develop some life skills. He gave my brother and me about R10 a month for pocket money.
I rotated the tires on his red Suzuki van. He laughed at me because I put the nuts back the wrong way. I had to unscrew and rescrew 16 wheel nuts. This was not a good memory.
Dad paid me ten rand an hour to strip paint off doors and doorframes and to paint the inside of our new house with a fellow scout (Grant Pieterse) over the course of a month in the summer. It was brutally hot.
Dad paid me to fill black rubbish bin bags with weeds and to cut grass.
Dad taught me how to use a pick hoe to dig a hole for a braai area.
Dad let me do BMX races with my brother one year.
I remember trying to ride a mini motorcycle when I was smaller. I stalled the engine while my brother revved it up too high and crashed into a fence. Dad decided not to buy the motorcycle.
Dad paid me to chop up a tree with an ax and a hand saw. I had so many blisters. It was tough work. It made me feel strong and manly.
I remember going with my dad to his work a few times in Durban. We would eat toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches for breakfast and drink hot rooibos tea from polystyrene cups at the cafe across from the Telkom building. I remember the little cafe had an arcade game called Choplifter that cost 20c to play. I was obsessed with arcade games in primary school.
Dad worked for The Post Office and then Telkom. My dad and my mom both regularly complained about their work at the post office, even after the company became Telkom. My brother and I had to wait about an hour before we could talk to them on the weekdays. They needed time to unwind after work.
Dad loved napping on the weekend after lunch. He snored. Very loudly. And he had the stinkiest feet in the world. We had to be very careful about waking him up gently. He always woke up angry and ready to fight.
Dad was convinced we were a 15-minute ride from wherever we needed to be, so we were often late. My dad never drove fast and always kept a wheel on the middle line of the road.
Dad taught me how to knit.
Dad loved talking to strangers for hours while we waited in the car for him. He just couldn’t end a conversation.
Dad smoked a lot. Too much. I remember him smoking in the car while taking us to school. My brother planted a little Tom Thumb firecracker in one of his cigarettes which exploded one day while we were watching TV.
I convinced my dad it was cheaper and more convenient to let us ride a bicycle to school. It was also healthier for us.
My dad loved eating slices of cheddar cheese and drinking coca cola from a can. He also loved snacking on peanuts and raisins.
My dad bought and used an old typewriter. He typed slowly with only two fingers. And he made a lot of mistakes. I remember helping him a bit.
My dad was proud and stubborn, but also sensitive. He didn’t like asking for help and struggled to apologize. In Taiwan he taught English a few times but didn’t like working for cram schools. He preferred tutoring and private classes.
My dad loved my mom so much. He took her to and from work every day, even after he took early pension to run his own business. He helped her on the commode every Wednesday night. He picked her up and carried her up and down stairs, in and out of her wheelchair, and into and out of his car. He was strong.
My dad bought me a car when I was in my second year of college after I got my driver’s licence. It was a cream-colored Morris Minor, made in 1964. It cost R6,000 (six thousand South African Rand).
My dad then bought my brother a green Morris Minor. It was slightly older, but cost the same price. He was always trying to treat my brother and me fairly and equally, which was impossible. My brother and I were very different people with very different needs and wants. I was in college and my brother was in high school. Jonnathan later sold the green Morris to buy a surfboard and a wetsuit, which he then sold to buy a pair of boots.
When my car stopped working one day on the way to college, I called my dad on my Nokia 2110 phone. After he arrived and checked the car, he called me stupid for not putting gas in the car. In my defense, the fuel gauge didn’t work. The car would go faster if I took it out of gear to coast while going downhill. I also had to keep a supply of small fuses in the car as they would often burn out. I called this noisy first car the ‘Silent Orgasm’ until I figured out it wasn’t a cool name for a car, even one as noisy as my Morris.
My dad, my mom, and I often visited my grandfather, Oupa Attie. I remember the strong smell of whiskey and brandy mixed with coke. Oupa Attie always drank his neat on the rocks or with some sparkling water. Ouma Ralie would pinch my cheeks, call me handsome, and ask if I had a girlfriend, yet. Every time we visited.
One night, my dad packed a bag after a lot of arguing and shouting. He jumped into his car and drove off. He returned a few hours later. I never found out what happened that night.
We went to the Natal Spa twice for a family vacation. My mom was deathly scared of the water and couldn’t swim, but my dad patiently sat with her on the steps while she soaked in the warm water. I almost drowned once because I couldn’t swim.
When I was born my mom lost a lot of blood. My dad was worried about my mom getting a blood transfusion because Jehovah Witnesses didn’t believe in getting them. He didn’t want to sign the consent forms. My Ouma Zelda hit him hard enough to send him across the room and to get the form signed.
Dad never took part in our Atari Video games. He watched my brother, my mom, and me play.
My dad told me he started grade 1 when he was four. When he turned 16 he left school and became emancipated as his dad kicked him out of the house. He joined the army at a young age.
I was born 6 months after my parents got married.
My dad took my mom to church a few times after her accident but felt uncomfortable with everyone’s sympathy and pity. Everyone prayed for my mom to be healed. Both my parents accepted the fact that my mom would never walk again. My mom’s hero was Christopher Reeve. She said she would keep going as long as Superman kept going from his wheelchair. They soon stopped going to church.
I deeply disappointed my dad once. I was dared and encouraged to steal things from supermarkets by an older boy that lived in our apartment building. We would sneak things under our shirts. One time I tried to steal some comic books from a stationery store. I had put about 20 comics under my shirt before deciding that I better put them back. As I was returning them to their shelves the shopkeeper caught me and banned me from ever returning to buy anything from his shop again. One day soon after that, we were in my dad’s van and we needed to buy something from the same store. The shopkeeper refused to serve me. My dad went in and started arguing until the shopkeeper told him about banning me from shopping there. He asked me if it was true. I admitted my guilt in front of all the customers. I embarrassed and disappointed him and I vowed to never put my dad in that position again.
Dad hit my brother and me with a belt. One night my brother dug his fingers into the soap we used to take a bath with. Since my brother was too scared to admit his guilt, my dad hit both of us. Then my brother confessed his guilt. My dad didn’t spank us very often. This was one of those times I realized the world wasn’t a fair place.
I remember I had a loose tooth. My dad went to the garage to get a pair of pliers to pull it out. I was terrified and hid under the bed for hours. I really believed he was going to pull out my tooth with a pair of rusty pliers.
Dad had a rabbit farm as a side hustle when he worked as an electrician on the coal mines in Durnacol. A stray cat had been killing the baby rabbits by biting their little legs which poked through the bottom section of the mesh cages. My dad caught the cat and then took his .22 pistol and shot the cat nine times. I didn’t see him do it as I was sitting with my mom in the kitchen. We listened to the shots and counted them together.
I got serious third degree burns on both of my feet. My dad had burned garden refuse in a big pit over many hours. Then he hosed down the pit with a lot of water. I thought the fire was out and tried to run across the top of the pit like some kind of superhero. He put me in a bath with cold water and ice cubes to treat my burnt feet. The doctor said that if my dad hadn’t acted so quickly I might have lost both feet.
My parents had my favorite pair of childhood sandals cast in bronze. I still have the pair of bronzed shoes. I feel honored and puzzled with this heavy pair of shoes from my past. I asked my dad about the shoes and he said it was expensive to do at the time.
Dad was trying to write a book by hand. I found his handwritten notes when I went back to South Africa last March to collect his ashes. I typed out all the pages. I think he was trying to write a fictional version of what really happened to him. This was a good way for him to look at his past, which I feel was very traumatic for him. It was a good way for me to look at his past, too. I wish he’d written more. I kept encouraging him to write as he always had the wildest of stories to tell.
Dad had matchstick legs. I got my legs from my mom. My brother inherited my dad’s legs.
Dad loved being out and about in the wild. That’s why he loved the Scout and Rover Movement so much. We went on many hikes and camps and river tubing adventures.
My dad has gone on one more final adventure.
Let’s keep making memories with our loved ones.
Let’s also honor our dearly departed loved ones by remembering them.
