An uncle from the past

Ball was reunited with an uncle from the past, only the third time the pair have met.

His father’s elder brother, Toob, who works in shipping in Samut Prakan, spent the day with Ball’s family yesterday.

Mum bought a bottle of cheap Thai whisky, as did I. The last time the pair met was at the funeral of Ball’s father a few years ago.

‘He’s grown up so much,’ Toob said, referring to Ball.

Toob, 57, was one of 12 children, two of whom including Ball’s Dad are now dead.

He has two teenage children of his own, but after leaving his wife now lives alone, staying in one cheap hotel after another.

‘I don’t want to be burdened down,’ he said, asking why he prefers to live in hotels rather than finding a place of his own.

‘I have friends from a wide range of ages....my own age, your mother’s, even your own,’ Toob told Ball.

‘I can make B2000 or B3000 a day. In my job, I am comfortable,’ he said.

Ball lacks older male figures in his life on his Dad’s side of the family. He and Toob hit it off immediately.

‘I like the way Toob talks. He gives advice while also talking about stories in his life,’ Ball told me, while his uncle and Ball’s Mum were busy chatting.

Uncle Toob looks similar to Ball’s elder brother, soldier Boy, who is regarded as the hero of the family.

He is the eldest child, neither smokes nor drinks, and has a girlfriend. He is also good to his Mum.

‘I have my father’s fiery temperament,’ Ball told me.

‘My brother is widely liked in the neighbourhood. But when we were young, and argued with kids in the soi, I would be the first to stand up for him and sort people out,’ said Ball.

‘I’m small, but I didn’t let that worry me,’ he added.

I looked at the portrait of Ball’s Dad on the wall. ‘Everyone else has Dad’s nose. I have Mum’s,’ said Ball.

‘I want a long, tapering face, like Dad’s, but ended up with a wide face like Mum,’ he said, rubbing his features unhappily.

‘You have no need to worry about your looks,’ I told him.

Uncle Toob overheard me.

‘My daughter and her partner run a bar in Bangkok. The next time I am visiting, I will take you there. With your Korean-style looks, girls will swarm all over you,’ he told Ball.

Mr Fiesty Korean looked embarrassed.

‘I reserve the right to screen girls for him,’ I said.

Ball laughed, and looked at me to see if I was being serious.

‘Just joking,’I added, ‘though a visit to that bar sounds great.’

Ball has visited few nightspots in Bangkok. I want to take him to one, perhaps a beer garden, with Mum as our invited guest. We will see.

While Ball stepped away for a moment, I turned to his uncle.

‘Ball’s uncles seldom visit. I hope you come again soon. He would love to have you in his life,’ I told Toob.

‘I will try to come again soon,’ he said.

Mulling work options, old girlfriend calls

Maiyuu is again considering providing bakery to order, to supplement our income.

A small eatery has opened close to home. 'I will ask them if they would like to order bakery products from me. First, though, I have to decide what to make,’ he said.

Maiyuu could offer them home-made ice-cream, though a small investment would be needed first. We would have to buy him a bigger ice-cream maker.

Two friends have asked him to make cakes for an upcoming party. He will charge a token amount for his labour.

‘You could turn that into a bigger enterprise if you were to put up a notice in the condo offering home baking,’ I said.

‘Most of the tenants in this condo work during the day. I doubt they would be interested,’ he said.

Thais have an answer for everything, don’t they?

-
‘He’s still a teenager...he can’t see beyond today or tomorrow,’ said idle taxi driver Lort.

We were sitting in a slum alleyway, talking about Mr Ball’s options for finding work. Ball was away buying food supplies with his Mum.

‘He has yet to consider what to do with his future,’ said Lort. He agreed that Ball needs to find a solid job.

Ball has worked in 7-11 convenience stores, but in a few years he will be too old for that any more, or for serving in shops or restaurants.

By the time he's 20 or 21, he will be too old to ask his mother to support him while he is out of work (she won't allow it, said Lort optimistically).

Ball, a proud young man with a temper, has left jobs after falling into arguments with his superiors.

That stems from his youth and will pass in time. However, he might still be happier in a job where he could be his own master.

Ball reckons he could end up as a taxi driver, but he does not know Bangkok well, and has a poor sense of direction.

Lort suggested he could become a motorcycle taxi driver.

'Can you see him mixing with that rough crowd? 'I asked.

Lort agreed that he couldn't. Ball would have trouble fitting in there as well.

Ball could marry a girl with better school-leaving qualifications than his own, and send her out to work while he looks after their kids at home. That might be his best option, as Ball does not seem to want to work.

In short, his future looks grim.

‘If you returned to learning, you could improve your options,' I told Ball recently.

‘I will never return to study. That’s finished,’ he declared.

Studying part-time to get his school leaving certificate would take three years, Lort told me. Ball left school at 15 without one.

'I can see I might have to be with Ball for many years yet,' I said.

'You should stick with him and give him the guidance and help he needs,' said Lort.

-
'I have looked forward to the World Cup for so long. It's held every four years, and the last time it was on, I was just a kid,' said Ball.

Ball has been following the World Cup eagerly. Few of his friends turn up at his place to watch the matches with him, as they are too busy with work.

However, every few days he heads out to play football with youngsters who gather at a nearby vacant section.

I asked him why he sees his friends so seldom these days. ‘They invite me out, but I have no money, so I have to say no,’ he said.

‘I am out of work, so would have to ask my mother for help. I don't want to bother her, so I stay at home instead.'

-
A girl from Ball’s past called.

Ball doesn't have a cellphone, so most contact goes through his mother.

Mum was happy to get the call.

‘Where are you now, look [child]?’ she asked the caller.

‘So you are still at Carrefour...and you graduated with a certificate in accounting!’ Mum said excitedly, as the young woman on the end of the line, called Nam, told her story.

Nam holds the honour of being Ball’s first girlfriend, a few years before.

Ball had mentioned her before, but I thought she was just a passing attraction.

Mum handed the phone to Ball. They spoke for 20min.

Mum watched with pride as her son caught up with his old girlfriend's news.

Nan had kept Mum’s contact numbers. When the battery on one of Mum's cellphone gave out, Nan called on the other, and Mum handed the device to Ball.

Mum likes Nan more than she does Ball's present girlfriend, Jay. 'Ball loved her...he doesn't love Jay,' she told me as the pair chatted away.

While Nan has done well, graduating with a leaving certificate in accounting, Ball is out of work, with no immediate prospects of bettering himself.

We were sitting on the floor, feeding and playing with the toddlers. When the call ended, I asked Ball if he would consider going back to Nan.

‘I can’t go back. I am now with Jay...and I love her, even though we argue,’ he said.

Ball has big, sad eyes. Sometimes it is hard to know if they reflect his feelings, as he looks sad anyway.

Half an hour earlier, Ball had taken Jay on his motorbike to apply for a job which she found on the internet.

Soon after the call with Nan ended, Ball went out to fetch Jay, so she wouldn’t have to walk home.

Was he feeling guilty? Who knows.

But Nan, who must occupy a special place in his heart as his first serious girlfriend, still has feelings for Ball, and him for her.

Wet weather adventurer

Ball was caught in the rain as he took home a man in his 40s on his motorbike.

I met the older guy half an hour earlier, as he sat with Mum, her son and a few others outside the slum, drinking.

He was growing outspoken and touchy-feely as he knocked back the beers, but the others did their best to ignore him.

He decided he couldn’t find his own way back home, so prevailed on Mr Ball.

'Can you take me home?' he slurred.

Eager to be rid of him, the rest of the group agreed it was time for this guy to go, and urged Ball to oblige.

Ball’s first instinct was to pass on the burden to his younger brother Beer, the go-for of the household, but Mr B made some excuse, so Ball was left with the job.

Touchy-feely lived only five minutes away, but it started to pour while they were away.

Mum's friend Noi was concerned, and didn't think Ball should have been dragged into ferrying touchy-feely home.

‘If he found his way here, he can find his way back. The roads are slippery in the wet, and Ball could have an accident.’

She frets about me too.

Earlier, when Ball dropped in to his place to talk to his brother, she looked at me and said: ‘Don’t worry, he’ll be back in a moment.’

Ball pulled up on his motorcycle, and touchy feely clambered on the back.

He was away 10 minutes. Noi, peering eagerly through the rain, was the first to call his waterlogged return.

'Here he comes,' she said, as she pointed down the road at an approaching motorcycle.

Ball, displaying a keen sense of direction which normally eludes him, had found his way to touchy-feely's place, and dropped him off.

As the rain started, he managed to take off his watch, a possession he treasures perhaps more than any other. He handed it to his mother for safekeeping.

He parked his bike, as I pulled from my bag a towel, which I gave him to dry off.

Another member of the gathering, a grizzled guy in his 50s who sells dry squid on a cart, gave me the thumbs up. ‘Good on you!’ he said.

Ball took the towel, wiped himself down briskly, and handed it back. If he had held on to it any longer, it might have looked as if we were close.

‘Ball, you have a cold. Please dry yourself properly,’ I said, giving it back to him.

He put it through his hair, and handed it back a second time. I held on to it for a moment, and tried again.

‘Put it over your shoulders to keep warm,’ I said.

He took it, and let it lie there limply as if he would rather stand there soaked.

I like to think Ball has a gay angel sitting on one shoulder, a straight angel on the other.

A minute later, with his shoulders still swathed in the towel I had given him, his straight angel starting giving him grief.

‘What will they think? Quick, hand it back!’ it chattered in his ear.

Ball surrendered the towel a third time, and I gave up my fight.

I enjoyed seeing him soaked to the skin. His skin looked clearer, his boyish face more open and pronounced, as his wet hair was plastered to his little head.

Ten minutes later, we made our way back home.

Ball headed straight for his girlfriend, and started talking in that impenetrable teenage-style, boyfriend/girlfriend way they have.

Realising my chance to make a difference had passed (I am slipping back!) I said goodnight and left them to it.

Getting worked up over nothing

My friend farang C has experienced first-hand how frustrating Ball's family can be.

I had told C that Nong Mew, one of the toddlers of the household, was having his first birthday the other night.

Farang C, who knows Ball but has never met the rest of the family, decided to buy a couple of dishes to help them celebrate. He bought takeaway food at a Thai restaurant in soi Ngam Duplee.

He took me there for a look. The place is run by gays.

We had a quick meal, and ordered his two takeaway dishes. I called Ball's mother and asked if I could escort C to her home.

‘Yes, come, come...’ she said.

He also wanted to meet toddler Mew, and catch up with Mr Ball, whom he hadn't seen for months.

I walked C through the slum to Ball's place. When we arrived, Mum was absent; she was nearby, playing HiLo.

Her youngest son, moody Beer, met us at the door. From where I stood, I could see Ball sitting at the computer in a darkened space off the main sitting room.

Ball called out, but didn't rise from his seat. He couldn't see C standing next to me, apparently, and nor could he hear him.

Farang C flew into a huff because he thought Beer's manner was unwelcoming (Mr B is never welcoming towards anyone).

Mum wasn't at home, the toddler was nowhere in sight, and Ball refused to get up to greet us. C turned on his heels and stormed away, taking the food with him.

‘I wasn’t brought up like that. When a visitor calls in, you greet him properly,’ complained farang C.

Ball's Mum was apologetic when she found out what happened.

I spoke to her at Mew's party a few hours later. She asked why I didn't call her when I arrived; she was planning to leave her HiLo den to meet us, she said.

I didn't think of that, I must admit. Ball said he didn't see farang C there. He called out, asking me to come in, but I didn't respond, as I was busy talking to moody B.

I am in the bad books with the family myself, though they are too polite to show it.

I left with Mr C. Moments after that episode, someone on a phone number I did not recognise started calling me furiously.

Later I learned it was Ball’s elder sister, Kae, who was standing at a cake stall at a local supermarket and wanted to know if I still intended to buy Nong Mew a birthday cake as planned.

Mum had called me earlier that day, complaining she had no money. I offered to buy the cake to help her out.

I gave boyfriend Maiyuu B400 to buy a cake in town, and called Mum to ask how to spell the child’s name in English. Maiyuu said he would ask the baker to write a birthday wish and the child’s name on top.

However, after the episode with farang C, I decided I couldn’t be bothered.

I refused to take the call, and turned off the phone. I also told boyfriend Maiyuu to forget about the cake.

When I turned up at Ball’s place about 9pm to join the party, Mum asked me where I had been. She must have noticed I was carrying no cake, but said nothing.

‘Were you with your farang friend? Ball told me you had turned up with someone, carrying food. I didn’t know you’d get here so soon,’ she said.

‘I called out, asking you to enter, but you didn’t hear,’ said Ball, who looked nervous.

‘Why didn’t you just walk in?’ asked his girlfriend Jay, who was also present when I arrived with farang C, though I didn't know it at the time.

It was so dark inside – they turn off the light to save power, and alleviate the heat – that I didn’t see her.

‘It was a misunderstanding. I took farang C back to his condo. By the time I returned to my own place, Maiyuu had gone out, so I missed the chance to organise the cake,’ I lied.

‘It’s a shame...Nong Mew missed out on the chance to blow out candles on his first birthday cake,’ said Mum, adding she regretted not being at home to welcome us.

‘The place was full of teens. They have no idea what is going on, as they wander around in a daze,’ said Mum.

Ball looked at her but said nothing. He must have heard it all before.

The child’s mother, Kae, said nothing to me, but no doubt was disappointed. Kae had not bought a cake herself, as she thought I would do it. I did not buy one, as I didn’t like the way farang C was treated.

Mum must have done well at HiLo, as the place was groaning with food.

I learned later that Ball’s family has just had the internet connected. The novelty has yet to wear off.

Now I can understand why Ball was reluctant to get up...he wanted to finish whatever he was doing on the internet, which would have taken only a few moments.

He is used to seeing me, as I am almost a member of the family. He knows I can wait.

I am sure that if he had seen farang C, he would have risen to greet us.

Welcome to family life. With so many lives intersecting in the one place, the potential for misunderstandings and miscommunication is high.

You learn to fit in, and if you don’t like it, look for your adventures elsewhere.

Farang C has been critical of my involvement with Ball and his family...like many readers of this blog, he thought I was motivated by lust, thought it was all about Mr Ball, thought I was trying to 'do good', blah blah.

He's had his eyes opened. It’s about family. Why else would I bother?

I have known Ball and his family for six months. I rarely deal with any of the young people one-on-one, including Mr Ball (except when we are chatting over a drink).

Like the others, he's just a youngster. I make arrangements with the mother, as one of the few adults there.

Since I quit acting as an older, carer figure to Mr Ball, our relationship has improved. Now, for the most part, we carry on as friends.

If Mum calls complaining she has no money, I no longer feel a rush of pity, especially as circumstances can change in a matter of hours, as they did on the day of the party. I keep my wallet closed.

Ball has a cold, which has spread to his chest. I thought of buying him medicine, but decided against. That’s his mother’s job, not mine. I don’t want to ‘interfere’.

Birthday cake dilemma, absence noted

Today is Nong Mew’s birthday. He’s 1.

We will have a party at Ball’s place tonight. Mum mentioned something about my buying the cake, but I may decide against: I could do without the B400-500 expense.

I asked boyfriend Maiyuu if he’d like to make one instead.

‘Cakes which look flashy seldom taste good. I make tasty cakes, but they tend to look plain,’ he said, declining the offer.

We thought about buying a cake at the Tops supermarket, but decided against, as Ball’s girlfriend Jay used to work there, and would recognise whatever cake I bought as one of theirs.

Maiyuu knows of a specialty bakery close to here, which he has offered to visit this afternoon on my behalf.

Nong Mew has barely started to eat solids, but the party is really for the adults, not the kids.

‘How affected – holding a birthday party for a kid so young,’ said Maiyuu.

Shock...even slum people can do affected middle-class things!

Let’s add that one to the little book of sins and omissions which judgemental readers of this blog are compiling against Ball and his family.

-
‘Do you have anything you want to tell me?’ asked Ball last night, as we settled down to a drink.

‘You mean, do you want to know if there some reason I have been away for the last few days?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘No dramas...nothing in particular,’ I said. He looked relieved.

‘What do you do all day at home?’ he asked.

‘I read, talk to the boyfriend, sleep, watch TV...nothing much.’

Ball’s girlfriend Jay also remarked on my absence.

Ball and I took a few whiskies, listened to music, and with his elder brother watched football on TV. We also played with the kids, chatted...did what normal families do (can you cope with that, dear reader?).

‘I haven’t seen you for days,’ said Jay, who was lying on the couch. She has a cold; actually, most of them do.

It was a busy night in the slums. Outside, people were partying. Ball’s place itself was host to 10 people. The place was a-heaving. Were they blotting out the misery of their lives or just drinking because that's what people in the slums do?