The lax disciplinarian

Ball and I had our first argument in the 10 months we have known each other - over a misbehaving child, no less.

Ball is close to Fresh, one of the household's two toddlers, who last night was crying and throwing tantrum on the living room floor.

After initially ignoring her, Ball picked her up and started making a fuss. When this didn't work, he told her to be quiet, and smacked her bottom lightly - then want back to consoling her again.

The child refused to shut up, and was making such a noise that elder sister Kae came downstairs to pick her up.

As soon as Kae picked her up, Fresh stopped crying. I knew there was nothing wrong with her...she was just drawing attention to herself.

While she was crying, I told Ball several times to ignore her. I asked if I could smack her, and called her a few choice names in English.

Fresh knew I was angry, and when my tone of voice hardened she stepped up the crying another few notches, the way kids like to do.

After Kae took the child away, Ball told me he did not approve of my behaviour. 'You have given Kae a reason to criticise you after you go home tonight,' he said.

'We have never argued before, but I found what you said was just wrong. I regard Fresh as my own daughter and dislike other people disciplining her,' he said.

He also disagreed with the way I called the baby 'ít' in Thai, a common enough reaction when people are annoyed. He said I should have called Fresh by her name.

I defended my corner briefly, but in the end apologised, as I couldn't be bothered. Ball has never challenged me before, and I found the experience upsetting.

Ball apologised to me, though did su surreptitiously, as his girlfriend Jay was in the same room as us, reading.

He wrote me three messages on my cellphone instead: 'I am sorry...I don't want my sister criticising you...can we go back to the way we were?' he asked.

I said we could, and soon after left for home. I have been upset about our little disagreement ever since.

Kids are forever on the lookout for signs of weakness in parents.

If parents console them when they are being bad - or, worst of all, give them treats to shut them up - they are sending the kids the message that it is okay to misbehave.

'Not so long from now, you will get the chance to decide for yourself how kids should be disciplined, as you will have one of your own,' I told him.

'I am pleased this has happened, and you should discuss it with your girlfriend. You will have to decide how you want your child to be raised.'

From father to son

Ball's girlfriend Jay is pregnant.

She tested herself with a pregnancy kit after her period failed to arrive. She believes she has been pregnant about a month.

I was sharing a drink with Ball, his Mum and a family friend when Jay called Ball upstairs.

She told him the news. A moment later, he returned to the living room, where he sat quietly for the next 20 min, until I asked him why he was so subdued.

''Has Jay told you? She is pregnant,' he said.

I was surprised, but excited at the same time.

Neither Jay nor Ball takes precautions, but nor are they physically robust.

They fall ill with colds, and complain of aches and pains often. Ball was a sickly baby, and assumed he couldn't get a girl pregnant even if he tried. Jay, he thought, was just as unlikely to be fertile.

I asked Ball if I could go upstairs to talk to Jay alone. He agreed.

I found Jay preparing to take a shower. She was about to go out for the day with friends.

Ball didn't mind, he said, as he was happy to spend the day at home.

Jay looked miserable, but I told her the news may not be as bad as she thinks.

'I have waited a long time for something to come along and change Ball's life for the better. I think this might be it,' I told Jay.

'I may have to return to my father in Chiang Mai,' she said sadly. 'Ball's family may not want me if I am pregnant.'

''Stop worrying. I am sure everything will be fine,' I said.

Ball's family is sure to embrace another child entering their lives. The two toddlers who live there are a huge hit; everyone loves them.

I returned downstairs.

'I don't want to tell Mum just yet. I will wait until we are alone,' Ball whispered.

'How do you feel?' I asked.

'At first I didn't feel anything, as I didn't know what to think. But now I am getting excited,' he said.

Ball is warming to the idea of being a Dad. He knows he will have to moderate the drinking, though insists no one can stop him indulging if he feels the need.

'Can we still go out together to karaoke nights, and see each other regularly?' he asked me. 'If you leave me, I will have no one.'

My young man needs friends. He seldom sees other youngsters in the slum. His family isn't much good to him either.

His three brothers and sister are closer to each other than they are to him, which I believe is a legacy of their father's history as a drinker.

Their father, whose framed photograph hangs proudly on the living room wall, died of alcoholism about three years ago.

Ball is proud of the fact that, of all the kids, Dad was closest to him.

Ball, the third child who idolised his dad, was his father's carer...making him meals, following him about the slum when Dad was drunk, cleaning up after Dad when he soiled himself.

'Some days I didn't want to come home from school, as I knew I would have to look after Dad,' said Ball.

I have never heard the other kids talk about their father even once. As their mother no doubt tired of her husband's drinking, the kids rallied to their mother's side, which left Ball alone to fuss over this Dad.

But back to his more immediate challenge: the prospect that Ball, not even 20, will become a father himself in a crowded slum home which already provides shelter to 10 people, including two toddlers.

'I will still be here...I won't abandon you,' I told him.

As a joke, we have started coining names for the baby, all of them with a booze theme. ' I want a girl, as boys are too much trouble,' he said. We think he or she might arrive in May next year.

When I called last night, about 10 hours after the pregnancy discovery, Ball had yet to tell Mum.

'Jay called to say she was not coming home tonight...and yet we need to talk,' he said.

'Don't worry. I'm sure she'll be back soon, and still feels okay. We can talk again tomorrow,' I said.

Sent off in style

At Mum’s place this morning, it was as if nothing had changed.

Her mother died early last week, and she has spent most of her days since organising her funeral at a temple in Onnut.

I visited the temple on Saturday, and again yesterday for the cremation.

Today, however, life in the slum is back to normal.

I found a collection of cheap sandals and flip flops outside her open door.

Inside, Mum, clad in black in honour of her deceased mother, was gambling with a group of her of slum friends.

What’s new?

-
Saturday

At the temple, the family hired sala (which translates as 'pavilion', but really is like a function room).

Ball's grandmother lay in a coffin in the main room, a large open space decorated with flowers, joss sticks, and other paraphernalia of the dead. Attached to that room (which is also where the monks gather to chant every evening) is a kitchen, where most of the activity takes place.

Mum and her relatives prepared food for guests, and of course for the monks, who like to be fed after they have done their chanting.

Ball's grandmother had 12 children, 10 of whom are still living; Mum is the youngest.

I met a couple of her elder sisters, nieces and nephews. Plenty of children were there, playing and running about.

The service was in Onnut, one of the oldest and decrepit parts of Bangkok. I had visited the temple previously, almost two years before, to farewell a farang colleague from work.

Alcohol is not allowed on the temple grounds, but we weren’t having any of that. Ball and I went on half a dozen beer runs, with me perched on the back of his motorbike, to a shop nearby where the owner wraps each bottle in newspaper so we can smuggle the booze back into the temple without anyone taking offence.

Mum's relatives don't have much money...they didn't contribute much to the beer, but instead left me to buy most of it.

The service lasted for seven days. Relatives can turn up every day and get a free feed if they want.

After evening prayers, Ball’s two brothers entered the monkhood temporarily in honour of their grandmother.

They nipped down the side of the sala, took off their tops and had their heads shaven.

A few children joined them and the group spent the night at the temple.

Mum's daughter, partner and their toddler son spent the night at a relative’s place; Mum and the other toddler came home with us.

Sunday

I went back again for the cremation. I wasn't intending to go, but Ball and his mother's friends persuaded me to join them at the last minute.

Mum left for the temple early in the morning, to put on breakfast for the monks. She left Ball at home alone, though I joined him there, along with a few residents of the slum who wanted to attend the cremation.

It was not as welcoming as the day before...relatives had prepared no food, and as soon as the body was cremated, everyone took off.

Our group turned up late, about an hour before the cremation.

Ball's sister, who spent the night at a relative’s place nearby, gave him stick for his late arrival.

‘You are carrying on more like a guest than a relative,’ she sniffed.

Ball stayed back in the morning to await the return of his girlfriend Jay, who failed to come home the night before; she finally turned up about midday.

As we waited, three or four of Mum's friends turned up at Ball's place, intending to join us for the journey to the temple, which is about an hour away.

At one point, however, we were uncertain how we would get there. The person who had offered to take us in his pick-up had turned off his phone, and we couldn’t reach him.

Ball took the clever step of talking to the head of the community centre which oversees life in the slum, just a few doors down from where he lives.

The woman there put out a message on the slum PA inviting anyone who wanted to go to the cremation service to come forward.

The slum community owns a truck, which residents pay for and help maintain.

It arranged a trip out there for residents who wanted to farewell's Mum's mother.

Through the centre, residents also contribute to a fund to help defray funeral expenses when one of their number dies.

Mum was able to draw down some money from that fund to help her defray the impressive costs of the week-long service.

She had also filled the petrol tank of the community vehicle for anyone who wanted to join the cremation, though she had done nothing about alerting residents, who learned about the cremation only by word of mouth.

I was proud of Ball for arranging that truck.

He did not know the woman at the community centre, but summoned up the courage to talk to her nonetheless.

Half a dozen residents took the journey there in the truck, which would not have happened at all were it not for Ball's initiative.

We did not go in that vehicle, but went in a pick-up truck belonging to a fishmonger who lives nearby.

At the temple, we mounted the pavilion where the casket was about to make its entry into the funeral pyre. Mourners dropped paper flowers on the coffin ahead of its journey through the pyre.

I stood next to Toob, one of Ball's uncles on his father's side.

He asked me to stand to one side of the coffin.

‘We want to show the deceased’s spirit that the body is about to leave this world. Otherwise, he might be trapped forever,’ he said.

Moments later, we gathered on the rear side of the pyre, to watch the casket burn. We waited for signs of the smoke to emerge from the chimney atop the pyre.

‘There it is...it’s risen!’ said Mum, whose eyes were red. She looked tired and worn, after days of organising the funeral.

She and I walked alone back to the sala to farewell family members. I rubbed her shoulder to give her comfort, one of the first times I have touched Ball's mother, who does not give or receive affection easily.

On our way back, we stopped at a relative's home in a slum-like setting for a few beers.

During a break, I escorted Mum to a place down a darkened alleyway to another home about 100m away, where we reunited with other members of the family who had joined us at the service.

Mum and other women at the gathering pulled out large bundles of money, which they intended to pay the monks for the hire of the temple. On one day alone, Mum spent B10,000 in funeral-related expenses. The cost of the oil for the funeral pyre alone was B2000.

That business finished, we returned briefly to the post-cremation gathering nearby.

Here, I watched Ball as he talked earnestly to two uncles on his father's side about his father, who died three years ago.

Ball wants to know what makes himself tick, as we all do at his age. He knows he is closer to his father’s side of the family, so tends to gravitate towards them on family gatherings.

I tell him the spirit of his father is above him, watching.

His uncles, thoughtful types clad in black, talked to him patiently. One gave him a hug before he left.

Ball was close to his grandmother, though I seldom saw them talk, still less exchange affection.

His granny was polite and friendly, though could be a fierce disciplinarian with her young nephews and nieces.

She now joins the spirits gathered above him.

Nursing an angry head

Boyfriend Maiyuu was waiting at the airport when I arrived home.

He looks thinner, but he always does after my annual trip away to see my family.

‘Eating alone is no fun. I still make food occasional meals for myself, but would rather buy it,’ he said.

We emailed every day over the two weeks I was absent.

He spent most of it alone, though a woman friend slept over a couple of nights to keep him company.

Another friend helped him make minor decorating changes to our place.

‘Next year, I’d like you to take me to Singapore so I can go shopping,’ Maiyuu suggested.

‘For that, you will need to organise a passport, and replace your ID card,’ I said.

It would be Maiyuu’s first trip overseas. I would like to be the first person to take him on a plane, but cooperation and tolerance will be needed on both sides.
-

I bought several cooking items for Maiyuu, a bottle of whisky for Ball, and chocolates for Ball’s Mum.

‘We missed you!’ said Mum.

The two toddlers of the household remembered me. Both have grown in my absence, and the older of the two is now forming short sentences.

I called Ball’s place once while I was overseas.

Mum, who sounded excited, hurriedly passed over the phone to her son, who peppered me with questions about the flight, and what I was doing.

‘I will bring home a bottle of whisky for us to celebrate,’ I said.

The night of my return, Ball came home from work an hour early. I spent several hours with his family as we drank, watched TV, caught up on news.

Ball, who looks a little harder in the face, has kept himself out of harm.

However, the angry teen in him still surfaces now and again.

One night, police stopped him close to work. His boss had taken Ball and his colleagues out for a boozy meal and Ball was weaving his way back home on a motorbike.

‘They were looking for people who take drugs. They took me back to the station, and I gave a urine sample.

‘The officer treated me suspiciously. When he asked for the sample, I took my trousers down to challenge him. He asked me what I was doing – no one had asked me to undress.

‘I told him I was demonstrating my innocence. I asked him to look into my face. With a face as broad as mine, how could I be taking drugs? I’d look thin and drawn if I was a user,’ Ball said.

‘The policeman was lost for words. ''Just ask my mother,'' I told him. No one in my family goes near that stuff.’

It was not Ball’s only brush with the authorities.

He ran into another police checkpoint yesterday. Officers were looking for motorcyclists driving without a licence.

‘I slowed down as if I was about to agree to an inspection, but sped off at the last minute,’ he said.

It was good to see my young friend again, hot head and all.

Ball is maturing. Two small tufts of hair have grown on his legs where before there was none.

'At work, they look at my face and ask if I am girl,' he said unhappily.

'You have your mother's pretty face, though it is growing harder. You are looking more like a man since I saw you last,' I said.

He smiled.

The day after our catch-up, Ball decided he was not up to working, and stayed at home instead.

‘I told my office work in advance that I would probably take the day off, as I knew you were coming home, and we would celebrate,’ he said.

Google hoiks on my ads: what a fag!

Hello, troops!

Back now, after a two-week hiatus. I notice today that Google appears to have yanked my advertising.

If any readers can still see ads in the sidebar, would you please leave a message letting me know?

If the advertising has indeed been withdrawn, Google has yet to inform me one way or the other.