but the walls are faultless -there is no way out! The more he struggles;the faster the walls close in. Eventu ally his spirit will be crushed and broken and he will form the cement for another layer of bricks. The teenager often feels that he is alone and he can sel dom find anyone who really understands what he is go ing through. The first people he will turn to are his par ents but 'the problem with adults is that they've forgot ten how to be children'. Mother tries to understand and she talks to you about it but the words that describe how you feel are like those illusive mosquitoes that buzz above your head. You know they're there but you just can't get them in your clutches. How can one explain what one doesn't understand? Father, on the other hand,seems to have been immune to it all. Chesterfield once wrote,'As fathers commonly go,it is seldom misfortunate to be fatherless; and as the general run of sons go, it is seldom a misfortune to be childless.'This is generally the type ofrelationship most teenagers have with their fathers.It is notthatthey don't love their'dad' but that he has all too often shown him self devoid of all emotions that seem relevant to their sons and daughters. The son will then turn to his friends. They are going through the same type oftrauma and so they understand him best of all. The son will go out at night with his friends and return home to his fuming father. 'You have been drinking!' instructs father. 'Yes,' replies son. He is then automatically grounded for the next month and he walks to bed shocked.Notaboutbeing grounded but rather because his father showed a morsel ofemo tion. The teenager is now alone! He has been placed in soli tary confinementand he mustserve the restofhis prison sentence here. Until he is ready to forget the trauma of teenagehood and join the walls ofadulthood in society, where he will help to crush the next generation. N. VANAARDT THE RIVALS We arrived. First me,and Glenda came an hour later.To my credit she was the noisier, as if she wasjealous that I was the elder(although my parents never agreed with me on this sensitive issue). However,I was by far the more demanding child. My first operation was on a 'club' foot- preceded by months of daily torture to try, in vain, to right nature's blunder-without surgery. Another was the cleft palate -while Glenda wasfed by her sisters(rivals themselves) I had to be painstakingly fed by my mother or father. 'Oh how sweet- twins!' the never-to-be remembered people would exclaim, reaching down to hug the poor unfortunates when they were told the fact by our proud mother. Sibling rivalry, however,can only be described as bitter-sweet. In those days we had to establish our selves. Territory was won with the personal attention of a parent, or lost if one made the 'error of paradox' and chose the smaller cup-cake,or even worse,received the metal porridge bowl instead of a glass one. According to the history books, the Anglo-Boer war ended in 1902. But, long since our great-grandfathers had put down their toys,Anglo-Boer conflict ran in our blood. Apart from the playground squabbles there was Anglo-Boer rugby-a parody offrantic,rough scuffling amidst clouds of dust. The English (and I'm proud to say it)invented the frustrating element of one standing on a mound,the other down below, passing the ball to one another as in 'piggy-in-the-middle'. Itseemed that being thrown into the'koshuis'atthe ten der age of six had united us. Our vocabulary in the pre dominantly Afrikaans school, although we were learn ing fast, was meagre. Instead, for most, we were each other's only speaking company.It seemed as if we had formed a pact, that rivalry be limited to home,and the car. Then,it was the treats that still counted the most. Argu ments would develop about who should have the front seatlast or whether'from the bank to Andrew's'counted. Back at the hostel, Glenda would be with the girls, do ing what girls normally did whilst we boys would while away the hours building lost cities of sand, complete with bridges,moatsand waterways.Ingenioustraps were constructed, a hollow in the ground, covered by con secutive layers oftwigs and leaves and a topping ofsand so deftly applied, one was liable to be caught by one's own trap a few minutes later. As we have gone our separate ways, I going to a 'fa mous' Maritzburg boarding school and she to Girls' High, we have developed dissimilar interests and ways and attitudes. Now,I am not so interested in rivalry and bickering. True,we do compare our cross-country posi tions, but that is all that can be said. I have come to understand that no amount of arguing will change a la dy's opinion (unless she has a very dreary character). I understand that we are different-a boy,a girl. Today I wonder what I would be without her, both as a loving sister and a rival. Did God send her to help meto live up to those playground taunts, or were both sent to test me and mould me as an investment for the future? But wasn't my whole childhood? GORDONBUNTTING Form 3K NEW YEAR'SEVE-HOPE OR HEADACHE? "May old acquaintance be forgot", were the words that rang out in joyous harmony from a jubilant crowd that seemed to unite for one enchanting evening in the Cape ofGood Hope.It would be an evening that would bring with it many things,such as smiles,love and hope.Hope for a very uncertain future. One that might bring with it violence, hatred and complete turmoil to our beautiful land. But what Shakespeare had said so many years ago,that "Life is a stage,men and women merely actors"is some thing that applies rather nicely to New Year's Eve of 1993,for I feel that it was merely an act,and an act that has become a tradition.The smiles that were donned for that brief but most enjoyable celebration soon started fading with the shocking reappearance of reality, the realization that problems will dominate and that old ac quaintances will not have been forgotten. Kearsney Chronicle 1994 45
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