Thursday, April 1, 2010
I once went to a haircutting ceremony of a little boy from Rafe's pre-school in Sydney. He was from the Cook Islands, and their tradition is to not their son's hair until they turn 5. So along with a school hall full of guests, we turned up to this massive celebration of this little boy's important milestone - his first hair cut. I'm in the hall, I'm squished up, my kids are asking for food, it's hot, Smith is clambouring to get down and really it was a stressful'ish wait. But then the music started and the singers and the dancers and in he came, carried by his uncles with his Dad ready with the scissors. And my tears started.
I've always loved kiwis who use maori expressions freely. In Duendin where I was raised, there seemed to be such a small minority of maoris in our very Scottish city, and in fact our school never really taught any maori. Unlike The Husband who grew up in Auckland, who can speak more than I can. I never really felt entitled to speak maori. That was until when I left and realised, it's not how much you know or the colour of your skin, but where your heart feels truly at home.
Kia Kaha - Be strong
Labels: My Year of Self Improvement