Miles of Smiles Part One

Getting There . . .

It was a road trip that we had dreamt of, discussed and planned for months, and it was finally here.

My girls awoke me at one in the morning, we packed Daisy to the hilt and headed off to the coast, I was the designated driver and Nicole sat next me riding shotgun and keeping me awake.

Nighttime, toll roads and tarred roads as long as Granddad's tales of "when I was your age", as the road rose to meet us I found myself as relaxed as a fatboy eating a bucket of KFC and not having to share. With the sound of Sugarman humming in the background, i reflected on the past year, tough - yes, lonely - hell yes, rewarding - undoubtably. The sacrifice that my girls and I had made when I took on my Lesotho adventure had made this holiday possible, this was the icing on the top complete with a lit candle and singing voices.
We drove and chatted and sang our lungs out, my version of white man rapping had my girls hiding their heads in shame ad thus I persevered. By the time we got to Grahamstown, it was 40'C and we were melting, no-one was singing anymore and Simon was as pale as she was red and flushed, it was as if someone had switched the cold water off in a shower we could not escape. This continued for and hour and a half and then we saw the ocean. We had arrived in JBay.

My Mom met us with hugs and a smile that I had sorely missed and I went through to see my Dad.
He was lying on his bed. He looked like a stroke victim with a huge scar on his arm when he had had a plate inserted after he had broken it. I was shocked and shaken, but put on a brave face, afterall this was my Father, my hero, the man who loved and encouraged me to reach the sporting standards I had, and now he was lying here staring ahead with no recognition of me at all. My Mom came into the room and I put my arm around her and we chatted about Dad, how she managed to stay so positive through all of this will remain with me forever. The words "for better or for worse, through sickness and in health till death us do part" brought a tear to my eye and I rubbed it away quickly.
In the days ahead my Dad would improve and slowly get stronger, the Parkinsons has eaten away at him yet he fights it daily with the aid of a loving wife who refuses to give up and leave her partner of 48 years. Were it not her, my Dad would have left us years ago.
She feeds him, washes and clothes him and changes him when he has messed himself, she talks to him throughout it all and lies with him when he sleeps. She is as protective over him as a teenager with her first Blackberry.

We had arrived, tired, hot but happy.

Shooting for Life

I have an incredible desire to shoot people.

My favourite is to sneak up on them and then shoot them before they even know what has hit them. In my ideal world, I would be hidden, watch them as they went about their daily tasks, the manner in which they interact with someone or something, focus and then do it.

When I am unaware that I am being watched, I act differently as I am sure we all do. My posture is a little more relaxed, my firm masculine rippling biceps are less noticable and my hair a slightly rustled and unkept look about it. Photography has the ability to capture in a single frame a thought or emotion the naked eye might not notice. I have seen photos that have made me smile, others that make my heart burst with pride (a photo shoot of my girls and I) and then those that make me cry. The photo I have included of the man to the right is my Dad. It says so little and yet it tells an entire tale and it is one I tried to ignore for so long.

When my Dad was first diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease, I noticed the minor changes and simply accepted them. The change came when it started to affect him physically and in particular his brain and memory, I entered a state of denial and felt an incredible battle inside me. I refused to accept that this was happening to him and as such I missed out emotionally on a journey I now regret.
My divorce was one of the biggest emotional blessings I could ever have received as it forced me to face my emotions and express these foolishly flippant farcical feelings. I embraced pain, discovered a side to me I had forgotten about and learnt to connect with my girls on a level I had never known. I also realised that my Dad now, ill as he is and possibly with very little if any recollection of me, was all of and even more of the Dad I had ever dreamt him to be.

When I last visited my parents in September 2011, I had the privilege of watching and chatting with this man. Even though the conversations were stuttered and not always complete, I enjoyed them. I had the pleasure of seeing him through the lens of a camera and capturing moments I will forever carry with me. I also witnessed again my Mothers amazing love for her husband as she cared for him well beyond all human expectations. Her never ending care and constant compassion for the man she still loves so dearly after 47 years of marriage has kept him alive and active. I can never explain the pride and love I have for this incredible woman.

And so I continue to shoot people, special people and in a sense attempt to captivate that glimmer of magic in a world where hope is alive, where love definitely flourishes and the human spirit will not die.

Nite All

Resistance Fighter

It is spoken of men and woman who are willing to offer over and above all the others, who will stand up in the time of hardship and persecution to fight for the unknown, the weary and the underprivileged. When one sees a situation as more than just a passing occurrence and recognises the drastic impact it could have on generations, it is then recognised as a "cause".

Are you willing to add your skills and heart to such an experience and accept the rank of "Resistance Fighter"?
Would you move silently in the shadows and between the sleeping when your every breathe sounds as loud as a gale force wind in a forest? Would you protect the unprotected and nourish and feed them at your expense and expect nothing in return?

Could you call yourself a Resistance Fighter?

Dedicated to a special woman, divorced with child to whom surrendering is not an option.