So, my grand-nephew is getting another write-up about him here. Although I do quite like him, I swear I’m not besotted – but he is quite smart, artistic, intelligent, athletic, and personable. Seriously, I’m not vicariously skiting or anything, just saying. And he indirectly shares some of my DNA, so what’s not to like? 😊 I still swear I’m not skiting, or anything. Yeah – nah, that’s a lie, in case you didn’t pick up on that.

He has younger twin sisters whom I also quite like, so they’ll get their own write-ups in due course, because what’s there not to like about double-trouble? Their mother used to refer to them as the “twinadoes” for reasons that only someone who lived on the other side of the world couldn’t see. I wouldn’t entirely say that the moniker has outlived its accuracy, but the force that gave rise to it has been redirected elsewheres somewhat.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I got an email from World Vision saying that grand-nephew – I’ll call him ‘J’ –  is participating in a 40-hour famine, and would I sponsor him with a donation? Of course I would, and did. My donation went straight into World Vision’s bank account, but got added to J’s sponsorship tally which was shown on a special page set up for him somewhere on their vast internet platform.

Gone were the days when we kids would physically hustle for sponsorship from neighbours and family, or try and flog off raffle tickets to them to fundraise for our cause. We would have to collect the money from those efforts ourselves, and hand it in to the adult supervising the cause but who wasn’t actually supervising us. We were pretty much sent out with nothing but instructions, and expected to come back with money. I’m not sure what the overall success rate with that was, or how much of the money collected made it into the right hands before the temptation to spend it on lollies got too much. Ahh …. the blissful days when parents often had no idea what their kids were doing or where they were. But they were also the days when many women stayed at home doing the labour-intensive domestic work, so there were always eyes and ears everywhere, regardless.

Naively thinking that a World Vision 40-hour famine meant going without food for 40 hours, I asked my niece if J was going to fast at home, or with a group at another location. Oh no, they don’t go without food anymore, I was told with a laugh, they make other sacrifices. J’s sacrifice was to go without furniture and technology for 40 hours.

After a rather long day at school, followed by a long bash at playing basketball afterwards with a friend, and then playing games on the floor, he was feeling tired and ready for bed at the end of the first day – which was when the ‘no furniture’ sacrifice looked a bit tougher than it did on paper. There was a smidgin of regret, I was told, when he got into his bed on the floor. His mother reminded him that he was “lucky he wasn’t sleeping on dirt amongst scorpions”, and then he went off to sleep okay. Nothing like being scorpion-free to induce sleep, it seems.

The next day was the twinadoes birthday party at the ice-skating rink, and he stood the whole time for the food and cake without any worries. When the family unexpectedly went out for a birthday dinner, he stood and ate his meal there, too.

He didn’t mention his iPad once during the 40 hours! Interesting to speculate on that phenomenon. I wonder what his sisters will choose for their sacrifices, if they choose to do a 40-hour (non)famine when their turn comes?

Speaking of ice-skating, I tagged along to the rink last week with my sister and her grandies (my grand-nephew and nieces), which was just school holiday fill-in time and not associated with the afore-mentioned birthday party. I’d have to say that I was no better at ice-skating then than I was many, many moons ago, much to my disappointment. I never got to the point of not clutching the rail around the rink for dear life, and eventually sat it out. Sis got the hang of it quite well, though, and even though she’d had a little more practice than me it was clear that she found her stride in a way I suspected I wasn’t ever going to. Very weirdly, over the next few days the backs of my upper arms were hellishly sore. Taking a wild guess, I’d say that it was revenge from the rail for squeezing the life out of it, sometimes with both hands.

Header pic: https://www.pexels.com/@kelly-1179532/