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November 30, 2006
Posted by trevor at 11:50 AM | Comments (2)
November 27, 2006
A Quiet Thanks
It was Thanksgiving last week (here) in the United States and because this is the time to give thanks I thought I’d mention some of the things I often forget to be thankful for:
I am thankful…
That my dad and mom happened to be at the same bus stop, on the same day, at the same time where they met and were inseparable until the day he died 45 years later.
That the gun jammed when I surprised the thief who was stealing the radio out of my car in Johannesburg. The gun was pointed at my chest and I saw him pulling the trigger countless times…to no avail. I would not have been here today had the gun not jammed.
That my dad passed his ‘happy’ genes on to me.
That my father did not suffer when he died. He was an athlete and would have hated being an invalid.
That my brother and sister shared my childhood with me.
That Nelson Mandela took my home country from apartheid to freedom without a bloody uprising or civil war.
That I was able to cuddle Naomi, hold Renee’s hand, be there for Victor and embrace Alex as they died after suffering from childhood cancer.
That CS Lewis wrote the Chronicles Of Narnia which inspired me to write.
That Mr. Clingman said, “Trevor, you can change the world.”
That I can draw.
That I found a sense of humor lurking beneath the pain and humiliation of being the resident class idiot because of my learning difference.
That I was too short to be decapitated by the wire across the path down which we were riding our soapbox cart late one night.
That Dr. Ozrin managed to remove the marble that I stuck up my own nose at Jabula Nursery School.
That Staff Sergeant Reyneke managed to get rid of the grenade before it blew our heads off. (It was dropped by a petrified soldier right in front of us during basic training at the grenade practice range at Fourth Field Regiment.)
That I still get to sleep in my childhood room when I go home to visit.
That my grandmother was able to escape when her village was burned to the ground and many of her family members were slaughtered during the pogroms in Europe.
That my mum introduced me to the power of kindness.
That you are reading this blog.
That hot tea was invented.
That I managed to make it through the mine-field of my youth which saw my best friend Howard die in the army, my other best friend John Hitchens die in a car accident, yet another friend Mark Campbell die of a drug overdose and my brother Steve survive a motorcycle accident which almost took his life.
And finally, it's thanks to the Founder…
Who gave me a mission in life. And the talents I am using to try make the world a happier place for children!
Posted by trevor at 02:42 PM | Comments (5)
November 22, 2006
Happy Thanksgiving
Posted by trevor at 05:02 PM | Comments (2)
November 21, 2006
I was at the supermarket yesterday and a young boy and his mother were shopping nearby:
Mommy?
“What?
“I have to go pee.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Mom.”
“What Michael?”
“I have to go pee.”
“Yes I heard you.”
“Mom.”
(Irritated) “What is it now?”
“I have to go pee.”
“In a minute, Michael. Can’t you see I’m shopping.”
“But.”
“Michael I heard you.”
His mother heard him but she wasn’t listening. I felt so bad for the poor little guy. He was holding on for dear life. All he wanted to do was pee and all his mom wanted to do was not be a mom.
Posted by trevor at 07:01 AM | Comments (4)
November 15, 2006
Oh Dear
Oh dear, forget all about the dying kids in Darfur. Ignore the suffering people in the Sudan. Don't worry about kids with cancer...Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are getting married this weekend! It's in every paper, on the cover of every magazine, on every television talk show and even on the nightly...errr...news. Why is this so important? Why are millions of dollars being spent to cover this non-event? Why are journalists scrambling from all over the world to be in Italy for the ceremony. I am saddened that celebrity infatuation has become the focus of our resources, energy, and most of all, our valuable time. And that's my rant for the year!
Posted by trevor at 01:10 PM | Comments (7)
November 14, 2006
I saw two young people in the park today. Intertwined. Both body and soul. It was a heartwarming contrast to the images of hatred and hopelessness I have been seeing on the news lately.
Posted by trevor at 07:05 PM | Comments (2)
November 11, 2006
Unique Gift
I could not believe my eyes. I have never seen anything like it. My heart leapt into my throat as a jolt of fear and revulsion coursed through my body fueled by a surge of adrenaline.
It was all rather sudden. One minute I was enjoying the sights and sounds of a colorful Indian street market and the next minute I witnessed something that I will never forget.
It happened only a few feet away from me. I was daydreaming and enjoying the smells of a million spices on a table in front of me when a a shrill whistle suddenly ripped through the very fabric of my being and tore a gaping hole through my soul.
The whistle was followed by angry yells and the appearance of a number of policemen. They were chasing a group of street kids who were begging nearby.
The police began rounding up the kids up like stray dogs. The men kicked and punched the kids to subdue them.
I was flabbergasted. The kids were between five and ten years old.
One of the policemen stopped near me to catch his breath
“Who are these children?” I asked.
“They’re street orphans,” he replied. And they are nothing but trouble. They are rubbish.”
“Where will you take them?” I said.
“Away.”
He suddenly took off and chased after a little girl who was no older than five. He grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and propelled her toward a clump of kids who had already been rounded up.
She fell and skinned her knee.
He yanked her up by her arm.
The little girl whimpered.
The sound jarred me.
“Oh my God,” I said, my stomach turning.
The children were filthy and in terrible shape. I ran toward the policeman.
“What are you doing?” I yelled.
He grabbed my hand very hard and said, “This is not your business.”
I stood there dumfounded.
Two minutes later the children were gone and all that was left on the filthy, pot-holed street was the echo of their soulful whimpering.
That was twenty-five years ago.
On that day, I vowed to do something to help those kids. But I didn’t know what to do. Like many people, I wanted to help the very kids themselves. I wanted to do something for the individual child. And because I didn’t know what to do, I did nothing.
Many times during the last twenty-five years, the whimper of those kids has come back to me. And each and every time I hear the echo of their pain, I vow to do something. But I have not.
Until now.
Why now?
Because now I can thanks to a friend of mine who had an experience in India that forever changed her life and instead of waiting for inspiration to do something about it, she dropped everything and formed the Miracle Foundation to help orphans in India.
Caroline Boudreaux has seen and felt the pain of the hundreds of thousands of homeless orphans in India and by harnessing ‘the power of kindness” she has found a way to help them.
She builds orphanages in India. And she has a great way for others to help kids who live in her orphanages.
It’s actually brilliant if you ask me. And it’s so simple. The Miracle Foundation has an online brochure, where you pick an essential item that you would like an orphan to have.
Basically, instead of buying someone a tie for Christmas, giving them a pair of sox for their birthday or spending a fortune on a mediocre meal, you can do something remarkable like buying a gift for an orphan in India on their behalf. A card will be sent to them telling them that in their name you have bought something for an orphan in lieu of a gift.
Even though it has been twenty-five years, I sometimes think of the little girl being led away by the policeman. I can clearly see her little face as she looked over her shoulder at me with big, brown, pleading eyes. Scared, bewildered and sad eyes that reached out to me and said,
“Please help me. Please love me.”
And then she was gone.
In her honor, I have picked a baby cradle from the online brochure that will be specially delivered to the orphanage on behalf of my mom. With this gift I know that at least one orphaned baby in India will sleep in comfort and safety knowing that people out here, in the big, wide world, really care.
Posted by trevor at 02:21 PM | Comments (0)
November 09, 2006
Interview
I was recently interviewed by ABC4 in Salt Lake City. Thought I'd share the experience.
Posted by trevor at 03:06 PM | Comments (6)
November 06, 2006
Posted by trevor at 08:40 PM | Comments (2)
November 04, 2006
You Will Fly
I was just listening to a song I wrote with Carl Thiel for one of my videos. Upon listening to it, I could not believe I actually wrote it. It was sung by the amazing Rachel Loy. Rachel is a young up and coming star who will soon hit the big time. She is incredible. I love the way she took my simple words and gave them a soul. It's strange, but I was actually comforted by my own song today.
To listen to the so go to: http://www.comicalsense.com/media/soundtrack.php
and click on "You Will Fly".
Posted by trevor at 12:34 PM | Comments (1)
November 03, 2006
Posted by trevor at 08:57 PM | Comments (3)
November 02, 2006
Heartsore
My dad died on this day eight years ago. I remember him with such warmth and love.
My dad was physically and emotionally abused by his father. (A poor man who was bitter, angry and displaced by the Second World War.)
During one fit of temper my grandfather Mike backhanded my father (who was only two-years old) off his high chair and almost broke his jaw.
To save my father’s life, my grandmother sent little Jackie Romain off to boarding school at the age of six. He was put on a train and sent on a sixteen-hour journey by himself to a school in King Williams Town in South Africa. (My dad was sent by himself! I don’t know how my grandparents could have done that to a scared little six year- old. I can just imagine this bewildered curly-headed small boy, with his little suitcase and his favorite tartan blanket, sitting alone for all that time on his first train journey. Just thinking about it makes want to cry.)
Dale College, the boarding school, became my father’s home and family. It also became his passion. He played on every sports team. He loved the school so much that he continued to reminisce about it with fondness until the day he died.
My father spent the last two years of his life writing a book about his life at the school.
On the morning of his death he came downstairs and said to my mum, “I’ve finished writing the book. All I have to do is type in the last page and I’m done.” (My dad wrote the book in longhand and then typed in the pages.)
He never got to type the last page because he died a few hours later of an aneurism. He was only sixty-seven.
He was in the parking lot of my aunt’s apartment after visiting her. He had started the car and was ready to fetch my mum from the old folks home where she was visiting my grandmother.
A man found my dad in the car slumped over the steering wheel. The car was still running. The man said he thought my dad was sleeping.
I got a call at six in the morning and was on a flight from the United States back to South Africa by noon. It was the longest 18 hours of my life.
The next day, in a daze, I walked into my dad’s studio and found his computer still on. The cursor was blinking on the screen, patiently waiting for the final words of his book which were hand-written on a yellow pad lying next to the computer.
I typed in the last page for my dad.
In honor of Jack Romain, I would like to share that page:
“The big wooden doors of the only home I know clang shut forever behind me. I look straight ahead for fear of turning around and forcing my way back through the closed doors.
But the urge is too strong.
I turn and look longingly over my shoulder at Dale College, the boarding school that has been my home for the past eight years.
A home that saved me from my father whose temper almost took my life on a number of occasions.
A home filled with school friends and teachers that became my family.
A home that sheltered me from a distant memory filled with anger, bitterness, poverty and emptiness.
A home that nurtured me, comforted me and gave me strength to face the unknown journey upon which I am about to embark.
I sigh, turn away from my childhood and begin to walk toward my destiny…”
- From Blainey Junction by Jack Romain (As yet unpublished.)
(It's so hard to believe that my dad died just two hours after writing these words.)
Dad, thank you for creating the spark, which continues to ignite the passion within my soul.
Thank you for being the candle that continues to light my way.
You’re not here…but you’re always there.
Posted by trevor at 06:21 AM | Comments (6)