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Bernard de Silva
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« on: February 11, 2012, 03:48:32 AM » |
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"DIARY OF AN UNMARKETABLE MAN".
It took more than sixty years for me to be aware I wasn't a
marketable commodity, and even then somebody had to tell me. Mind
you, I had never placed much importance on being marketable, because
making remarkable inroads into the favours freely given department
seemed sufficient in my younger years, and the market demands, later
in life, for lecherous, drunken, lay about punters, have never been
excessive.
So enlighten me, what the hell, is "marketable"? I suppose it requires
the ability to "urinate in people's pockets", so to speak. Not literally,
of course, though the thought is appealing, and in any case, the
action could possibly be justified, by the fact the majority of market
framers wouldn't know they were on fire till the fire engines
arrived anyway.
Sportspeople, movie stars, and politicians, are the personification
of "marketable". Of course this requires special grooming, and a
palavering entourage mere average mortals cannot afford. This process
is almost certain to elevate a chosen few to a position where the
socially and politically incorrect poor average bastard feels the
desire, not to merely moisten pockets, but to deluge the resultant
" marketable" package as a whole.
That poor average bastard also finds little logic in the
way "marketable" individuals have an almost guaranteed immunity to
censure for buffoonery, ill grace and morally flawed actions, such
indiscretions too often justified by words of embellishment
like, "He's a bit of a lad, our…", or, "Just the spirited sort of
release these chappies need to relieve the stress and pressure". The
exact same action for him would likely evoke the comment, "The
thoughtless bastard should be put away for the good of society".
Perhaps the only consolation for the masses of poor average bastards,
is that crematorium furnaces and body consuming worms alike, have
identical appetites for " marketable" and "unmarketable"
sustenance.
So I suppose it matters little, but though I profess, "to not
giving the proverbial `rat's backside' about being "unmarketable", the
whole system, and the end result of the "marketable"
verses "ability" equation, actually turns me off completely.
What seems odd to me is that, though I have no recollection of my
conception, I would assume that the majority of all
beings, "marketable". or otherwise, arrived via the same route.
For modesty's sake, and to belay any confusion, I shall rephrase that
to, "arrived, by the same time honoured means of procreation, and by
the same traumatic process of childbirth."
So it came to pass that finally, after the prescribed incubation
period, I arrived on the planet, as my parents first born offspring.
Now, although they seldom freely admit to it, except for the
occasional unguarded reference to the male first born as, "the little
lout, with the big head", the male of the species may harbour
some secret resentment of the first born, for altering the marital
playground. In addition it seems, on later reflection, that in the
case of yours truly, the female of the species immediately rescinded
almost all motherly instincts on my arrival. Such, was the lot of this
future "unmarketable" poor average bastard.
In defence of my departed parents, I should point out they had been
married for some four years, before I 'wrecked' the marital playground.
In my early years I grew close to my father, this in no doubt aided
by the fact mother burdened him with me on every possible occasion...
not that he seemed to mind. I certainly didn't, there was always
something new to see, something new to learn, and whatever failings
he may have had, he was knowledgeable, and a real man. I do however
suspect he may not have been "marketable", but I know that wasn't of
any consequence back then, and he truly didn't give a `rat's backside'
anyway.
Whatever the level of damage to the entertainment environment, my
father somehow developed a lifelong affinity to fishing, liquor, and
barmaids. I imagine possible random extra marital playground surveys,
may have been undertaken, purely for the purpose of generalised
comparison. Naturally I assume no blame, or responsibility, for any
of these occurrences.
Being the only child for some nine years, I was raised constantly in
the company of adults. Finally, the education system of the day
decided it had adequate intellectually deficient minors to begin a
class locally, but by then I developed what was to be a lifelong
dislike of children. I found it difficult to relate to any one other
than adults.
I suppose I should be thankful I was six years old, and not tied to
my mother's apron strings, when I commenced my formal education.
First born, only child, first year male students assume the mantle
of "person most likely to be bullied," and are treated accordingly as
a formality. You may correctly assume that with my arrival at
school, this did nothing to lessen my dislike of children.
I was fortunate, however, to have the services of a family of
brothers, who introduced me to the protocol of bullying, and taught
me the finer points of bleeding. By necessity I learned to defend
myself, and soon found I could give reciprocal instruction in the art
of bleeding, even to those more experienced, and mostly older. It's
fair to say that if provoked, I somewhat enjoyed furthering the cause
of bleeding, but had grown loath to participate in the practice
personally.
Primary school it may be said, was an education in more ways than one.
The old bush school offered a far better insight into the ways of
discipline, and the need for respect, than do modern places of
learning. A length of stout cane reinforced verbal advice concerning
any indiscretions. "Spare the rod and spoil the child", may have been
a cautionary directive indelibly instilled at teacher's collages
throughout the length and breadth of the country, and as a result
there were very few children `spoiled' by the education system of the
day. Since extra curricular activities such as issuing or receiving
bleeding lessons was considered inappropriate, I was no stranger to
the educational properties of the cane.
Bush school teachers in those days, predominately male virtuosos of
cane and pupil management, were able, because of the small classes,
to be more involved with their pupils' abilities and shortcomings.
Since the various grades were all grouped together
in one common class room, individual attention was a necessity and
the teacher's task was not an easy one. The bush teacher was, amongst
other lesser callings, an instructor, a role model, an arbitrator, a
negotiator, a medic, an athletics coach, and a moral guardian, all
rolled into one. I still in actual fact, feel greatly indebted to my
first teachers, and that magnificent length of lawyer cane.
Intermediate and secondary education required attending schools at
the nearest town or city, or being dispatched to boarding school.
Thankfully I merely had to endure a daily train journey and the
advantages of the more localised option.
A whole new world of possibilities and limitless alternatives
stretched before me. One of the more appealing conditions was that a
little judicious running on the spot, could result in failure to
catch that morning train, and a day of blissful escape was instantly
provided.
The school itself was far different from the seclusion of the bush. A
whole new social structure and protocol emerged, although not at
the expense of good old fashioned fisticuffs, for which there seemed
an endless scope for experimentation. The cane, I soon found was also
in residence, and seemed to have been a vastly improved high velocity
model, much easier to wield, but far more compelling in it's
deterrent properties.
The whole environment was more competitive, and I relished the
challenges. Basically I suppose, I've always been an egotistical
mongrel, I really detest being bettered in any manner shape or form.
Being bettered I realise is a fact of life, but that doesn't mean it
has to be accepted graciously on all occasions. Reactions must always
be tempered by the desire to turn the situation to one's long term
advantage. Live to fight another day, so to speak. Overall, up to
this time my academic achievements had been more than adequate to
align me with the path to being "marketable".
Somewhere I still have a letter of encouragement, congratulating me
on winning the State Premier's Bursary for the highest state pass in my
Scholarship examination.
Anyway, even though it was just another piece of worthless paper, and
the monetary grant was not excessive, I suppose this was perhaps a
reasonable way to advance to high school.
Edited extract from, "Diary, of an "unmarketable" man".
[c]. Copyright: Bernard de Silva. 2004.
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