New book--- The River Always Flows---Neil Coleman

The River Always Flows.

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      When I think about how it could have been, I often cringe. It was so easy way back when there were endless holidays, long weekends and the odd day off school. The sun always seemed to be shining as I sat by the river, watching it flowing past the tree where I sat on an old chair that Mum had thrown out years ago. God forbid that I sit in it now; I doubt that it would hold me, even if it was still there, holding sway over the river bend.

      I used to imagine what lay just around the corner; pretending that a whole new world would open up to me, if only I could muster the courage to venture that far. It was forbidden territory; one that taunted me in my childhood. It was after all the river that had taken my dad away. No, he didn’t drown; although at times I wouldn’t have cared if he had. He simply packed his old suitcase with a few clothes and rowed away in the tiny rowing boat. My brothers and I were never allowed to use it. Dad always said that we were too young and that the river was treacherous. He used it to row across the river to visit our uncle on the farm opposite us.

      I was confused that he didn’t go in the other direction. That was where the nearest town lay; about two miles upriver, past the derelict factory that once served the district. There was a pathway along the river that meandered as far as the factory and we often played ‘war games’ there, shooting one another with arrows either shot from home-made bows or blown through pipes which we fashioned into crude blow-pipes. Neither weapon was particularly effective which was just well, because Mum’s wrath when we injured one another was not worth the fun of the game.

      When Dad left, my older brother tried to fill his place. He changed, from a fun guy, to a mean, foul-mouthed bully. He started to hit us, while Mum stood by, powerless to stop him. It wasn’t as if we had done anything to deserve the beatings. I will never forget the strange look in his eyes, as he raised a stick that he had cut from the bamboo grove near the river, before it came swishing down on whatever part of us he could hit. We tried yelling, crying, but he didn’t stop until it suited him. Mum’s only action was to keep us home from school for a few days.

      The beatings came to an end when one day, he too left us after he and Mum had a disagreement about money. She claimed that he had taken the ‘food money’ she kept in a tin above the fire place. We all knew it was there and even counted it for Mum from time to time. We also knew that our brother had changed in other ways.

      He had left the high school in the town when he was fifteen, a few months before Dad rowed away. Our neighbour took him on to help milk the cows for the ‘town supply,’ telling him that if he ‘did good,’ then a more substantial job was on offer. It was a sort of trial. It didn’t work out. The farmer came over one night, angry that my brother had ruined a whole day’s milk production by contaminating it with cow crap. He had been using the high pressure hose to clean up, without covering the holding tanks and the obvious happened; the shit hit the can as it were.

       A shouting match ensued, involving my mum, dad, brother and the farmer. The end result? ----my brother grabbed his worn-out old bag, filled it with his clothes and headed out the back door. The last I saw of him was his back, striding down the path towards town. It was soon after that Dad left too, leaving Mum, my little sister and me. What the hell were we going to do? Mum wasn’t a saver. We had always lived very much from payment to payment--- the ones that came every month from the milk company. I remember Mum saying that we could never save for a rainy day.

      With Dad and my brother gone, everything went pear-shaped. Dad had never managed to hold down a job in town for more than a few months. It would start off fine, then within weeks; he would start going in late or not at all. He and Mum used to argue, with their words getting harsher as they insulted one another. She would call him ‘a useless sack of shit,’ something that always made me wonder when I tried to visualize the possibility. Sometimes he hit her.

      That made me mad. Even as a twelve year old kid, I would fly at him; beating my little boy hands against his back. He would throw me off, like a piece of flotsam that had attached itself to his legs--- I couldn’t reach much higher.

      ‘I hate you, I hate you--- leave Mum alone!’ I screamed. It didn’t make any difference. He just ignored me and smacked Mum again, this time across the head. She fell, sobbing and curled up on the floor. Then he strode out the door, looking back at his handiwork and on to the pub. Just as well we couldn’t afford a car----he would have driven into the river. Mind you, that could have saved us from more of his nasty moods. I knew then, that I hated my Dad.

       After he left, Mum found a job at the supermarket in town. Her hours were strange; one day she would start at five in the morning, restocking the shelves, then the next, not until the afternoon and then she was on checkout duty. She liked that.  My job was to make sure that my little sister was fed and didn’t stay up too long.

      For a few short weeks, we began to believe that our lives were going to change; that we could ‘make plans’ as Mum like to say. Fat chance--- she blew it! After all of her bad words about Dad, she went and stuffed up. Mum had never been a ‘drinking person.’ I don’t remember ever seeing her drunk; not like Dad. Sure she had a few Shandys at Christmas and maybe on her birthday, but that was it. Now, she had some money and no Dad around to scrounge it from her, she had some sort of independence for the first time in years. 

      She met this bloke. He was a customer and he must have taken a shine to Mum. When Dad was in a good mood, sober and not pissing us off, I often heard him say that Mum was ‘a damned good looker.’ Well this bloke finally talked Mum into going to the pub with her for ’a’ drink. For someone like Mum, who had had a rotten time overall form Dad, this was new territory. She gave in and two hours later she was a pissed as a fart. She didn’t come home at all that night and even worse for her, she didn’t turn up for work the next day.

      If she had been at the job longer, maybe they would have been more understanding, but unfortunately Mum didn’t take into account that small towns have eyes and ears. What you do is soon known by everyone. She was heard slagging off the boss in her pissed state--- you can guess the outcome. Mum was out on her arse; the trial over and done with. She applied for the dole, but that didn’t go far. At the same time, the rent went up and we were soon on the bones of our arses again. Mum got depressed and we came home from school one day and an ambulance was in the driveway.

      The guy she had been shagging had come around for a freebie, but with Mum in her ‘state,’ she started to talk crazy and before long had a kitchen knife in her hand. The guy was useless. He stood by and watched as Mum slashed her wrists. At least he had the balls to call the ambulance, but he didn’t intend hanging around for the aftermath. CYFS (Children Young Persons and Family Service) were called and we were bundled into a car and taken to this ‘nice’ family for a few days. We hardly had time to gather a few bits and pieces. Mum killed herself a few days later.

IF YOU WANT THE NEXT CHAPTER--SEND THIS ON TO FRIENDS--- THE LINK THAT IS----neilcolemanauthor.blogspot.com     Tell them to read the first chapter, but click onto the blog.

Oh Canada--- it's great to finally see you!- welcome

Yes, you have finally come aboard Canada. I would love to know from which part you are reading my blogs. A very good friend of mine hails from one of the beautiful islands in the area between Vancouver Island and Vancouver. If I ever get rich because you are all hitting on the adverts in my blog, I am going to surprise him and make him take me with him to visit that wonderful area of Canada and then onto the vastness between the West and east. I reckon a rail trip would do the trick, but I now damn well that I would want to get off and do heaps of side trips eh”   Hehehe—I think we both use that expressions eh, but with a different inflection.

I don’t think Doug (yes I have said his name and he will probably ring me and tell me off) knows how much I actually listen to him when he talks about his beloved Canada, especially BC. I love his stories about his Island and his family. I love to hear the down to earth descriptions of the winters and the garden he had there. I know he misses his homeland very much. He is a good Kiwi now but you can’t take the Canada out of him. We are lucky to have him.

 I think that Canada and NZ have a great deal in common. We both have big neighbours who sometimes treat us in a condescending way—maybe a bit like a know-it-all brother who thinks he knows best. You can relate to that eh? I don’t think I have to spell it our further, except to say that we both need our ‘brother for all sorts of reasons and if truth be known--- we are so bloody alike in some ways. Let’s celebrate the difference.

You for example don’t have the crap surrounding the gun laws. Look at the sad state the USA continually faces re their out-dated and dangerous love affair with guns. I am pretty sure that I’m on safe ground if I say that NZ and Canada see guns primarily as a means of hunting, not killing people, although of course we both have loonies out there who if they get their hands on a gun and ----hey presto--- same result. I wish they would take a big breath and enter into a nation-wide debate about where to go from here.

I see Canada as ‘big’ in every sense of the word. Your mountains, lakes, travelling distances, climatic extremes are all huge. I see your heats as big, so much like NZers. We may be far from each other; separated by the mighty Pacific Ocean, but our ties are close. Our First nation people are very similar, maybe not in language, but certainly in the way history has treated them. I know that both nations are trying to redress this and all that this process entails.

So Canada, give me some feedback—any—negative, positive but have a dialogue with me.

 Cheers
      neilcolemanauthor.blogspot.com

3700--- keep it up!

Cool--- the hit rate is continually increasing. I have no idea what the threshold is re the monetization of my blog, but send my link to your mates----neilcolemanauthor.blogspot.com  I know that if enough people view my pages and actuiallly click on the adverts, something will eventuallly happen. To sweeten the deal I am about to put the first chapter of yet anohter book I am writing on my blog. It relfelcts the things 'I know' because of the job I am in. What I inetend doing is to put oput the first chapter to give you an idea. Then, I shall wait until there are 50 hits on that before the next chapter appears and so on. I will stick some sort of synopsis out first.

NOW IT'S 4070

5400 as at 11th April

Transgender students in our schools.

There is a group of students in our schools who don’t fit in. Who are they and what can we do for them? I am talking about transgender, bisexual and gay and lesbian students. Many are given a hard time, sometimes leading to depression and attempts at suicide. They are often below the radar, hiding from their their real selves. Others are more out there, but can’t cope with the attention they draw. It is easy to say that we have a responsibility to these kids, to keep them safe and allow them to learn, along with their classmates. The truth is that we have quite a large number of the above students in our schools who feel isolated and unsupported.

There are schools that have programmes that help (for example, the Peer Sexuality Support Programme) but the nature of the students who would benefit from this, sometimes precludes active involvement.

Try to put yourself for a moment in the shoes of a transgender person. The world is not designed for you. All the messages you have received from a very young age, portray heterosexuality as the norm (well it is if you take a definition that equates the majority as heterosexual). Advertising, culture, religion, fashion, all push an ideal that is far removed from your reality. How do you survive in a world where you do not belong?  Now throw in the battleground that being a teenager represents and you have a pretty powerful mix that alienates you, just at a time when you need reassurance.

By now, you may well have decided it is all a bit much. If that’s how you feel, then once again, take a moment to ‘feel’ what it’s like for a young transgender person. It is hard enough for a teenager struggling with gay or lesbian issues, at a time when the mind and body don’t always follow mainstream patterns. A transgender person will have probably worked out that they are different in a real sense of the word. For gays and lesbians there is a lot more out there, in the way of support, literature and support groups that may help with self-realization. They still have a difficult pathway, but their access to positive role models places them in a slightly less precarious position.

Take the example of ‘what toilet to use.’ I am well aware that for a transgender person, this creates some particularly difficult issues. If they are presenting as a female, then one would think that the girls’ toilets would be the best choice. Not so---- it doesn’t take long for the ‘rumour machine’ to start its nasty machinations and before long, somebody may or will complain. It is not as simple as ignoring such complaints in a school. The same would apply if the person used the boys’ toilets. Can you imagine the implications and possibilities?

We need to take the pressure off the young person. This may well involve a bit of reorganizing the options. One could have the person use the nurses’ toilets, but that is not always possible. There may be other toilets around the school that could be redesignated as ‘unisex’ toilets. As a school, we must find solutions. If this involves finding the finance to achieve this, then so be it.

What about the issue of ‘correct uniform?' Some schools have allowed transgender persons to dress as they see fit, that is as a male or female. minus of course the tendency for some students to go ‘a bit’ overboard with their make-up. That can be sensibly addressed by having policies around make-up generally; that it must be discreet and not ‘scream out at us.’ I trust schools to have the common sense to find solutions to that problem.

Schools must actively build their support structures for all students as part of their ‘school-wide policies.’ For too long however, the issue of transgender, gay, lesbian and bisexual students has been pushed into the background--- a sort of ‘ostrich in the sand approach.’  ‘Try not to think about it and maybe nothing will happen.’ Sorry---- those days should be long gone. We must help all students to reach their full potential and if that means that as institutions we face uncomfortable issue full-on, then do that we will.

Teacher Aides in schools.--an underpayed resource!

Teacher Aides in school--- what would we do without them?

There is a group of hard-working underpaid professionals who work in our schools that the public (and some teachers) do not fully appreciate. I would go as far as saying that school could not operate without them. This special group are of course our wonderful teacher aides. They work tirelessly to help students achieve better outcomes, sometimes being the difference between a young person staying in school or leaving, to face a very uncertain future.

Every year we seem to be receiving students from intermediate schools who have had a very unstable deficit ridden educational and social preparation. Many of them have diagnosable ‘labels’ and are totally unprepared for the challenges of a large secondary school. These students may have had teacher aides in primary school, but the transition to secondary school may see a gap where they can get lost. Funding is not always carried over into the new setting. (That is a mission in itself). The special work that the teacher aides have done with these students may not continue.

What is it that teacher aides do? They support the teacher and may do this with a small group of students or on a one –to-one basis. Some students come to schools with special funding already attached. That may come from the Ministry of Education or other sources, depending on the nature of the student’s issues. There are students who have been ‘mainstreamed,’ who have multiple issues and this is where a teacher aide can make the difference between a teacher being able to ‘teach,’ or conduct some sort of ‘holding regime’---- where little teaching can take place.

Even with the teacher aide in class, the nature of some of the presenting issues makes teaching incredibly difficult. For every student who has a teacher aid ‘attached,’ there could well be several more in the classroom who would equally qualify for this valuable resource, but the processes involved and the ‘goal posts,’  can be a minefield.

Many schools utilize their TA’s in an efficient manner, where the whole class can benefit from the presence of an energetic TA. What I have noticed is the depth of experience TAs bring into the classroom. They are practical, empathetic and skilled in the way they relate to the students. They are able to manage difficult and needy students, so that the teacher can get on with their key responsibility--- that is, to teach the class. Some TAs go well beyond their duty and are able to contribute to the learning experience for their charges in ways that teachers just don’t have the time to do.

How does the system reward (read, pay) these skilled TAs? The simple answer---- not enough. Most are paid at an hourly rate and that is not much more than the 'minimum wage, depending on the school, experience and any added qualification they may have. Even if they are paid at a ‘better rate’ they still fall well short of a reasonable wage because they will be stretching to get more than 20 hours per week. The implications are that it would be hard, trying to find a TA who is working in that role as a career, without having a significant other to boost household income. Imagine being single, working in a TA role and depending on that money alone. There would have to be a top-up in the form of ‘Family Support payments for them to make ends meet.

We need our TAs in schools, but until we pay them better, like a real salary with steps built in for experience, responsibility and added qualifications, we are doing them a disservice.

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   neilcolemanauthor.blogspot.com

CHECK OUT THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS OF MY NEXT TO BOOKS, 'The River Always Flows,' and 'Talk To Me.'
Just go ot mu post and look for the books-- I will put up more chapters--- but click on the adverts so that I can finance the printing.

Casualization of the workforce-- is it for you?

There has been a great deal of debate over the last decade about the ‘casualization’ of the workforce.  (Actually I remember way back in the late 70’s, commentators talking about the coming changes to labour practises, but they didn’t use that term). Several examples that have featured in the news media recently spring to mind.

We all know about the debacle on the Auckland waterfront between the Ports of Auckland and the port workers and that has yet to run its course. It is difficult to get to the real facts that are driving this and I am not at all sure about some of the figures put out about what the workers are alleged to have earned. You hear numbers as high as NZ$100,000 per year. The workers dispute this.

Whatever the figures are, one must take into account the levels of danger surrounding this type of work. I am also not sure about the hours of work and other conditions that some sources claim. It should not be like this. We as the public need to know more, before we jump on the bandwagon that is harnessed to the publicist for the Port Authorities. Perhaps the union itself should find ways of putting the real (independently audited) figures out there.

There is another example that rarely appears in the news media; the hotel workers, consisting of a range of positions. Take room attendants---- those hard working silent people who keep the rooms clean. Most of them are on the minimum wage with a few on a few dollars more, by reaching the exalted position of ‘self-checking.’ That means that they do their work and it is not supervised unless there are a number of complaints, then it’s back to the basic again. Some of these workers have been on the slowly rising minimum wage for many years.

Not only is their pay poor, but a large number of them are ‘casualized.’ They are basically on call. There is no guarantee that they will get anywhere near the traditional 40 hour week. They may work as little as 20 hours in down periods. The management of course will say that such workers came into the industry knowing that the hours would be flexible. (I am sure that the management would not be in the same position!).

Many of the workers take these jobs because their choices are limited for a range of reasons---- there are simply not the jobs out there that the government always claims. A job is a job and people take the positions; not through a choice of a career, but to put food on the table.

These positions are casualized and this is what the implications are for them. In order to get something close to a 40 hour week they will be forced to work 7 or more days without a break, but possibly only for about 6 hours a day.

When these workers arrive at work (if they are rostered on) they get an allocation of rooms and there is a formula as to how long it will take these rooms. If they clean the rooms in an efficient manner and to the ‘correct’ standard, the time allowed will be fair (even if it is only 5 or 6 hours work) but there are often unforeseen circumstances re the cleaning of some rooms. I am sure you can all imagine what a room looks like after there has been an unofficial party taking place after a rugby game in Auckland.

Cleaning rooms is a hard physical job. There is lifting involved and also some unpleasant cleaning to do. I feel for these workers. They have something in common with the Port Workers--- that is if the workforce is casualized; they need to have certainty of income in order to survive in this world where bills are regular and never ending. How does one take out a mortgage if it is impossible to satisfy a bank that an income is consistent--- to the point that the income can support high payments, week after week? No bank is going to lend if there is even a ‘whiff’ of doubt around the ability of the customer to be able to meet the payments.

The bottom line is that for workers in any industry either facing casualization or already fully ensconced, there is a great deal of uncertainty that they can partake in an economy that treats workers as merely convenient ‘warehouses of labour’, sitting waiting for the call to work. How many of us (you) would consider this as a healthy economic option?

The signs are all there--- more and more of us will face that cruel world. The gap between the ‘fully employed and the casualized will get bigger and bigger and we will all suffer the consequences. Expect to see smaller uptakes in educational opportunities, poorer medical outcomes, as the tax take goes down and public hospitals cut even more services. We are looking at a society where large segments will feel alienated and no amount of crowing from our politicians about us ‘getting real’ and facing this new competitive world will quell the unrest that surely must follow.

A Brave new World? --- Not for me!

Kindle?--- I got one? Why?

Yes, I brought a Kindle. I have always said I wouldn’t. After all, there is nothing like a book to caress and hold, when you are reading in bed or sitting propped up in your favourite chair while the rain beats on the window. The cat is curled up by your feet, competing with the dog. For once, all is at peace.

I love the covers of books and feel of the pages, so long as no one has left anything disgusting in the way of food bits, or worse as they read their ‘library book.’ Reading is something that I need to do before I go to sleep. That’s just me. It may only be for a few pages, but it is all part of my nightly ‘protocol.’

So what’s all this fuss about Kindles and their counterparts? I hear people raving about how good they are, when you are traveling.  If you are flying and there is a limited amount of luggage one can tuck along, then Kindle seems to offer a sensible solution. But it’s not a book is it! Maybe there are some other reasons why I caved in and brought my first electronic book. Oh my God, am I a traitor to tradition?

I f you have read one of my other blogs about an upcoming book, ‘Talk To Me,’ you will know that I am going to blog it. It has its ISBN number so I will also be publishing it as a real book and as an eBook. I thought about it a lot before I finally brought my Kindle. After all the crap surrounding actually getting the courier to get it to me---they didn’t--- I had to collect it myself in the end---- that’s another blog too, I set about finding out how it works.

I used to be called ‘rip-shit and bust.’ Sorry for the crudity--- well you can understand what I mean. I am one of those guys who buys something (usually electrical and expects to plug it an----‘hey presto!’--- It should work. Well of course you know that is not the case. One should read the manual or instructions and take time to make sure that you are being safe and know which switch or functions make it work effectively. I must say that I have raised my standards somewhat in the last few years and this time I did take a cursory glance at tiny bit of cardboard that had the ‘what to do now’ b its. I found out how to plug it in to my computer, because it didn’t come with a charger. I looked at the screen and then read about some of the buttons and functions--- enough to get me started, but that was when I had to call my mate to show me how to register it and do all sorts of things. I won’t bore you with the details--- that’s why I have a good mate.

Once it was set up, and it did take a little effort, I played around on it to get the feel of it. It is very light--- much lighter than some of those huge monstrosities that I like to take to bed. (Some books are more than 800 pages.  With the Kindle it doesn’t matter how big they are—electronic words don’t weigh anything.

Now--- to the reasons why I chose a Kindle. I am with Amazon for some of my business and will be growing that arrangement. I want to get my books onto Amazon (Coastal Yarns was until things went belly-up), especially in eBook form. I hooked into the shopping part of Kindle and found out how to buy downloads. This of course required another bit of help. I had to register my credit card etc. --- you know all the stuff you need to do. After that was done--- I was free to browse and buy. I did just that and before long I had chosen a book that cost me the grand sum of $2.50. Wow--- so cheap. Even best sellers are not too bad. I want to get my books on there and in the holidays I shall explore that option.

That night I went to bed with my Kindle (no comments please!) and it soon had me as happy as a chook on the loose in a granary. I managed to read far more than I would have first thought. There is a little problem though. I would like to be able to have the screen a bit brighter--- maybe that is something that I have not yet found out about. Overall, I am going to love my Kindle. I hope I can see my books on there real soon. But--- I still love my real books too! --- Just in case there is a book God up there somewhere.