End of term Pied Pipers

I love people but unless I initiate it I don’t like standing up in front of a large group of people. You see, I’m easily embarrassed, especially when I’m unprepared. I guess it may be fair to say that I hate surprises ... well, most of them anyway (there are always some exceptions to every rule).

Anyway, there I was, minding my own business and helping the children when I noticed some furtive looks and smiles coming from some of the other children in different sections of the classroom. Suddenly I was called up to the front of the class as a few of them danced merrily in front of me: they were the Pied Pipers and I was following their lead. I felt like a giant suddenly – all the Year 3s seemed like little ants around my legs. Maybe it was because all their little eyes were on me and they we all in on the secret that I had no idea about.

I was thinking ‘What are they going to do?’ They’re only small people but en masse they are a formidable force. I wanted to run out and claim I had a prior appointment but I knew that wouldn’t be true or make any sense, especially when I had to face them again next term, so I stayed put and tried to exude confidence and calmness.

The lead teacher started to talk ... something about gratitude for my time and effort with them. I could hear her and see her lips moving but I was enwrapped by the shining faces in front of me and the ripples of applause that were coming from all corners of the room and settling at my feet.

They were showing me their appreciation and I was so touched I felt the usual tears start to build up in my eyes. Fighting them back I took the beautifully wrapped gift from the two pairs of outstretched arms directly in front of me. I know I was smiling and talking, but again the actual words are a complete mystery to me at the moment.

Somehow I got back to the door and, extending season’s greetings to all of them, I beat a hasty retreat. 

Feeling blessed I signed out at reception.

As I went to leave the receptionist opened the partition and smiled at me, “Did you get your chocolates from the children?” she asked gently.

“I did. Thank you.” I smiled back and pointed to my bag, “They’re in there. Thank you all very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“And to you.”

“See you next term. Take care.”

And with that final exchange I went out of the door into the cold wind but I knew that nothing would remove the glow of affection that had settled around my heart.

Afternoon delight?

I had resisted for a long time, but eventually I gave in to the inevitable. There I was with this woman I had recently met and within minutes she was touching my breasts.

She asked me if I had done this before. I said no. I would have remembered if I had.

The way she handled me was not what I’d expected. Was I looking for gentleness? If I was I was immediately disappointed. Instead of a gentle touch I was squeezed, pushed, pulled, kneaded and clamped. The last bit was out of my experience range and I cried out in pain – no pleasure at all was involved, I can tell you.

When she released me, I said that it hurt. She replied that she told me there might be a touch of pain.

When it was all over – none too soon in my opinion – I backed away from her as she continued to look at me and talk to me. I was silent. I just nodded at her and then I murmured something that couldn’t be described as words. I just wanted to leave.

As I put my clothes back on I knew that I wouldn’t be in a hurry to repeat that particular afternoon delight. I was as polite as I could be as I left, but I knew that she knew I hadn’t enjoyed the experience.

What was it I actually did?

Oh, didn’t I say?

I went for my first mammogram.

What were you thinking?!!!

Homecomings - DADT

Homecomings are times of celebration. These are great occasions when the people who have been away return home. They return to a place of safety and comfort. A place where all barriers have been removed, all formalities have been taken away and you can relax and be yourself. Homecomings are occasions when the ones who have been away are greeted with joy by those who have remained and also happily reacquaint themselves with those other travellers who are returning to the familiar base. Well, that is the theory…

I knew that there was a homecoming anniversary gathering and I was going home. Yet I was nervous for a multitude of reasons. The relaxation that should have accompanied me was missing. The barriers that I hope were absent were present and the formal behaviour replaced the friendship that used to easily exist.

I went back to my home church to celebrate 50 years since the building had been dedicated for worship. I was greeted, with genuine affection, by several people. I had expected their continued friendship; we had kept in touch over the years. I was also met by sideward glances and frosty practiced smiles on an otherwise bright and beautiful day by those who evidently didn’t expect or want to see me there. 34 years ago my family moved to the area and joined the local church. We grew up in that environment. It was my home.

The day of celebration was punctuated with songs, readings and gifts to recognise long service within the church. The rolls of honour were read. People were applauded, lauded and honoured for their contributions to the Christian ministry and local community. I did not go there that day with expectations of any reward, and I was sat there quietly enjoying the shared memories until my son, who was sat beside me during the ceremony, spoke and it was then that I really acknowledged the missing evidence of my presence in the records.

Morgan was listening to the list of officers who had taken part in the youth club over the years and when they finished reading and were stepping down from the platform, he looked at me, aghast, and said, to everyone and no-one in particular – in what I thought was quite a loud voice – “What about my Mum?”

Embarrassed feet shuffled and heads turned away.

I hugged him and said “Never mind, darling. I know I was there. God knows why they left me out.”

The same thing happened again and again. One after another groups that I belonged to reformed without me. Some people suggested I go and join them on the platform. I laughed at the idea of a mass exodus if I went to the front of the church. I declined politely and remained where I was. The church authorities, in their wisdom, could not see me so I chose to remain invisible to them that day.

My nephew, who now lives in Swansea, and who also grew up in the church community decided not to attend – for his own reasons. When he called me on my return home he asked a simple question.

“Well, how did they treat you?”

“They ignored me for the most part, Daniel,” I said, with a deep sigh. “To be expected I guess. I don’t fit in their picture. They can’t bring themselves to tell me outright to keep away, however they can choose to publicly ignore my contributions.”

I mainly went to support my sister and another nephew who have remained in the area and who are alienated within the church, but my presence seemed to exacerbate the situation - being part of my family means that they are treated as contaminated as well. My link with them is also a constant reminder of my ‘leper’ status within the church ‘family’.

My home is not with them.

There will be no future homecoming events for me with people who don’t acknowledge the person that I am. I’m sure that Christ, the Man the church congregation claims to follow, would not agree with the estrangement of His family members.

I broke the cardinal rule with them years ago. I ignored the Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell law. When homophobia was rife in the groups I was part of I stood up and said I found it offensive and unChrist-like. I outed myself, and they’ve never got used to it. They cannot accept that the person they loved and played with through all those years is gay.

It’s not my problem. It’s theirs.

I am home now.

I know why I live so far from them now. I know why for the first time in three decades I haven’t moved every three years; I have now stayed in one place for 14 years. I have found a home and I keep coming back to it.

I don’t need their homecoming to celebrate my existence. I do that everyday when I awaken in my peaceful haven.

I am home.

Time to be child-like

I was feeling uncomfortable with how I had positioned myself on the floor. But I did not move.

‘Mummy?’ came the query, ‘Mummy, are you alright?’

“Um,” I hesitated in my response as I shifted and moved my aching neck slightly to the right to see the worried look on my son’s face. The look matched the concern in his voice. I have consistently told him to be honest with his feelings and to say how he feels and why. Now, this honesty question was directly glaring at me.

“Well,” I struggled for the right thing to say while trying to get my body into a more comfortable position, “actually darling, I’m not ok. It hurts being here like this.”

“Why don’t you move then?”

“Well,” again I delayed answering as I tried to think of a good answer. None came.
“Well, it’s just that if I move now it will only be for a few minutes before I have to come right back into the same position, so …” as I started to say my thoughts out aloud they seemed like a weak argument even to my ears.
“So, “ I continued, “it makes sense just to stay here.”

“Why?” came the immediate reaction.

“Um, well, ‘cause it will take too long to move and get comfortable in another position and then it’ll be time for me to come right back here to finish doing this – I only have a few more minutes to wait …”

“But, Mummy, why don’t you do little nice things to make the big things better?”

Why not indeed?!


I think that it is time to take the wisdom and outlook of a child and apply it to my life. It makes so much sense.

Can you find a recent situation when the above advice would have been a more sensible solution that the uncomfortable one that you chose?