Bum Pinching and Appletizer

I have been wanting to write this “piece” (honestly, who do I think I am?) for quite some time now.

Growing up for me was completely abnormally normal. I think? I only grew up once and still growing up, with one family – so I have nothing to directly compare it too. You often think you do by observing other families and the Woolworths lunch boxes and holidays in actual hotels and not caravans, but unless you are inside that family unit you don’t really know.

My childhood was happy and full of laughter, music and chickpeas (mom, you will finally be pleased to know this) – but I do have a lot of memories and some mid to mild level trauma.

I have a brother who is 18 months older than me, Daryl Charles Carrington. Now I know you are thinking- gosh that is awfully posh, but my family isn’t. They dish out these posh names to anyone who asks, no screening necessary. A fundamental flaw in our already very flawed social system. Anyway – article for another day?

Back to Daryl, he is my big brother, and I am his “little big sister” as he refers to me. Daryl is down syndrome; he was born with it – like Maybelline.

Growing up with Daryl was hilarious. He is still hilarious. My parents made it all hilarious. They have a wicked sense of humour about it all and to be honest I think that has pulled us all through – laughing. Don’t worry I will share some of these HILARIOUS bits.

Daryl as a small lad (Sir Daryl or No Boy as my parents mainly referred to him as) used to have some very peculiar habits. One of these was bum pinching. He was short, he would weave in and out crowds like a bum pinching sort of nimble, stealth spy – you wouldn’t see or hear him coming or know what had just transpired but you did just get a little red sore pinch on your rear. My mom used to walk around shopping malls and social events basically just apologising. Luckily, most people were very good humoured about it – I do think to this day they beleive my dad had a problem.

One of D’s other favourite go-to’s was losing himself. And I don’t mean in a good CD of Little Mix (which he does do A LOT, also to add that his singing sounds like something out of a sheep slaughter farm, he has many talents but singing just isn’t one of them sadly) my dad has discussed sound proofing options for his room or sending him to a Chinese karaoke circus for a few years but they never get around to it. Anyway, I loose track – back to the loosing himself......

My parents loved to move around – and not just to different suburbs and coffee shops but to different continents. They thought that no better adventure was to be had in life than to take a special needs child and my brother all around the world – that would be excellent. I was born in Muscat, Oman, we lived in Bermuda for a while, the US for a short stint, the UK of course, Malawi and now South Africa. I think between us Daryl and I went to quite a number of schools and people definitely thought we were running from the law. Especially when my dad insisted on bringing a VW Passat over from the UK filled with carpets and ornaments, and he didn't change the number plates for 5 years.

I think my brother was potentially always a bit confused as to which school, which country, and which shopping mall he was in, so he used to get lost. But not for a few minutes, hours! My parents loved caravanning; it was a nightmare, and I didn’t like it. My dad doesn’t braai and my mom always forgot something, generally the poles or the caravan. As we would arrive and stop at the best pitch (after hours of driving around looking for one, apparently 20 square metres of grass varies a lot) those car doors opened, my brother would be off like a shot and get lost for hours. My mom would wonder around asking other happy campers if they have seen him. Eventually we would find him generally next to the super tubes or swimming pools cheering everyone on to go faster.

Growing up with Daryl has taught me so many things about myself, that lunacy is always an option and to laugh at everything – even if it is embarrassing. Don’t take things too seriously and prepare for bumps.

I remember someone asking my parents once what Daryl does for a living and my dad in his straightest poker face replied – “He is building the next super-computer; do you want in?”

We have a typical sibling relationship. I rip the remote out of his hands, I steal his sweets and make sure my Christmas presents are better than his. Having a brother with a disability doesn’t make me special, it makes me see the world in a special way. I am by no means a good sister – I am a sibling, and my brother is Daryl.

He loves Little Mix, Zumba, Cottage Cheese sandwiches, singing (badly), dancing, eating sausages (he once ate 12 in one sitting at a buffet), giving hugs, football, sulking, being stubborn, walking, “fainting” at weddings so all the girls give him attention and most importantly appletizer (NOT the red one for goodness' sake)

Daryl has 19 Facebook profiles so if you want to get in touch with him – good luck with that.

I could tell you so many hilarious stories about growing up with Daryl, endless stories! But for now, this is what I will share. And I hope you like the photo selection of him, it was on my wedding day and Daryl refused to have any professional photos done.

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