My Father, Uncle Hoppy, and a Family Feud

I come from a respectable, humble family. My father is a great game hunter. One memorable afternoon he found a complete Scrabble Deluxe crossword game, a Snakes and Ladders game board and three dancing dice doing the Tango in a Strip Joint in London. He is an excellent horseman and swimmer. Unfortunately, this has resulted in the death of a number of horses due to their failure to execute the Butterfly stroke successfully, or understand the meaning of the "prone position".

My father is tall, attractive, full of vitality, and is at one with nature. His sympathy with birds borders on the remarkable. In fact, he flies south each fall with a flock of warblers he counts as dear friends. Ladies are irresistibly drawn to him and at the last count fifty-three people in our town bear a striking resemblance to him right down to the "mark of the beast" on their foreheads, and the wearing of bizarre Ascot hats. There is a story in the family that he remains traumatised by a bowl of leftover Banana and semolina sheera he seen as a child.

Of course, everyone within a family likes to score points and "family feuds" provide an emotional battleground par excellence. Children must compete with each other for their parents' attention and it is well known that "pecking order" shapes one's personality. One room is too small to contain the egos of a father, mother, brother, sister, and antique vanity furniture. With the rich the feud may be about property, inheritance, money. The poor? Who eat the last chocolate digestive biscuit?"

Anyway, my Uncle Hoppy - who was born with grey hair, and always wears black (even while bathing) - arrived at my father's house one day. Hoppy's hobbies included shovelling manure and disguising himself as Portland Place in London. For some reason an American bison accompanied him everywhere. He treated her like a mistress (?!), dressed her up, and took her on romantic outings. To the bison, I guess, it was love without responsibility.

The trouble started when Hoppy's wife discovered the bison was pregnant. Uncle Hoppy was adamant that while he did not love the bison, he had at last met a creature he truly connected with; someone to hug, kiss, and who talked with genuine conviction about their commitment to individual liberty rather than group-think and articulated what Hoppy also believed: "I'm tired being someone other people want me to be."

Well, as expected, the incident caused a "feud" within the family that surpassed previous family feuds. The news proved devastating. Some family members seethed with rage, some wept, some played Russian roulette with six rounds in their six-shot revolvers, some bitterly quarreled about the consequences for the "good" family name. What name would the offspring be given? Others' sat exhausted by laughter. Yes, laughter. Previous feuds were brought up and dissected like raw meat. Some family members ran out of the house and took to the air never to be seen again! It was clear, however, that Hoppy and the bison felt unease about their future.

A month later Hoppy phoned me. His voice sounded weary but he said they were happy. They were living in a one-room apartment in the south of France. The bison was taking dancing lessons. I remembered she was strong-minded; a creature of action, not words. He added that she wished to become a ballet dancer after the birth. I wished them well. What does it matter, after all, as long as they are happy? Their passion will weary. It always does. However, no-one wishes an affair to end in failure, except the cold of heart.

Reflections: Nobody's life is someone else's life. Those who accept powerlessness, total passivity, cease to exist in a meaningful way and help to create sadness, confusion and pain for others: family, friends, work colleagues. Some individuals will always find reasons to persecute, judge, sentence and punish fellow human beings. We must face our own nightmares and solve them. Who else will do it?