Looking back at it now, I begin to appreciate just how terrified you must have been. I suspect that unless you have lived in Africa and encountered them up close, it is difficult to comprehend just how massive an elephant truly is, and just how small you are in comparison. We had come around the corner to find a herd of elephants in the road. I had stopped and the vehicle behind me stopped too, preventing me from reversing. They weren’t particularly aggressive elephants, although it was apparent to me (although clearly not so much to the driver behind us) that they were not entirely comfortable with our proximity. You will know how your mom always makes you aware of other people’s “comfort bubbles”. Well, I knew that we were a little too close to them. A couple of the younger ones had stopped demolishing the nearby trees and turned to face us. One shook its head nervously and took a few paces in our direction. Then three of them, like an enormous grey wall, advanced tentatively towards us. I wanted to go but I was trapped. We sat in tense silence. I had no idea how to signal the car behind us to move without stressing the elephants more. We needed to stay still and quiet – no big movements and no noise. Waving of hands and hooting would only exacerbate things. Eventually the driver behind us, who was clearly not the sharpest tool in the shed, made space for me to reverse, which I gratefully and hastily accepted. Elephants have always made you nervous. Understandably. I know you were scared. Even I was. It must have taken a monumental effort for you to remain so composed and quiet.
And that is how I have come to know you, Nate – as brave. Whatever the situation is, you find the courage to face it. Whether it is school and its trials (I know school is an emotional challenge for you, with your ADD), or just South African life in general (I see how crime and load-shedding and the escalating cost of living stress you), you find the strength to get up in the morning and face them. And in these stressful times you have never lost your generosity of spirit. You are always quick to offer a kind word, to turn your thoughts to the needy, to spend your money on your friends. These things will always make me prouder than your Maths grades ever could.
I know sometimes the other children are unkind to you. Their thoughtless criticisms and neglectful actions too often leave you feeling like a failure, wounded and alone. And I know how badly you want them to respect you, to prove to them that there is more to you than they can see. And there certainly is. But they are young, and – dare I say – too immature to engage with your beautiful complexity. They cannot yet see that success needs to be measured in more than test scores and the ability to throw a cricket ball. Maybe one day they will. Maybe not. But I really hope that you can come to believe it, even if they never do.
In all the things that actually matter, your classmates could learn a lot from you. You are an exceptionally kind-hearted boy, with a deep sense of compassion for those less fortunate than you. You always feel a compulsion to give to those who are in need, and are quick to share with others. You give hugs generously and hate it when for some reason your actions (always unintentionally, but impulsivity is an unfortunate characteristic of ADD) hurt others. And you are always quick to forgive.
I love that you are unashamedly yourself. One of your teachers remarked to me at a recent parent-teacher meeting that she wished all her pupils could be as self-assured as you. Of course, I know a little more. I know that you are plagued by self-doubt and that you constantly question your self-worth. But even that doesn’t stop you from just being you – from singing loudly in public, or wearing pyjamas to the shops, or believing what makes sense to you even when others disagree (like being vocal about not believing in the existence of the devil, despite being in a Christian school).
This year you played your first cricket match. You bowled a batsman out with your third-ever ball and I think you genuinely believed you were destined to be the next Alan Donald. Then you made three runs. And it was a typically stubborn three. The batsmen around you were falling like flies, and you just stuck your bat in the way and kept the ball out. Over, after over. Then you got cocky. From the side of the field we all heard you – because I think we were all supposed to hear it – say to their bowler “Bring it on!” and “I got this”. I have never known the Universe to dismiss such taunts, and a few balls later you joined your teammates on the side of the field. Your team lost the match, but not before they carried you off, chanting: “MVP! MPV! [Most Valuable Player]” Of course, I was a proud father, not because of any exceptional cricketing ability, but because of your stubborn defiance and never-say-die spirit.
When children are cruel to you, remember that moment. Remember that life has its triumphs too, even in defeat. Revel in those moments. But remember, too, that the very same people who throng to praise you will turn on you like a pack of dogs a day later – it is not worth judging your merit by their praise. Rather judge yourself by principles that you have chosen to live by– did you refuse to give up? Did you show respect to your teammates and your opponents? Did you play fairly and give your best? You tick all those boxes every time. You never criticise a teammate who drops a catch, or mock somebody who misses a shot. Your teammates who laud you one day for your prowess but crucify you the next for a mistake, for all their superior skill and sincere but ultimately hollow praise, will never be the sportsman you are. You make me so proud.
Stay courageous, my boy. The road of life has a lot of elephants. I know you see them, and I know they terrify you. You are astute enough to recognise the latent threat that exists in any group. Anyone who has ever had the courage – like you – to be themselves in a world that expects them to be like everybody else will understand, even if only viscerally, the sinister possibilities of a herd of elephants on the side of the road. And it makes me admire you all the more. You remain composed and defiant and resolutely committed to being true to yourself. It is that fiercely independent young man that I celebrate so proudly today. I love you, Nathan, and wish you the happiest birthday.
Vapors In The Wind 
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