As the date for our sports auction, Equation - An Auction for Equality, draws near, I notice my teenaged nephew slowly beginning to get more and more interested. Just recently, he came for the unveiling of all 25 pieces at the rooftop of a 7-star hotel, and as he walked around reading the inscriptions, he actually took his iPod earphones out of his ears. (For those who do not understand teenage behaviour, this is the adolescent equivalent of an adult screaming in the joy of a surprise multiple orgasm with the strength of a 200kmph tornado).
He had brought a friend along. She looked like his date, but I wasn’t stupid to even suggest it. In any case, they both looked alike. Shoulder-length hair, pierced ears, soft, brown eyes, slouching skinny chests, jeans halfway down the crack of their butts, flip flops. I was about to ask them what they thought when I heard my nephew speak. I stopped.
It had been 431 days since I’d heard him say anything other than, ‘Uhm, hey,
.’ And ‘Uhm, see you around,
‘Uhm, pretty crazy stuff, huh?’ he said.
She took her earphones out of her ears. ‘Huh?’ she said, then continued. ‘Pretty crazy s**t, huh?’
He grunted. They both shuffled off towards the next exhibit.
‘Whoa.’ The girl this time.
My pulse was racing. Teenagers expressing enthusiasm! Where were National Geographic when you needed them? They were now near Anand’s gold medal.
‘No way.’ Girl.
‘I’d never give this up, dude.’ Nephew.
‘You’d never win this, duh.’ Girl.
‘I might give it up for you.’ Neph
‘Don’t be shady.’ Girl.
I stifled a scoff-giggle-snort. Too late. Both of them spun around with the hostile, suspicious glare so well-recorded by parents through the ages.
‘Hi guys! So, what do you think?’
‘You know, the exhibits.’
‘Guys!’ I waved my arms around, suddenly feeling foolish. ‘All these phenomenal pieces! What do you think?’
She broke the ice. ‘Pretty cool.’ Long pause. ‘What’re you planning next?’
‘You mean next year’s auction?’
‘I don’t know….let’s see.’
‘You should do music.’ Nephew.
‘Ya. Music stuff from really cool musicians.’
‘Kurt Cobain’s poetry.’
‘Visual sighting of the Gorillaz.’
‘What’s that got to do with music?’ I asked, nonplussed.
‘Nothing.’ They both giggled and looked at each other with something close to affection and walked away.
‘Uhm, see you around,
‘Hang on!’ I ran up to both of them, hugged them tight and thanked them for a brilliant suggestion. ‘You guys are great! Go on, go home and make out as a reward!’
Of course I didn’t. But the suggestion’s bloody good. Don’t tell them. Yo. Peace out.