A Case in Study: Mango Episode 1

Unworthy rehashes of ground-breaking seventies science fiction trilogies aside, this is the story of our original Little Mango - our first; the one who really changed our lives; and now the big brother.

'How did his sports carnival go?' I asked with the trepidation of the unnecessary but inescapable desire for normality.

'Unreal banana peel!' was the answer I received. Strange, and vague.

'What does that mean? Was he okay? Are you being sarcastic?'

'Middle of the pack for the running race, second in ball games and we won't talk about the relay.'

Won't talk about the relay?!! What could possibly have happened that was so devastating that it was not to even be mentioned to me, not even in a text message, as if the very words themselves when released into the air, would forever foreshadow him and brand him – people in the street would stop what they were doing as he walked by, avert their eyes from his presence, and whisper in violent tones as he left, 'That was the Banskia Boy – that's right, interhouse Sports Carnival 2011 – gasp!' Whatever it was, she wouldn't say, which drove me absolutely crazy. So I made my own version up.

Little Mango 1's team mate, after three successful runs by Banksia and a favourable lead, rounds the corner like a man possessed, heading towards my first born with baton in hand, ready to let him go down the home straight and into a glorious victory. Little Mango 1 is ready to go, itching to run, watching his team mate make the last few metres in seconds that feel like hours. The world itself slows completely, it's his turn now, his time has come. His team mate reaches out the baton with a ferocious intensity, Little Mango 1 clutches it with the same intensity, yanks hard and starts running. The sounds of Chariots of Fire can be heard tinkling in his head, even though he's never heard it – it comes from the very motions he is doing – and victory is in his gaze.

It's a second before he realises he's holding, not the baton, but the arm of his team mate who is now being dragged behind him; the baton flying and flipping above their heads dramatically. Without thinking, he lets go of his team-mate who flies off and land heavily on the ground, jumps at the baton with every part of his being. He fumbles once, twice, three times; still it flies through the air; it lands on his head, he knocks it with his elbow, then bumps it up again with his knee, then his chest, finally grabbing it between thumb and forefinger, lands and gets back to it. Except now his fallen team-mate is on the ground in front of him. He trips and stumbles, grabs the kid next to him by the hair in an effort not to fall, and brings the boy down with him. This boy reefs himself free just in time to barge into the boy next to him and they both go to ground like a pair of footy heads. Little Mango 1 has managed to roll as he lands and gets up again, baton in hand and continues to run, albeit the wrong way – all this jumping and juggling has turned him around – and he's now running directly towards a fellow competitor. Confused at what's happening but without enough time to change it, they collide – Little Mango 1, being the bigger boy, just bounces off as the other kid goes down bleeding. Little Mango 1 spins and starts running back the other way, still clutching the baton as tight as can be. There's actually now only two other competitors left – the closest catches up quickly, but having come through the disaster area Little Mango 1 left in his wake, mistakes a breathless and confused Mango's crazed look for an actual crazed look, knows that he is next, and takes himself out of the race in the most spectacular fashion he can muster. The only one left in the race now apart from Little Mango 1 is Neville, the asthmatic kid who likes dissecting bugs and runs a secret organisation called Fight Stoppers, who is puffing and panting his way around the fifty metre mark – it's all good. Little Mango 1 flies towards the finish line, smelling the taste of victory (that's how close it is), when disaster strikes. His pants slowly starting sliding down as he runs, in front of everyone. As they reach his feet, his trips on them and launches into a massive somersault that sees him flip completely over and land hard on his back. He stills tries to keep going, starts crawling, picks himself up again, pants still around his ankles, trips again, gets back up, trips again, then starts crawling towards the finish line. Just as he gets to the line, he gets up valiantly and defiantly, pulls his pants up and walks on to finish the race no matter what, at which point he proceeds to drop the baton flat on the ground, his pants again following suit a second later. And right here, when he realises all his lost, is when Neville flies past him and wins the race, wheezing and barking as he collects his blue ribbon. At this point, the girl he has a crush on comes over and Little Mango 1. still pant-less, throws up in front of her, and then a stray tunnel ball smacks him in the face and knocks him out. There, that's probably as embarrassing as I can make it, and that would truly be worthy of hiding from me. Jeez, I really went on a tangent there, didn't I? I hope I'm able to come back to what I was saying at the beginning and wrap this up in a nice, neat little bow.

Anyway, it turns out the reality was a lot closer to the above story than anywhere near where I was thinking, but I'm not going into the facts here. See, the thing is – Little Mango 1, he's not really that into sports. And there's part of me, the part in everyone that worries what everyone else thinks, knows the nature of the society and the expectations that it implicitly puts on us, that wants to push, perhaps in the wrong direction, against my better judgement. The other part of me, the part that shares memories like this, has felt just as embarrassed and isolated when these mistakes, that really don't matter, happen; just wants to let him be how he is. You see, he's a lot like me. Hell, like me – he's a clone of me. I don't know if it's because he's spent the most time with me out of the three kids and I've pushed attitudes, whether meaning to or not, upon him or whether he is just that sort of kid. I'm leaning towards the latter, mindful not to completely dismiss the former.

See, I like watching movies. I like playing video games. I wasn't interested in team sports, and I still don't really connect with them; I don't see a lot of point. As far as I can see, time wasting is time wasting – whether I'm watching sports, playing Fable II, or making miniature cats out of lego blocks. If we're not saving lives or changing the world, when you boil it down we're kind of just passing the time, aren't we? Really, it's funny that we put so much importance on such silly little things. So this part of me that wants him to stay the way he is stays pretty strong. I don't want him to make the mistakes I made and go through some of the things I went through – that everyone goes through, I want history to have a least taught us something – but I don't really know how much there is that I can do about it. There's certain things that all kids go through, and will go through no matter what we do, and that they probably need to go through because that's what a childhood is for, I guess – it's what shapes the future person you will become. No matter how much helicopter-parenting we do, hovering above their heads like annoying and useless mosquitoes, we will never change it. I feel sorry for kids (especially boys) that get these ideologies and insecurities passed down to them (or forced down their throats), that normality is something we should strive for above everything else, that we should conform in every way possible. I think my heart would break if I saw Little Mango 1 that way, his unique spirit broken down by outward pressure, forced to look, speak and behave like everyone else, and I think we do our children a disservice by expecting them to. And I'm not talking about passing down ideals of right and wrong - I think there's a difference between teaching them morality, and teaching them normality. In fact, normality is probably the worst thing we can teach them – 'be like everyone else'. Our personalities are shaped by the experiences we have had alone, and if you throw that all away in favour of seeming normal - what a bland world we would have.

Obviously, Little Mango 1 has had a bit more time than the other two to establish his personality, so it's probably a bit more complex to describe. He's the one I'm toughest on, the one I expect the most from, the first experiment we started, of which we are yet to see the final result and whether we were a success or not. From the outlook, it seems like we've been going down the right path, I hope. I mean, at times he is naughty and a little annoying in the way that children his age are, but generally not. Mostly, he's actually on the other side of the goodness line there; you know where you sort of want him to be a bit wilder, but then there's those expectations coming into it again. He loves to laugh, he finds the smallest, silliest things funny and still allows himself to – the other day he walked around the house wearing a Ninja Turtle suit, octopus legs around his waist, a dinosaur tail and a wrestlers mask,while watching BMX videos that his friends were showing him on YouTube, and he wasn't conscious of that at all. He has a heart that seems to encompass the entire world. It's sometimes like he could meet a person on the street and instantly feel the pain they are feeling, and he still has the desire to want to change that. He has this light burning bright inside of him that just wants to get out and live, not caring what anyone else thinks. He loves to learn, is interesting in things, inquisitive of every detail about them, and can comprehend detailed explanations pretty well. He rebels like kids need to every now and then, to test their boundaries, but definitely knows when he's crossed them. He hates getting in trouble, it breaks his heart, he wants to always do what's right in that noble and beautiful way that only kids do, like a true superhero. It's something that more adults should have. In fact, these are all things that don't usually last very long in our world, so should we want to get rid of them just for the sake of outward appearances? I guess the answer lies in what you stand for – do you believe that those appearances matter more than any real substance, or is it our actions as human beings that define us? Personally, I don't want my obituary to read, 'He did everything the right way.' Our time is short, our lives precious, and teaching our children how to do everything the 'right way' is boring, and when you think about it, counter-intuitive to real life. Life drops things on you, is devastatingly crushing at one moment, gloriously uplifting the next; crazy things happen on boring days, and unexpected frustrations cloud beautiful days. We can't guess what's going to happen, no matter what we do. I could win the lottery today or get hit by a bus. Most likely, neither of those will happen but there's always the chance. You never know if the thing that you spend half your life drilling out of your child (just for your perception of normality) could have been the very thing that would save the world, or your own life, one day. Because the thing is that what is normal is only in our own perception; the appearance of normality is different for everyone and in the end, 'normal' is a myth. It's a mirage, seeking the lush waters of which is in the end, futile. It's that simple. Everyone is different - everyone is strange. Conform at your own peril.

So, I can't imagine a world where Little Mango 1 wasn't the way he is and really wouldn't like to be in one. He's a little bit odd, sometimes kind of quiet, sometimes overly excited, loving and selfless in moments where you wouldn't expect him to be, dedicated, interested, and hopeful. These are all essential parts of him.
When Mrs Mango told me how devastated he was after the relay race, how he was let down and embarrassed, and then how he didn't want to mention it to me, suddenly I felt terribly guilty and these realisations here came upon me.

'Don't give him a hard time about it.' Mrs Mango said.

'I would never give him a hard time about that.' I said.

He was obviously upset about, although from the outside the story was quite funny and that's kind of what I liked best about it. It was very him..... very me. Despite it, though - he had finished his running race, kept up and competed with the other kids, he had tried his best and fought for it, and that's all I can really ever ask of him. He might never be good at these things (then again he might), and maybe he'll always find defeat when he tries, but that doesn't bother me a bit. Losing what else he is, that spark inside, finding that crushing defeat of normality, is a far worse fate.