Visitors

Te Ao Hou, June 1968, Page 57

Visitors Visitors, I dislike! I mean, I do not dislike them personally but I hate the embarrassing moments they bring upon me. There is one visitor in particular whom I dislike. That is, my Aunt Kiri. Every Sunday Aunt Kiri comes plodding down that dusty road in her big, bare feet, with an old kit of home-made bread and bottled jam tucked under her arm. I see her coming and I dash into my room and hide under my wooden bed. Then, I hear that familiar knock. My father hobbles to the door and opens it. The two old devils, so happy to see each other hug and embrace in the Maori custom. Then my Aunt tosses her thick, twisted mane of jet black hair over her massive shoulders and shouts, ‘Raymond, my little baby. Where are you hiding this time?’ Oh, how I hate these childish things my auntie calls me. It irritates me so much being called a baby, especially when I'm sixteen years old. My Aunt Kiri and ‘Papa’ then go into the kitchen and sit on the boxes around the