Letter from a Scammer

Letter from a Scammer ©

By Michael Casey

First of all let me say I am not Michael Casey, my real name is John Doe Barrister, Mr. John Doe Barrister  and I don’t make coffee in any of those delicious but over priced establishments. Just email JDBarrister666@nosuchemail.com and all will be revealed.

Thank you most sincerely My Beloved, I could not answer earlier as I was having my life saving surgery. As I lay here close to death I have decided to choose you to  have all my worldly goods on the occasion of my death. And it will be an occasion with 1000 mourners all dressed in black, I don’t believe in this new thing of wearing colours.

So all you have to do is phone +44 5555 55555555 and ask to speak to Mr Kickthebuck Barriers at Barrister’s chambers in Barristers’ Row in London England, around the corner from the  High Court. But don’t tell anybody about the details of this email as its top secret. Everybody will want my billions, my £100000000, which I worked so hard for working in Las Vegas as a male stripper.

So just reply to this letter giving your full name, address and phone numbers at home and work, not forgetting your DOB, better still photocopies of your passport and all legal documents. Better still just put everything in an envelope and post to me.

I forgot my postal address is care of the Governor Wormworth Scrums Prison, London England. I have to go now, association time is over. But remember tell nobody about this email.

You will be a very rich man, soon.

Pray Like a Child

Pray Like a Child©

By Michael Casey

When you are a kid you believe, it’s only as you grow older you get cynical and become a don’t know. As a child mum makes you say the Rosary together, the family that Prays together stay together.

“Dear Baby Jesus, can I have a bike, Amen.” Then you jump under the covers and are fast asleep in seconds. Your mum tells her sister, and you get a scooter, one of those that you push with one foot while you stand on the thing. They are very popular again now, 50 years on. As for you the child, proof that prayer works.

You get older and exams beckon, so you pray with renewed vigour, or rather your prayer life is renewed, after falling fallow, but you dig out the Rosary beads and ask for help. You mum joins in and asks the Saints to make the examiner miss your mistakes on the exam paper.

You pass your exams and then prayer is forgotten again. You can’t find a job, so the prayers start again. Your atheist brother says why not try computers, so you do. This results in a good job with good pay for 21years.Is God having a joke? Or has your mum blackmailed the Angels and Saints. A bit of both really.

So life goes on, your mum with her hand in her pinny saying the Rosary as she watches Dallas. Next you need a house, so the prayer restarts. While taking the dog, Goldie, for a walk the dog stops to pee on a garden gate. You look up, the house is for sale.

When you get home you tell your dad, he jumps on the bus to see the house. Dad cannot contain himself so he bangs on the door of the dog pee marked house. He has a look around. He sails home triumphant, “Michael Buy That House.”

So I did.

Working shifts is hard work, lots of night shifts, 14 years of them. Get over it, is what ignorant people say, to this and everything. There is a bonus though, you get to see Dawn over central Birmingham. This really is God’s Creation, 14 years of seeing dawn, some only ever see it when they stagger home from the pub.

So life good on. Mum dies suddenly, 8 weeks later dad should die, but your brother saves him with CPR. Dad is given a week to live and he will not be resuscitated if he has another heart attack. We sit in my sister's house picking hymns for his funeral.

Now today 25^th May would have been Padre Pio’s Birthday. Back then in 1996 I’d heard of him. So I prayed, I asked him to intervene. You are breathless, speechless, lots of things are in your mind, and there is nothing in your mind. Opposites. But there is also something else inside you, your mother has died but weeks before but she left 

you something, she left you Faith, faith of a child.

I put a photo  of Padre Pio under dad’s pillow. 19 people on a heart ward, 18 died. My dad did not. My dad said he heard the doctor say “wheel him to the end of the ward, he’ll be dead soon.”

That’s when dad woke up, and the doctor dropped his tea in shock. Dad spent 3 months, 12 weeks in Dudley Rd hospital or City Hospital as it’s called nowadays. I wrote about it in full in an essay Padre Pio and Me, it’s on the Internet.

So prayer goes up and down, like the swell on the sea, prayer has tides just like the sea too. Pio used to say “the prayer I say tomorrow, will have helped you yesterday.”

Ian Botham was in the news yesterday about he’s attitude  to his own sick dad, I totally understand his point of view. With our dad I visited every single day, as did my sister and other siblings visited loads too.

Now you have your nice house, and you’ve always wanted a wife and perhaps a family. However all you do is visit your dad so you’ll never meet anybody. So you say your prayers and again you ask Padre Pio to help, as if he was a marriage bureau. Then after 3 years who do you meet? Your Shanghai wife.

Kids would be nice, so you get 2. So some will say this is luck or coincidence. I chose to believe Padre Pio is in Heaven having tea with my mother. Though the pair of them might be having a look at my sister in Lourdes today, Happy Birthday Padre Pio, thanks. 

a photo from 9 years ago maybe

Backwards Talk

Backwards Talk ©

By Michael Casey

My small daughter and me love fizzy pop, my Shanghai wife is against this. So my small daughter has decided to backwards spell what she wants, so Dr Pepper becomes reppep rd. It’s hard enough for me to follow, the plan is that for my wife’s Chinese brain it will be impossible.

So the theory goes, but the wife and the Chinese are very very clever. So I have to sneak out without being spotted. Then come home victorious, hiding the pop up my jumper.

Come and have your medicine I call from another room, then conspiratorially me and my small daughter have Dr Pepper. I perhaps should explain one daughter is Western frame and looks like a clone of me. Whereas the other daughter is much smaller and much more Shanghai wife in size.

Our plan has worked we are enjoying the Dr Pepper together, only my small daughter gives the game away. BURP, she burps like a Sumo Wrestler, which is what  I’m compared to on occasion.

A dad’s job is never done, I am ordered to sneak out to the store for chocolate, fruit and nut by Cadbury’s is the current favourite, so again I have to sneak out like a burglar in reverse. Then I return like an all-conquering hero and do a lap of honour around the living room, as I break and share the chocolate.

My girls love chips as a treat, why? Because they follow Shanghai diet, which is rice with everything. There is also a lot of fish and chicken, white meat as it is called. So dad has to be persuaded to go to the chippie, or to buy roast potatoes that you bake in the oven.

I am a modern hunter gatherer, thought I don’t have a spear and a hide to cover myself with. My wife would tan my hide if she caught me ruining our girls Shanghai diet. So I have to sneak out.

In the interests of diet supervision the wife has to eat 1/4 of the chips and/or roast potatoes. So parenting is all about spelling snacks backwards, now GoGo, which means go to bed/sleep, though it could mean OGOG.

Building Memories

Building Memories ©

By Michael Casey

So do you build memories with your kids? Do you do anything so that your kids will always remember it? I hope you do, if you don’t you are BORING. Any little thing can be used to create memories, magic memories.

So the local seagulls flew over and dropped their bombs on my open bedroom window, SPLAT. Like a custard pie but much much worse. Yes we do get seagulls in Birmingham, the most inland part of the island of England. They come here just to dump on us.

So now you have a problem, how do you clean the window, the way it opens means it difficult to do. Then I think of turning it into an opportunity, just like in all those self-help and management manuals. Though this is much better fun and not as pretentious.

I dug out the water pistols and started to fill them with water, we would use seagull pooh as target practice. See inventive humour at work, just like my Linkedin Profile says. Only the water pistols leaked, and leaked over me.

I had hoped that by pushing my window even further open, the  rain would act as window cleaner, only that did not work. So the water pistol idea. So then I went to plan B, I am better than the chancellor as I do have a plan B, not about economics, but about cleaning seagull pooh from my bedroom window.

So I got my small daughter to close the bedroom window, while I filled a plastic jug up with water. As I flung the water in an attempt to clean the window she taunted me with her nose pressed against the bedroom window.

The first one or two throws hit the seagull pooh target, and my small daughter laughed, and taunted me in her newly discovered

Irish accent. Half the family is Irish so it’s funny to hear my ½ Chinese daughter practice her soft Irish accent.

I tried a few more flings but my aim got worse and ½ the water went over me, such is the geography at the back of the house. So I had another idea, my netball playing bigger and taller daughter.

So she came out and had a go. See I’m a good dad letting my daughter practice her netball shots, by flinging water from a jug at a seagull poohed bedroom window.

None of this really worked, I just ended up dribbling water back into our kitchen. BUT one thing did happen, I have created a memory that will live on after I die. Which won’t be for decades I hope. So don’t think I’m the stupidest person in the world, I am an inventive humorist, just as my Linkedin Profile says.  

A half Chinese Girl Learning Spanish

A half Chinese Girl Learning Spanish ©

By Michael Casey

My daughter was going over her Spanish ready for a test, I was listening and was happy I could remember mine. I did the exam nearly 40 years ago, though I did relearn it in 1998/1999 prior to my trip to Barcelona. So it brought memories back.

Barcelona was my last trip away before I met my Shanghai girl, I spent 15 minutes talking to a girl I met in a Tapas bar, before she told me she could speak English. She said it was good for me the Spanish practice. I met another girl in a bar and she had an American accent, and great hair but a broken nose.

The next day who should come dancing across the stage, only a ballet dancer with great hair and a broken nose.  It was the girl from the Tapas bar, I had gone to see the Russian ballet in Barcelona and there she was dancing for me.

A few months later I was again watching the Ballet, this time in Birmingham with the friend who had introduced me to Ballet. There it was the massed ranks of the Ballet, loads and loads of dancers at the NIA. Who should I spot, only the girl from Barcelona.

When I met my Shanghai girl she told me that she had met a girl at church, the church next door to my old Grammar school. This girl was her friend and she would give me the once over to see if I was nice enough for my Shanghai girl.

So we met in a back street bar, The Queens Tavern, in the China quarter. Next to the Hippodrome which was the home of The Birmingham Royal Ballet, and yes you’ve guessed it she was a Ballerina. I was positively vetted by a Ballerina.

Which brings me back to Spanish, my daughters are bilingual, I am not. So as my daughter was practising we both had the same thought, we should teach her little sister Spanish. So then I would be bilingual with them, in Spanish. Then they could continue being bilingual in Chinese with mum. A perfect family comprise.

Life is a compromise after all, but if you have another language you can talk privately with your family while you are out. Nobody knows what you are saying, not even other Chinese as you are speaking Shanghai dialect.

So language brings families together and its fun, as for me I cannot wait  till my small daughter learns Spanish.

Spots

Spots ©

By

Michael Casey

Spots, now where shall I begin, when I started shaving perhaps, when I was 14, I am part gorilla after all. So I started shaving and made a mess of it, or rather my face. So I had cuts to the right cheek and for balance to my left cheek. So you put a styptic pencil on it and scream, and then pieces of toilet paper, or a strip from the newspaper.

Your face heals and the wounds fade, but the wounds are infected and you get a nice spot full of pus, which is so so tempting. So you squeeze it and decorate the mirrors around the house. The wound just will not heal, so it’s your duty to squeeze it, again and again and again.

It becomes a hobby, squeezing your spots. Eventually the wounds heal and the pus is drained and squeezed out of existence. The mirrors are polished to perfection by mum, pledge and cloth removes everything.

They say that only pubescent boys and girls get spots, this is a lie, to me having a spot is a badge of honour. I AM still young, even if I have reached part two of my life, the descent to the grave part. There is the joy of squeezing the spot, on a par with having an illegal fag in the bike shed.

You have to wait for the spot to be ready to be squeezed, it has to be plump enough, or the experience won’t be as good. You have to have self-control, like waiting for your first kiss, control yourself and the joy will be even greater.

After a day or two of self-control, you cannot resist it any longer, it does not matter if you are at work. You sneak to the bathroom, or the gents as we say over here in England. Then waiting for your moment you lean forward, as you would for your first kiss, but this one is all alone.

You take hold of the spot and squeeze, just at that moment half the office enters the gents, they all laugh and your zit goes all over your best shirt and leaves an almighty stain of pus and blood. Totally humiliation.

Later that afternoon you are giving a presentation, you put your name badge over the stain. The presentation goes well until the badge falls to the ground. So you improvise. You take your shirt off and dab the new cleaning liquid your company is marketing all over the stain.

Cheers and applause, and best of all, all those years of pumping iron and squeezing spots have giving you a look real men would kill for. The ladies in the room are smitten, good job you put a clean vest on that morning.

So the spot is gone, on your face and on your shirt, your spot in the presentation has impressed the client. Spot the difference it has made to your life. Spot on, and on the spot you have a new girlfriend, and yes you’ve guessed it, she is covered in spots.  

Flowering

Flowering ©

By

Michael Casey

I put a photo of my pot of shamrock on my site recently, it was more than shamrock but some red flowering plant as well. Then also crammed into the pot were some sweet peas. The red flowers had almost died then now today they are reborn, 4 small buds reappearing in brilliant red.

This is a bit of colour to the room where I write, and scent too sweet pea are really smelly. Now what I really want to talk about is flowering of talent. My eldest daughter has developed an interest in architecture, so we watch the tv programme which has people building their own homes, their own grand design.

The programme highlights people following their own design dream. In fact the end result tonight was the best of the maybe 15 programmes I’ve seen so far. We all have a dream but here on tv we watch people follow their dream. Perhaps I should start singing “Climb every Mountain.”

Some of the self-build people or should I say self-design people nearly end up going bankrupt. With architecture you have to get it right and have to have deep pockets. Things do go wrong, even having thieves break in and steal the tradesmen’s tools.

In the end though we see the flowering of a dream , a home, a perfect home for the couple who have dreamed and strived so much. The end result is a physical thing, a house.

But what about non-physical things ? Talent is a strange thing, people are jealous if you have talent, you did not work for it, you have what they don’t have. It’s never that straightforward, even Pele had to practice,  as did Georgie Best. So talent is an ability to do something well, really well. It appears effortless because Pele or whoever have practiced and yes there is the God given bit as well.

A talent that is flowering has to be nurtured, it has to be watered just like my plant pot besides me. Now what is so wonderful is when you can see the progress, when you can see the improvement each time you observe.

We never let our girls have all those computer games we encouraged them to draw instead. So now after years of drawing and maybe 800 crayons and felts and other writing implements our girls can draw, really draw.

You may have a son who bangs a ball against a wall for hours, or practices with a basketball hour after hour. The skill, the talent can be seen growing every day, every week. Now sometimes this is a tragedy, because the child is being forced to be a tiny Tiger Woods or whatever. Decide that one for yourself.

When you write you know if you’v produced a good piece or an average piece, or if you missed it. Sometimes though you nail it on the head and  when you read it through when you have finished you know that’s one of the really good ones.

Form applies to writing as it does to riding a horse or dancing or doing gymnastics. You have to be “on form” and then you come up smelling of roses. The sense of satisfaction when you nail a piece of writing is like a sugar rush.

A parent with their own kids, all of us that is, are in a unique and perhaps holy place as we nurture our kids and see them grow as individuals with a flowering of skills. Learning to walk, to talk, to hold a crayon, to remember  things and so on. And to puke all over the parent along the way.

A teacher too is in  a special place as the teacher opens young and old minds to learning, the book is opened and the blank page is filled with learning. It’s when you can see the lights go on in students’ eyes, they understand. Then some actually thank you, if you remember the story of the 10 lepers from the Bible, only 1 came back to say thanks.

The flowering of a mind and the new connections it brings between you and your children, or you and your students IS the thing that makes your hard work worthwhile.

It just depends where you work as a teacher as to whether you are fighting a battle or leading like a merry Pied Piper. In my own teaching time I tried to be a Pied Piper, but if students misbehave, throw them out, 7 expulsions in one 3 hour session was my record, or rather their sad record.

Confidence grows and flowers grow, and as with flowers this attracts bees, who fly and pollinate the other flowers. A good buzz will ignite a class and great results can flow.

But back to family, time is the most important thing you give to your kids. In today’s busy world all I suggest is switch the tv OFF. Talk to your kids, spend time looking at their homework, encourage them to read, to watch intelligent tv. Peppa Pig is a reward it is not an excuse for being a lazy parent.

A child’s mind is a great great thing, and as Eric Clapton sang “Let it grow, let it grow, let it blossom let it grow.”