It’s circa ’83 on a sweltering summer day. I’m a young kid sitting on a hot leather seat with my mothers youngest sister sitting beside me. We’re in a work truck driven by my grandfather, Maurice Taitoko. He has pulled in to the depot and just abandoned the cab and disappeared out of sight. The piercing midday sun is roasting us like a Sunday lamb. I start whining and complaining about how unbearable the heat is and wondering how he could leave us to suffer in it. “Isn’t he thinking about us?” I thought. At this point, Granddad reappears. I’m confused as to why he stands there with his face displaying a mischievous grin. Within a moment, his hands come into view. In them, the yard hose that has been twisted in an effort to hold back water. His grin brightens to a laugh as one hand lets the hose go and water comes gushing out. He soaks us, immediately cooling us down, giving us a well-needed reprieve from the heat and a fun tale to share with my grandmother when we get home.
Though unorthodox at times, I would learn that he was always thinking of others before himself.
I have so many fond memories of my grandfather. A beer drinking, cigarette smoking, musically gifted, rugby player who was also extremely charismatic. He also happened to be my greatest mentor, role model, and influence having been taken into my grandparents care as a small child.
It seemed like it wasn’t too long after that day, that Granddad finished his time at the depot. It would eventually shut down and as the years passed, the yard gradually dilapidated. I would pass it a million times more as I grew up and at almost every instance, reflect back on that moment.
They say your brain can only process what the eyes can see. In him, I saw a man who loved his wife and family. So naturally, I would grow up trying to emulate him. He made such an indelible mark on my life and I will forever be grateful.
From his calm demeanour and his legacy as a sportsman and musician to his sense of humour (he was the king of dad jokes before it became a thing!). Like, whenever he answered the phone he would say, “Hey my boy, you’re looking good!”.
My grandparents invested a lot of time into me and what I witnessed growing up in their home, informed the way in which I too would raise my own children. My grandfather set an example as a man, husband, and father that became a template for me later in life. Up until his passing, he was a living legend. I was awestruck by everything he did. Even the way he whistled was unlike anything I had ever heard.
Wherever I travelled (and it didn’t matter how far) if the older generation heard my last name they would inevitably ask, “Are you Maurice’s boy?” and I’d proudly answer, “Yes! I’m his grandson.” He was a legend on the field and a gentleman off it. People always spoke highly of him. Such was the impression he left on others. Some would affectionately refer to him as Mr. T.
I always felt extremely honoured to be connected to a man of such calibre. Yet he was so humble. Never speaking of his exploits or achievements. Everything I was ever told about his legacy was from others. If I was ever curious to learn about his achievements he would just tell me to ask my grandmother. And when I did, she too would beam with pride.
Journalists wrote about him in the national newspaper too. I recall being told about one article that was titled, ‘The Man With The Golden Boot’ (or something to that effect). It would wax lyrical about his prodigious footballing talent.
Whilst still living in Auckland and in the middle of his playing days, he would abruptly end his rugby tenure there to return to the small town where he grew up. As I recall it, his departure was due to the failing health of his step-father. It was requested he move back to look after his mother. This he promptly did, with his family and me in tow. I never saw him complain nor carry any resentment for making that decision. He just selflessly continued getting on with life.
Our living room displayed a rugby boot mounted on a wooden stand that was made in my grandfathers’ honour. It was his playing boot in which many of his exploits were witnessed and games won. The club presented it to him upon his departure. I always tried to put it on and walk in it, never fully appreciating the gravity of that metaphor until much later.
As I grew up I was always conscious of my actions. My decisions were often governed by how they would affect my grandparents. I never wanted to disappoint them.
Of course, as many youngsters do, I went wayward in my early teens. Feelings of inferiority, a lack of identity and trying to find where I fit led to drug use, alcoholism and a lot of mischief.
I remember being absolutely terrified of my grandfathers’ reaction if he ever found out. Despite having never been physically disciplined by him, nor ever seeing him angry my entire life it was still something I feared.
No matter what I did, and I did some crazy things, his love was unconditional and profound. This made my senseless decisions, even more convicting because although they disappointed him, he wouldn’t discipline me, even though it was warranted!
It actually influenced part of why I moved away. I believed my choices were hurting my grandparents and I was trying to escape the guilt I harboured and the stigma and shame I felt I brought upon my family, especially them. I was embarrassed by who I had become and couldn’t cope with being confronted by my issues.
I relocated to the city and would never return home to live again. At the time I didn’t know what the future held but I certainly didn’t think my moving away would be permanent. It took several years but I eventually matured enough to leave my checkered past behind. I married my gorgeous wife, settled down and raised my own family, applying much of the principles my grandparents had instilled in me.
Through the years I would return home to visit them, valuing every moment. Though I tried to deny it, there was no mistaking that eventually, it would be for the last time, whatever that meant.
On one particular weekend, my wife and I took our children to spend time with my grandparents. The last morning I awoke to the sound of my grandfathers’ famous whistling as he tinkered around in his garage. I remember saying to myself, “I should pull out my phone and record this.” I didn’t though. I just lay there appreciating the moment.
At the end of our stay, we said our goodbyes but I had an overwhelming feeling that things wouldn’t be the same. I wouldn’t usually get emotional when leaving them to return to the city, but on this occasion, my wife noticed my sombre mood and as we pulled out of the driveway, waving goodbye and seeing my grandparents slowly disappear out of sight, she asked, “Are you ok?”, “We don’t have to go. We can stay longer if you want us to.” I said I was just going to miss them. But the reality was, I couldn’t shake that sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach.
Maybe it was because months earlier we had decided to move to Australia, but it may have been the only time I actually shed a tear when leaving my grandparents house. I decided to continue on home, the day to day rigours of life seeming more important at the time.
Around three months later, we left New Zealand and although I would talk over the phone to my grandfather, that weekend would be the last time I would see him in good health. The next time I saw him face to face, he was in a hospital bed incoherent and only days from passing away due to a short battle with cancer.
Of course, I was saddened by the circumstances and wished he was at full health. But sitting with him during his final days of life, my heart was filled with gratitude and thankfulness. Rather than focusing on the situation that confronted my family at the time, I chose to reflect on all the great memories I had with my grandfather and the example he set on being a gentleman, being respectful and not taking things too seriously.
Considering the devastating effects cancer can render on peoples lives, I’m at least glad his illness was relatively short (all things considering). I’m also thankful that our family, my wife and myself all got to spend time at his side before he passed. I was able to thank him for all he did for me. I prayed with him and for him and even got to say one final farewell before his passing. I was incredibly grateful because I know that many people don’t get that opportunity. I guess that is one positive to take from terminal illnesses, you at least know the time is near and have a chance to bring closure.
He passed away surrounded by family. My grandmother was by his side. Naturally, we mourned and my heart ached for my grandmother who had lost her husband of many years. But personally, I was at peace. I had no regrets. I said everything I needed to say and thanked my grandfather for the significant role he played in my life. For the next few days, we cried, laughed and celebrated his memory before finally laying him to rest.
At the end of that week, my wife and I boarded a flight bound for home in Australia. We took our seats, buckled in and as I sat there, gazing into space, I reminisced about Granddads’ influence on me. I made a determination, “I am going to make sure his name is recognised across the globe!” A lofty goal to set of course and I had no idea how to achieve that. But I set it nonetheless.
My grandfather is deserving of it. It is the least I can do to honour his memory. He was exemplary. A man who took the time to show me how to walk and talk the way he did. Not by saying so, but by allowing me to observe him. He gave me an example to pattern after, a target to reach for. Metaphorically speaking, to, one day, walk in his ‘boots’.
Throughout my life, he never called me by my name. Even as an adult with my own family. He would just say, “My boy” and boy did I feel special!
But what I find remarkable, what I believe made him even more amazing to me and what I credit him for most, is the fact that I am not his biological grandson. I am the product of a previous marriage. Obviously, I have no issue with that. I am still his. Just, not by blood. This is his testament. Such was the selfless nature that he took me on as his own, literally, and never made me feel like I was otherwise. My middle name is his too, Morehu (Maurice). Something I am proud to have.
It has been six years since he passed. Yes, I miss him. But I choose not to dwell on the loss and instead, hold firm to everything I gained as his grandson. I am driven to bring attention to his legacy or at least have the chance to share about him to others.
So as I sit here, penning this article, my readers span the globe – Russia, United States, Singapore, UAE, the UK, and even Saudi Arabia are just a few far-flung countries that my blogs have reached! I am so appreciative of all those who take the time to read my content. The feeling that gives me is beyond special. It’s fair to say that I am at least on the way to achieving the goal I set that day on the plane. I am blessed to see my grandfathers’ last name feature at the end of every article I post – TAITOKO.
In loving memory of the selfless Mr. T, Maurice Taitoko – 30.10.39-08-04-13.
P.I.L.L. 