The positive side of faults acknowledged
The Lamington family comprises Joe and Margaret, the parents, and their five children, Jeremy Denzel, Olivia Anne, Nora Violet, Tyron Ian and Yolanda Diane. Each child’s initials taken together and in chronological order help spell Joe’s father’s name, Jonty.
There’s a joke in the family that Joe was keen to have more kids so that they could spell the name of Margaret’s father, Alexander, but Margaret with great foresight and with no desire to enter the maternity wards for a sixth time, let alone nine times more, had already taken care of that: she’d cleverly arranged that the initials of the second names of their children spelled her father’s second name, David. In this way, the family ensured it was closely bonded to the past and the present and, more importantly, that both sets of in-laws were kept happy.
“But two boys in the family can sometimes be two boys too many,” as Margaret recalls, adding, “People used to call them such sweet kids, after our surname, you know, but that was far from the truth, especially with Tyron.”
(A lamington, for the uninitiated, is also the name of a popular Aussie sweet or dessert — a square of sponge coated in chocolate sauce and dusted with desiccated coconut. Usually served in two halves with a layer of cream or jam between.)
Tyron, their father Joe reckons, was constantly having to live up to Jeremy’s example, “and Jeremy wasn’t always the perfect role model. In fact, he was so mischievous that Tyron had to invent better ways of being mischievous in order to gain attention.”
Thus it was, when the family had, one Christmas, invited the local veterinarian over for dinner, Margaret warned the kids, “Now remember, not a word about Mr Robertson’s nose. He’s a very kind man who has treated Sphinx and Cleo [their pet cats] for free quite often.” Robertson, alas, had a nose that demanded noticing. It was large, bulbous and very red. Just atop the left nostril sat an angry black mole with a little bush of black hair sprouting around it.
No sooner had the family and their guest sat down to dinner than Tyron was heard to remark, “What’s that strong smell?”
“It’s the vinegar in the beetroot,” replied Margaret quickly, shooting a warning glance at Tyron, sensing trouble. “Can you smell it too, Mr. Robertson?” asked the nine-year-old, adding, “Surely, you must!” Upon which, in ripple effect, the girls broke out in giggles — Yolanda first, then Nora and finally Olivia — until the giggles turned into uncontrollable tear-raining laughter while Joe and Margaret sat embarrassed and Robertson bent over his soup totally unmindful as though he were seated at another table in another house.
Restoring civility
Matters didn’t end there, unfortunately, because Margaret herself, quite overcome with consternation and deciding that a good way to restore civility would be to embark on some conversation, committed the perfect Freudian slip by asking, “How many people on average would you say come every day to visit your nose? Er, your practice, I mean,” she said hastily, correcting herself, turning a shade of scarlet and looking accusingly at Tyron for having started it all. “That was a good few decades ago, thank heavens for that,” says Margaret today. “It’s hard to believe he’s a research scholar engaged in things of a serious nature. Where’s the scope for mischief in research, I ask you? And to be truthful as a mum, Tyron never seemed to grow out of his mischievous ways. But I’ll tell you one good thing about him, his one saving grace and a quality that has endeared him to us all no matter what prank he played: he always owned up, never let anyone else take the blame on his behalf.”
Which, in a mirror-like way, reminds me of the writer Mark Twain and something he said: “Always acknowledge a fault. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you an opportunity to commit more.”
Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.