When I think of my four kids, the best time in my life with them was when they were teenagers. So many parents say raising teenagers is tough. Yes, I agree, it is tough, but it is also the most joyful.
Fortunately for me, I had four kids. The elder three were more or less the same age. They went to the same school. They knew each other’s friends. They shared clothes when they could. My kids were a bunch on their own. They had a great fraternity among them. They were also a happy lot. I took a lot of smirkful joy seeing them enjoying themselves in their youthful bluster. But being a dad, I had to keep some appearance. But today, when I think of that period, I feel nostalgic.
Today, in August 2022, during a train ride, I retrieved four portraits taken around 2006 and treated them on sketching software on my iPad. This is the result.
It is a tribute to my four kids, two of them parents of their own, now in 2022, some 16 years after I took these images. Their families, my brood now total twelve, and they are a fraternity of their own here in Australia — an emerging force.
A Child of Curiosity How inherent inquisitiveness became a key driver in learning experiences. Denzil Jayasinghe · B orn in the mid-20th century, I am a product of the post-World War II era. My parents, who were teenagers when the war commenced, married in the 1950s. As a representative of the baby boomer generation, I was born under the astrological sign of Capricorn, the tenth sign of the zodiac. My birth took place at Zoysa Nursing Home, a renowned institution in Colombo, Sri Lanka, around 5 in the morning. Sri Lanka, known for its tropical climate, is a beautiful island nation south of India. This climate appealed to me, and I sought similar weather in my twenties, spending them in Dubai, where the winter resembles an Australian summer. Raised by religious parents, I held them in deep affection. However, the church teachings posed a paradox for a young mind, instructing one to love God more than one’s parents. I initially adhered to the Ten Commandments and other societal norms in ...
Neville at the Edge Denzil Jayasinghe 3 min read · 10 hours ago In the lazy, sun-dappled days at St. Joseph’s Novitiate, where the beach seemed to hum with the scent of jasmine and the distant promise of monsoon clouds, there was a little haven we boys held dear — the Milk Bar. It was a humble shack just beyond the school’s creaky gates, its tin roof glinting under the noon sun, its wooden counter cluttered with frothy glasses of Milo, bottles of sweet vanilla milk, and a jumble of pencils and dog-eared notebooks for forgetful lads like us. To us, De La Salle boys, it wasn’t just a shop. It was a sanctuary, where the weight of prayers and the Brother-Superior’s stern frowns dissolved into the clink of coins and the soft buzz of our chatter. Neville was always there, a gangly boy with limbs that seemed to outgrow him, as if they belonged to a taller shadow. His parents had sent him to the Novitiate dreaming he’d don a Christian Brother’s collar, but Neville, with his twice-failed ...
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