banana

I'm an uncle four times, and I just heard last week that I'm on the way to becoming one for the fifth time.

I have three godchildren and at least two more beans to whom I'm an honorary uncle to.

In Belgium they'd already call that a famille nombreuse  with four if not nine cabbageheads.

One of the first declarations of unclehood I recite to them when they are old enough to understand what it really means – at around 6 or 7 – is that when and if they get annoyed at their parents at any point for any reason (happens to the best of parents), that they first consider coming to say hi to me before packing a tent, apples and biscuits to go live under a bridge and live off the land.

I'll take them to my favourite mushroom spots and we can pitch a tent on my balcony and observe the parents across the street with binoculars made from toilet paper.

I don't have children of my own, but this way of spending time with kids makes me incredibly happy every time. I love being an uncle.

When I was working as a music theory teacher – or more like 'general musicianship' or 'learning about music by making music' – I found myself thinking about the kids day and night, especially the ones that had a hard time concentrating, finding their place or channeling their frustration or even anger in less explosive ways. Had I stayed on board the music school for longer, I would've probably found a balance between work and parental instinct, but I decided to quit to pursue writing music full time.

I haven't regretted the decision for a second since, although it meant I also lost a great source of energy in my daily life with my students.

I almost immediately joined back to the youth organisation Protu, in which I had participated as a youth camp cook for about eight years. I had never joined in being one of the facilitators of the camp, so I tried my hand at it a few years ago by helping to organise one summer youth camp near Oulu for 15 or so 15-year olds. It was great fun – playful, emotional, challenging, enlightening – and we had a great team of young, brilliant aspiring youth-workers with us.

I would do it again at any point. I loved reaching the point where you can just lift your hands and see the kids organise themselves in a sophisticated way, in a way they hadn't thought of organising themselves, and in a way that they ultimately found themselves. I remember that radiant energy they had when they realised that they were free to get together and form a set of collective rules or lack of rules and just go for it. Even if this went on only for a week, I hope they remember that they could look back at any point in their lives and say: hey, we could do this differently, who's with me?

In the aftermath of the elections in Finland (Sanna Marin stepping down was noted even in Japanese newspapers) my bubble has been bubbling with a call to find alternative forms of organisation, a more direct path of actions such as to fight the climate crisis and pursue international queer-rights. Why should we wait for someone to act upon what is on our collective consciousness anyway.

Being an uncle is about a thousand times easier than being a parent, even though when my nibling is with me, I get the full swing of parental instincts. I think I'm quite chill as a parent, I have much more time for everything as a parent than as the regular Lauri. I could never draw a banana with as much urgency and focus as when my nibling is watching me closely.

For them the banana-nature of life is every bit as serious as anything.

You can't just draw the banana. You have to be the banana.

And then give me a banana.