By Andrew O'Mahony
In the run up to Christmas just after Motik’s 3rd birthday, one evening he and Peter were indulging in the sort of nightly chatter and mucking about that was routine for them.
I was indulging in the pointless and futile routine that so many parents do, in attempting to find a suitable threat to persuade them to go to sleep.
I congratulated myself on my cleverness when I said: “If you don’t stop and go to sleep I’ll phone Santa and tell him not to come this year.”
For a full nano-second there was silence, before Motik began his sing-song chatter again.
Peter, alarmed at the prospect of no presents, urged him to be quiet. “Ssshh Motik, or Daddy will call Santa and tell him not to come.”
Patting myself on the back again for my parenting genius, I then heard Motik’s response.
“No he won’t.”
On the day Motik was born, we arrived at the birth centre at Queen Charlotte’s at 8.55 a.m. His time of birth was 9.02. He came, as he loved to remind us, “out of Mummy’s tummy like a bullet” and as many of you have commented, he was never still for very long since.
A year or two ago the four of us made a trip to the Science Museum. At one point we shared a lift with some Italian children and their grandparents. Observing Motik’s manner and laughing energy, one of the grandparents smiled and, shaking his head, turned to another and simply said “Un personaggio.” It became a watchword for Yulia and I, so comprehensive a description did it seem.
The three Bible readings you have heard today, the first and second reading and the Gospel, we chose as representative of our most vivid memories of Motik.
The gospel refers to selfless giving – generosity without expectation of reward. From a very young age Motik demonstrated a startling consideration for others. Once, on receiving a chocolate coin as a gift, he simply said “I will save it to share with Peter later.”
On another occasion, he upbraided me in Waitrose as we made for the till. “Daddy, you forgot to get flowers for Mummy.”
He then chose some beautiful pink tulips – “Girls like pink, Daddy” – which we added to our trolley.
As we drove home, he sat in the back seat and out of the blue said: “Mummy is asleep so when she wakes up she’ll come down the stairs and go – sniff sniff – “What’s that lovely smell?” and then she’ll see the lovely pink flowers we’ve bought her.”
The second reading, from Romans, explains that the most important gift and quality is to love one’s neighbour as oneself, and many of you have paid tribute to Motik’s very tender, caring and loving nature.
Some years ago, on the occasion of the death of one of my great friends, I commented that he had an innate distaste at being in the company of anyone not enjoying life as much as he did, and it is a description that serves well in Motik’s case, too. He did not like to see anyone sad or unhappy, and made it his business to try to cheer them up.
Reports from the classroom and his Karate dojo also refer to a nature that did not tolerate exclusion, and Motik made it his business to include and welcome newcomers or outsiders.
One of our abiding memories of that inclusive enthusiasm and joy will be of last Christmas, when his excitement at putting out the carrots for the reindeer and the sherry for Santa was matched by his zeal that all was done in exactly the correct manner.
On Christmas Day itself, his excitement was again directed outwards as we remember him crying “Peter, Peter, he’s been, he’s been” when he saw the presents Santa had left under the tree.
That said, it would be misrepresentative not to allude to the sometimes explosive response Motik was capable of when something was not going the way he thought it should. For those who had not previously witnessed it, as Tom Galliford will attest, it was quite an eye-opener, but generally it was short-lived and one of Motik’s more infuriating characteristics was that even at such a moment he was almost impossible to stay angry with.
In addition, these reactions were generally related to the very precise and exacting standards he had. When he first went to playgroups with Cindy at the age of 8 months he would go from childminder to childminder demanding back rubs, demonstrating precisely how such backrubs were to be administered.
Once he was able to speak, one of the most frequent phrases he used was “Not like that, like that,” whether it was explaining the proper way to give a hug, how to do round and round the garden with one finger, playing games with Peter or his friends or constructing complex works of engineering at school.
A couple of months ago, I used the word misunderstood when asked to explain why I had given Peter the wrong flavoured yoghurt at dinner one evening.
Motik asked “what does misunderstood mean, Daddy?” I did my best to offer a definition.
A couple of days later, having arrived in our bed at about 4 a.m., he said something to me. I, still half asleep and with my face buried in the pillow, said something in response. “No,” Motik screamed. “Daddy, you misunderstood me!”
I was awake then.
The first reading, from the Book of Wisdom, is perhaps the most poignant for us.
Length of days is not what makes age honourable, nor number of years the true measure of life; understanding, this is man’s grey hairs, untarnished life, this is ripe old age. Coming to perfection in so short a while, he achieved long life.
As I have commented to a number of you over the past weeks, one of the things I am most grateful for is that we were able to know Motik’s complete personality. Had he lived to be one hundred and four, he would have been the same person we knew.
The funny, charismatic, charming, mischievous and above all incredibly generous person who we love so much.
Motik had an extraordinary ability to engage with anyone, of any age, at any level, whether it be asking my 6ft 6 in tall cousin
“Barry, why are you a giant?” to avoiding exhortations to eat his dinner when staying with my parents by leaning his chin in his palm and commenting “Grandma, you had a lot of children, didn’t you?” to tenderly caressing and gently speaking to newborn babies or younger toddlers in the park.
From quite a young age, and I am not quite sure of the origin of the phrase, Yulia and I would refer to Motik jokingly as Motik, Crown Prince of Motikon. As he grew the nickname stuck, and the extraordinary tributes and memories that so many of you have shared with us suggest that we were not alone in thinking that there was something very special about him.
He was, in addition to being the King of Hugs, a Prince in his bearing, his beauty, his intelligence and his interaction with others, and the letters and tributes we have received have made it clear that he struck a quite astonishing chord even with those he met only once.
Today is April Fool’s Day. Motik loved a practical joke – “I tricked you Daddy” – and also had a much better ability to laugh at himself than certainly any other member of his family and than most people I have met. His generous nature and love of fun were infectious.
When Motik died, both Yulia and I, before even looking at one another, leaned over, kissed him, and said “Thank You.” Amidst all the other emotions our overriding one was of gratitude to the extraordinary person who was kind enough to grace our lives for four and a half years.
Your children are not your children. You may strive to be like them but seek not to make them like you.
My children, both Peter and Motik, have taught me more than I had learned in the 32 years I lived before they were born.
It was, and is, tempting to imagine what Motik might have achieved, and what he might have become, given the wonderful talents and personality he had.
It is, of course, a futile exercise. He could have been anything. But most importantly of all, he was Motik.
You may strive to be like them.
Motik’s Karate instructor, Sensei Ben Pethick, sent us a wonderful tribute after Motik died. He also sent a certificate for an award he felt Motik richly deserved.
The award was for Indomitable Spirit.