The Rewind Button of Life: What My Reluctant Re-Watches Taught Me About Connection

What movies or TV series have you watched more than 5 times?


There’s a quiet magic in repetition. The way a song’s chorus loops in your soul, or a well-loved recipe tastes like nostalgia. But when it comes to movies and shows? I’ve long believed hitting “replay” was a frivolous act—a detour from life’s forward motion. Until I realized how many stories I’d absorbed, not for their plots, but for the people beside me. 

Let’s start with the obvious: Miss Rachel and Barney. These aren’t just children’s shows; they’re portals. With grandchildren giggling at Ms. Rachel’s sing-alongs or my own kids, decades ago, glued to Barney’s purple antics, these re-watches became rituals of love. The scripts are etched into my bones (“I love you, you love me…”), but the real story unfolds in the living room: sticky hands clutching mine, wide-eyed wonder, the soft weight of a toddler asleep on my shoulder. These aren’t re-watches. They’re heirlooms. 

Then there’s Top Gun: Maverick. Let’s be clear: Fighter jets and machismo aren’t my usual vibe. Yet here I am, for the third (fourth?) time, because my wife lights up when Tom Cruise smirks from the cockpit. I’ve memorized the dogfights, but what lingers is her laughter during the cheesy one-liners, the way she squeezes my arm at the triumphant finale. The movie isn’t the point; it’s the shared rhythm of her joy, the unspoken “I’m here because you’re here.”

Vampire Diaries? Oh, the irony. I’ve sat through more brooding vampires and convoluted romances than any mortal should endure. But my stepdaughter’s eyes gleam as she dissects Damon’s latest anti-hero twist, and so we binge. It’s not the plot twists I remember—it’s her animated theories, the way she tucks her feet under my blanket, the mundane miracle of bonding over something she adores. 

Then, the exception: Vikings. Here, repetition felt like reverence. As someone who works with runes, who traces their ancient curves like whispers from the past, the show became more than entertainment. Each re-watch before a new season was a ritual—a way to touch the sagas that shaped my craft. The battles, the symbols, the primal clash of honor and ambition… they resonated. This was repetition with purpose: not passive viewing, but active communion. 

So, what’s the lesson in all this?
Life isn’t measured in how many stories we consume, but in how deeply we let them weave into our relationships. The movies we re-watch aren’t about the screen; they’re about the hands we hold while watching. Time isn’t wasted when it’s spent building bridges—between generations, between hearts, between the past and present. 

Maybe hitting “replay” isn’t about the story at all. It’s about saying, “I choose to be here, again, with you.” And that? That’s a plot worth revisiting. 

—A Reluctant Re-Watcher (Who Finally Understood the Assignment)

Witnessing achievement

He was proud, 10th in his school with an average of 85% for all his subjects in his final year results. Other children came around to congratulate him; teachers and even parents of his friends embraced him and shook hands. He lavished the attention bestowed upon him. He smiled, struck conversations with confidence and full of confidence that the future will be positive. The recognition gained stoked his dreams to be that philosopher or intellectual that will change the world for the better. He stood upright among his fellow schoolmate performers as they took photos. They will all be going in different directions all setting out to be the change for the future. Their perception of life is one filled with hope and a surety that life is clay that they can mould into a pristine pot.

I am proud of him, my son, for the man he turned out to be. I admire the fact that he has dreams bigger than himself and a belief that he can make a difference to the world. I look at him and hope that he will be a conqueror and that his dreams will become a reality. There is no reason not to think that he will be successful. I don’t have to load a burden of expectations upon him. He does enough himself in creating an expectation. In counting my blessings, seeing him happy and bathing in the light of achievement for that brief moment of time, I will put on my gratitude list for the day this one thing. I am grateful not just for his achievement but for him to be able to go to university in pursuit of his own self-actualization. Part of it I will have the privilege to witness and part of it will be achieved beyond my lifetime.

Later as we celebrate his achievement, and it was just the two of us we spoke about life; the over population of earth and the choices he still has to make in choosing subjects to study. It was a reprieve for me from focusing on myself and my challenges in life as a father. I had the time to enjoy his wisdom. There is still a youthful naivety but that is the strength of the youth to actually make the desired difference. I am filled with hope for humanity, for life and for my son.

Eulogy: Jurgens Johannes Pieterse

Jurgens Johannes Pieterse was my father, he was married with Susanna Magaretha and he has two daughters Tersia and Beredina. My father’s life left a rich legacy to all that will continue to inspire.  Jurgens Johannes Pieterse was a craftsman, a family man and a dependable husband.

Born on on 20 August 1938, just after the great depression of 1930, my father’s stories of his childhood recalled days when he, as a young boy,  went out to look after cattle. Herding them around the town where he lived for long distances. Due to poverty, the early death of his father and difficult political circumstance he was obliged to leave school at the age of 16 to help support his family. These years of struggle provided a foundation for a life that would be based on hard work.  Work was a way to independence and the ability to provide for your loved ones.  Industriousness was a virtue that characterized my father’s life and which left a permanent imprint on us as children. But for my father it was not hard work – for him it was a love to produce something of quality. He qualified himself as a craftsman, a tool maker, early in his life.  Hard work was insufficient for my dad, he focused on delivering quality. His ability to work with precision, measured in microns,  and conceptualize an end product made him a type of miracle worker with steel. There was a general believe that my father was able to make anything he wanted from steel.  The testimony to my father’s workmanship is that his services were in demand until the day of his death.  He transformed himself over a life time from a boy herding cattle to a successful business man with his own business.

I am certain my father has already reported for duty at the gates of heaven with a oil can ready to oil the heavenly gates so that they work a little bit smoother. It is people like my father that found joy in his work that made heaven wherever he was.

My father’s work environment was always kept pristine, ordered and organized.  He was proud of his achievements.  He loved his cars and nurtured them with great personal care.  He improved on his houses and made it a better habitat for his family. Most importantly for my father was that he did not die poor but that he had accumulated funds of money in his bank to leave to my mother. It was not a matter of having money to spend but about reaching the end of his life not as a poor man. Poverty was my father’s worst fear and seeing his personal wealth grew was his comfort.

My earliest memory was that of my father smoking pipe. When my father went to work and forgot his pipe at home there was consternation in the house. He could not go a day without his pipe.  But one day father decided to put the pipe and cigarettes aside and stop smoking. He never touched Tabaco ever again in his life. That is witness to the will power Jurgens had when he decided on something. I see daily how many people with good intention fail to stop the same addiction and then I realize why my father kept firmly on the course he set for himself. He was never somebody to give up. As his son I had to assist often in his workshop while he was working on a car or repairing something. Many times challenges frustrated him to the degree where he really got angry with desperation…but he never gave up. Somehow my father always made a plan, he always found a way and a solution.  My father was a man of action and doing. He hated standing in any queue and never accepted bad service without reprimanding the guilty party. Wasting time was not for my dad…for life was something that must be lived.

The work ethic of my father never kept him from also being a family man. My earliest childhood memories are that of my father first as a deacon and later as an elder in the Dutch Reformed church.  He never preached to us, as his children, but he always set the example through his commitment. He made sure that we attend church and Sunday school regularly and without fail. By doing so his example equipped us with a deep spiritual awareness that is visible in the conduct of all his children.  Dad could also relax with his family. With regular intervals the tools and work clothes were set aside to take his family on a well-deserved caravan vacation.  Doing this Jurgens left his children a treasure chest of good memories…times next to the sea, fishing competitions, racing pigeons are all images of a father that can also enjoy life with his family. Through everything he ensured that his children are equipped to stand their own ground in life with confidence.

My father was a good husband to my mother for 52 years. He was the provider of the house and ensured that my mother never had any lack; he always gave her his love and devotion and remained faithful throughout his life.  I can recall a whole life time of seeing my parents holding hands confident in the security they had in each other’s life.  That is probably the greatest legacy my father left his children.

My father was keenly aware of his politics, the economy and environment. His deeper thinking side he kept for private conversations. Few people saw the deeper thinking side of my father but I had the privilege of remembering several conversations when we were alone where I stood amazed by the depth of my father’s insights into life.  His insight was evident in key life decisions he made in his life just at the right time, every time.  I am sure that he knew the time to depart has come and that he chose his time to the best of his ability. He said to the pastor the day before his death: “I am not afraid” His only regret will be that he is leaving my mother behind to fend for herself.  All that remains to be said is: “The work is done…Now my father can rest in peace”

I can never fully praise my father’s quality, wisdom and impact in our lives with a few short words. My hope is that with his death all who was touched by him will remember the unique impact his life had on them.  My hope is that they will take the best from his life and make something of his life their own.  By embracing my father’s virtues in our lives, my father’s legacy will continue to inspire people to be industrious, to be committed, to be faithful and above all to live life to its fullest.

 

 

My father battling cancer

My father has been battling cancer for some time. A while back I went to visit him believing that he might not make it. He got better for a while but is now again in a critical condition. Worse than before. He is confused and can not think straight. An inevitable process of life and death that we have no control over…we can only stand by and watch the mystery of life. I am sad tonight for my dad. As much as one understands life and death, death still remain a difficult emotion to deal with.