English folk often use the phrase "oh the joys" in reference to something that is perhaps a bit of a pain in the back side, certainly not so joyous. I am sure you have had the term "oh the joys of parenthood" or variations of the same depending on which parent happens to be feeling somewhat hard done by.
One of my sisters and I were talking to our teenage brother this evening. Let's say he is experiencing some growing pains or even teenage angst. We therefore took it upon ourselves to try and talk him off this cliff that he seems so determined to remain precariously perched upon. Well, hopefully something went in and didn't go straight back out the other ear. Anyway took me back to our own childhood days and the madness we put the "Mzees" /parents through. Allow me to take you on a little trip down memory lane.
Looking back now, I will tell you, I was an easy child, I like to think my parents would say the same. I don't recall getting into any serious scrapes, well apart from the occasional one with my elder siblings. I also did not break any bones or have any unsightly scars to serve as constant reminders of my shenanigans. I do however recall Mzee, Dad in this case caning my sister and I till our back sides turned darker than I thought possible. Now let's not go getting our knickers in a twist, we came from a generation were our parents did not subscribe to "spare the rod and spoil the child", and this I am eternally grateful for, it shaped us into fine upstanding specimens if I do say so myself.
Back to the reason my usually non disciplinarian dad went all militant on his sweet little girls. Well we would have been about all of 9&10 years old at the most.We had a couple of little male friends in the neighbourhood, one of them dared to upset my rather quick tempered sister. My sister proceeded to give him a probably well deserved tongue lashing not realising it was his mother, we'll call her Mrs X on the other end of the line. By the time she caught on, the damage was done. Mrs X told my sister my parents would be brought up to speed on the little exchange, at which stage my sister panicked and turned to me for advice.
Well, me being the younger and apparently more street savvy one, came up with the grand plan for us to run away from home. Well, in my mind it made perfect sense. I mean there was no way we were going home to face the music, because we both knew they would be no dancing. So these little girls that were for the most part sheltered, started on a journey of sorts.
The day played out a little like this, we jumped from one taxi to another, telling fibs about our parents accidentally leaving us at Church. We were on a mission to find a relative and hide out until Mum and Dad begged us to come home. All I can say is the mind of a child is a wonderful place. Our journey took us across Kampala, from Rubaga to Kampala Road in the heart of town then on to Namasuba on Entebbe Road and back. We eventually figured we were better off heading home, the rest, well you know.
Looking back, I've got to say. Parents are amazing. We do really knowingly and sometimes unknowingly drag them to hell and back and yet still they continue to love, hope and worry amongst many emotions. I do not have children yet but I will one day experience the joys of motherhood, so help me God.It may well be what it takes for me to finally lose all my marbles. Important to note that this is purely fictional, because if it were a true story and I dared to share it, my sister might never talk to me again.
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