Parental Pride.
Those of you who know me (and those of you who have read blog #7) know what I think of parents who boast about their children. They must be exterminated. My own parents refused to indulge in this type of thing and I always thought that it was because, like me, they saw it as shameful behavior. But looking back I must admit it was probably because I gave them very little cause to celebrate.
When bragging about their off-spring most parents tend to focus on two areas. The first: their child’s physical appearance. Those of you who know what I looked like ages 4 to 18 will also know that my parents definitely got the short end of the stick on this one. My mother wasn’t one of those mums who got to say things like, ‘People stop us in the street constantly to tell me how pretty she is’. And even as a joke I never heard my father say, ‘Well I better buy myself a shot gun to scare away all the boys.’ My dad seemed unconcerned about the possibility that his daughter may at some stage in her life cause young boys to behave in a less than gentlemanly fashion. My dad was a realist and he did not believe in candy-coating anything. He described my buck-teeth as coconut scrappers and when I was older I once complained to him that a friend of mine had hit on all the girls in our group except for me to which his response was ‘Perhaps he thinks you’re a bit on the butch side.’
The other subject of parental pride is the child’s intellectual acumen. Despite my coconut-scrappers, one eyebrow, flat chest and knock knees my physical attributes were far superior to my academic achievements. I went to a boarding school at the tender age of nine and spent most of my time there getting yelled at by Mr.Bhatnagar (head master), Mrs. Balakrishnan (head mistress) and Miss Y.G. Sharada (house mistress) for my total and complete lack of interest in school work. I was constantly doing all sorts of things that warranted their disapproval but the thing that they obviously did not get was that I thought it was hilarious. As soon as I got my arse kicked I would rush back to my dorm and describe to my friends, in intricate detail, exactly how much trouble I got in, how it happened, and how freaked out Mr.B, Mrs. B or Miss YGS were. To me this was sport.
Eventually this sporting activity, that I had managed to hone to perfection by the time I got to class ten, got me jettisoned from school entirely. I was refused readmission after my tenth class board exams on the grounds that I was a trouble-maker with no respect for the law, a boy-crazy nut-job (I had managed to have a very high-profile relationship with a younger man – he was in class nine) and last but not least I was academically weak.
With considerable difficulty my parents managed to get me in to a local school so I could complete high school and hopefully move on to college. The embarrassment of being pitched out from the place that I had spent my entire childhood in had one positive side-effect. I began to study. For the first time in my life I actually tried to listen to my professors. I even made some effort to commit to memory certain facts and figures that could help me score well in tests and I decided that I would not get thrown out of class on a daily basis for being a smart mouth.
Seeing all of these changes through required one major adjustment. I could no longer do as I pleased when it came to my social life. My parents and their friends would have parties almost every weekend and unless they were being thrown in our house I had to RSVP regretting I would be unavailable. A few months in to my newly found hermit-like existence my mother’s friend had a huge blow-out for her birthday. All my parents’ friends and their kids (aka my friends) were going to be there. I had a sociology mid-term exam coming up so I made one of the few mature decisions of my life and opted to stay home and cram. My parents told me that I would not regret this and left without a backward glance.
The next day I joined my hung-over, sleep deprived father and my painfully cheerful mother for breakfast.
‘Everyone missed you last night’. My mother informed me.
‘Like who?’ I asked expecting her to rattle of a long list of my fans and well-wishers.
‘Well just Zac’s daughter actually – what’s her name Bertie?’
‘Mona’ my dad belched.
‘Yes – Mona – she asked about you.’
Mona was my age and so obviously her mid-term exams were in full swing too. My mother went on to tell me that on hearing of my responsible decision to stay home and study Mona’s mother Naaz turned on her daughter.
‘I told you Radhika wouldn’t be here. So sensible she is – not like you.’ Then she said to my mother, ‘This one also has exams but insisted on coming out.’
I was pleased to hear this – apparently the stain of my prior expulsion was beginning to fade and people were not only taking note of my new and improved avatar but I was finally being held up as an example to lesser mortals. My parents were right – I would not regret the sacrifices I had to make.
‘I felt so bad for Mona – you know how Naaz can be’, my mother prattled on as she stuffed a piece of toast in to her face, ‘So I told Naaz that the only reason you were staying home was because you had done so miserably in your class ten exams that you were trying to make up for it now.’
I was stunned. How dare my mother be self-deprecating on my behalf! We had a huge scrap of course but it was painfully clear that neither parent could understand what the big deal was.
Two years later I went away to college in Bombay where I reverted to my old ways. I was a daily source of grief to Sister Rodricks (Head Mistress), Sister Bertha (dorm warden) and Sister Fleurette (whose job description fails me). If my parents refused to say anything nice about me behind my back then clearly they did not deserve any better. And maybe that is why parents say nice things about their kids – in the hope that it will encourage the little creeps to shine.
Vaz when our parents look back now they think they have done a wonderful job and I think we were much better off then what kids have to go through today. Atleast we were left alone to our own devices and may I add we didn’t turn out too badly!!
Rads,
Finally I read one of your blogs
Very nice, shall try to read the others soon
You have a great sense of humour and one of the few people I know who can actually laugh at themselves , such a rarity nowadays. You were born to entertain!! Thank God you turned out the way you did – without the bragging !!!
Love it, Gandi. Also, the half wits who praised their kids did so because there was really nothing special about their spawn. Your folks on the other hand knew you were a bud waiting to blossom.