It is the folly of youth to think we know more about the workings of the world than our parents do. Until one day, we figure out the truth, that life is a game where love always wins
I love how as teens and young adults we believe we are invincible and that we know it all. How do our elders not strangle us with our own arrogance? At our worst, we are an insufferable lot. At our best, we change the world. But every generation thinks they’re better than the ones before.
With the state of the youth of our nation on the national agenda at the moment, I got to talking about my misspent youth in a recent therapy session. And even though I was able to gloss over many of my-not-the-finest moments like a ship over a calm sea, there were a few that stood out like jagged rocks.
I was reminded of one of my more shameful moments that klapped me a few years back.
The year was 1992, I was in Std 9, and I was in the tennis first team. It was the biggest match of the season against one of our bitter rivals. As most of my matches happened after school on weekdays when my dad was at work, I was used to being cheered on by other parents who could be there.
As luck would have it, this big match happened while my dad was on leave to do some essential home maintenance. We were both chuffed that he would finally be able to see me in action on the tennis court.
It was a home match for us, so while we were waiting for the other team to arrive, we were warming up and getting our game faces on.
I clearly remember practising my serve, pitching the ball in the air and about to smash the ball down the line, when BAM l, I see someone who looks like my dad strolling towards the tennis courts.
But wait, it can’t be. He’s wearing his house clothes. Faded track pants with paint splotches, tired takkies, a ratty T-shirt and a greasy peak cap.
NO. This cannot be happening. What is he wearing? Is he joking! How could he come to school. My school. My high school. In those clothes. I wanted that green surface to open up and swallow me with tennis racket and all.
I refused to acknowledge him or his waves and nods of encouragement. I won that match in straight sets. Mostly fuelled by anger, I think.
My poor father got an earful from this young fool and I was angry with him for days afterwards. I was not interested in his explanation that he had lost track of time and was so excited to see me play, he just jumped in the car without thinking.
In 2012, 20 years later, I’m a parent standing in Woolies and really wanting new clothes for winter. I had an arm full of clothes picked out for me, but then saw the kids winter clothes, and remembered that my son was outgrowing most of his clothes, truth be told, and he needed clothes more than I did.
I used the money I had sort of earmarked for clothes for myself to buy clothes for my son and it hit me . . .
My father wasn’t trying to embarrass me. He must have had many of the same moments as we were growing up. And he had four kids, all at pricey schools, with loads of extra murals. He had to pay a bond, 4 x school fees, dogs, cats, two cars and everything else.
And that’s probably why my dad had those scruffy clothes to start off with. Sure, he could have been dressed in trendy casual clothes like the other dads that day, but how many times was he not faced with the same decision?
To use the money he earmarked for himself as a treat or to fill one of the many holes a big household demands?
When the realisation hit me, I wanted to stab myself in the throat to make that big lump of shame go away. All my dad knew was that he wanted to show up and see me play. He didn’t care what he looked like and what others would think. And how selfish was I to not even acknowledge his encouragement and dare to call him an embarrassment?
I called my Dad when I returned from the shops, and once I could talk without sobbing, I thanked him for everything he did for me. When I grow up, I hope to be half the parent my dad is.
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