Luky;
HAVE you ever had the feeling that you're embarrassing your children?
I often get that feeling - but that's not surprising, since I always seem to embarrass people.
My mother used to refuse point blank to go anywhere with me, because she was essentially a private sort of person and said she never knew anyone who knows so many people and their business as I do.
When she and I went anywhere, we stopped every minute to talk to my friends.
Those in a hurry waved and crossed the road before I could get at them.
Let them laugh
My husband said it was terrible the way I greeted my friends from one queue in the post office to the next.
"All the people behind you were laughing", he said. "I couldn't get away fast enough."
Well, I don't mind.
Let them have their little joke at my expense.
Heaven knows there's not much left to laugh about these days, and I've got a broad back in more ways than one.
Born of love
My children's disapproval, too, I take with a pinch of salt, because I know that their embarrassment on my behalf stems chiefly from a desire to protect me from the derision of others.
As far as I'm concerned, this shows a very loving and protective attitude on their part.
I was very surprised after my youngest was born, though, to discover that none of them had told about the new baby, even though they themselves were delighted about the event.
Shockwaves
"Why not tell anyone?" I asked, mystified.
Only several months later did I get an answer to my question: "This may be the permissive society, Ma, but you've no idea how shocked people are at the thought of someone of your age having a baby."
Being embarrassed by one's parents is one of the more difficult phases of growing up.
I envy children who have never experienced this problem - like the son of some friends of ours.
His parents came to this town from Europe a month or two after we did, and never bothered to learn English or Afrikaans.
Private line
They moved into our block of flats, and we became friends.
I had recently been having a lot of washing stolen from the line, so I asked the husband to help put up some washlines in the courtyard, which could be locked.
He complied with my request in his usual good-natured way.
"I'll bring my son to hold the spikkers for me", he said.
His son and mine, being at school together, were kicking a ball around afterwards.
"Your dad's English is like my dad's Afrikaans", said my son - rather tactlessly I thought.
"Why don't you teach him?
I always correct my dad when he makes a mistake, and he doesn't mind.
You ought to tell your father it's not spikkers - the word is nails."
It doesn't help
The boy stopped playing with the rugby ball
"It doesn't help," he replied philosophically.
"The other day I did tell him. 'Dad', I said, 'please don't call those things spikkers. The word is nails.'
He nodded, and I made him repeat it three times.
"Then I jolled off to do my homework, and he called me back.
'Before you leave, son,' he said, 'just ask your mother what she did with that new box of spikkers I gave her to hold for me.'
"You can't win; so now I just leave him alone.
After all, he's my father."
Catherine Nicolette;
Ah yes, how well I remember the days.
We were all young and embarrassed by things our parents did.
Now we'd just laugh.
Mom had our youngest sister at the age of thirty six. At that time, it was considered old ... at least in my class.
A few of my concerned classmates called me aside, and told me it was a disgrace to see a thirty six year old woman pregnant with a sixth child.
It was, they considered, more polite to stop at two.
Then my classmate paused in front of the group of other classmates who were nodding vigorously, and she said thoughtfully. "And you know what's the most shocking?
That she looks so happy about it."
Well, I could understand. Our family were all thrilled at the impending arrival.
However, as a sixteen year old at the time, I desperately wanted to fit in with my peers, so I said nothing.
Then my classmate took my right arm, drew me aside, and whispered confidentially in my ear,
"You're going to have to sit your mother down and talk to her.
Obviously she has never heard of family planning."
I was quizzical at this. My parents had heard of family planning.
They considered it to be the Planning Of A Big Family, And More Joy At Every Baby.
Dad used to beam with pride as the Whittle coterie filled the front pew of the church on Sundays.
"But we're nothing like the Murphies," he used to say. "Ma Murphy had fifteen children. We only have the seven the Good Lord blessed us with."
Anyhow. I digress. I couldn't see myself drawing my mom aside and telling her anything.
As far as I was concerned, fair play to her and I was thrilled at the imminence of another sister.
But the upshot of it was that when the youngest made her arrival, I never told anyone at school that she had been born.
I left it up to my classmates to work that out themselves when mom went up to communion with a four month old on her arm.
So; embarrassment. .
A few years ago, I was escorting my nieces around town, and was happily greeting friends and chatting to salespersons in the shops, remarking about the weather, the price of eggs and had they seen the Van Tonder's new baby. As we came out of the shop, my nieces were hunching their shoulders in embarrassment.
"Oh Auntie Nog," the elder wailed, "You embarrassed me SO MUCH in front of my friends back there."
I looked at her pretty face, wreathed with mortification, and smiled as I squared my shoulders and marched over to our car.
It was lovely to know that I'm a chip off the old block.
*Photograph taken by Catherine Nicolette. Please feel free to use copyright free for any worthy purpose
