There were those good old days, when parents were parents. When they gave “the look” it pretty much made you shut the hell up and wish you had disappeared into a black hole. My mother had that effect on me till her dying day. I think it scarred my spirit for life, heh! Swear Mom, I am giving you total respect so that you dont give me hell when I graduate outta here and meet you again. See, I’m giving you bhav, like a good dutiful daughter!! My father was the quiet sorts and we were taught to fear him. He was the appointed Judge ( whether he liked it or not ) , Mom was the Police Department, and we were the Criminals of the “Guilty until proved innocent” genre. Every few days, we were marched in shackled in front of Dad, our misdeeds listed, punishments were handed out, while we blubbered and whimpered in agony and we slunk out rubbing our sore backsides.
Ahh those were the good old days. Kids had manners and parents were more interested in parenting than in being friends with their kids.
I am not advocating whipping the little pests on their tiny tender backsides … well not exactly that, but well, you get the idea. At least we know how to say please, sorry and got to our classes in time. I went through parenting with a double handicap -
1. I worked and the kids spent the day with their granny – yeah the same lady who beat me senseless for getting less than 60%, or being me. She actually pampered them and gave them much more leeway than I ever enjoyed! There is no justice in this world!
2. I had no Daddy figure to dispense the judgements. I could not rat on them and reduce them to tears.
If I threatened them with dire punishments, they would just yawn. I could not outwrestle them. I am pretty sure that if I did try to bash them up, they would throw me down, sit on me and I dunno – mebbe fart ? That is if I managed to get through the protective cordon set up by their granny. I agree, the most effective way to strike fear in their very souls would have been to duct tape their sassy mouths, tie them to the wall and then smack them. But life did not grant me such pleasure. One of the better moments I was granted was one day when Kid#1 broke the front door one summer day when he wanted to get in and no one answered the door bell. I really was tempted to whip him with a wet leather belt … but settled for having him pay the expense of a new door through his pocket money. It was better than chocolate fondue and non-fattening too. Oh he also had to write me a 400 word essay on how he needed to respect the home he lived in. He hated it, which was totally worth it. : )
Yeah sonny, pay back is a bitch …… and so is your mother!
For most part, they were nice kids who got along well, but there is a universal truth about kids and long car rides. A drive to Delhi from home takes more than an hour – and they would bicker every single moment, every damn time we would be coming home from Delhi. They would be tired, I would be tired, and it would be painful. Mostly I would ignore it or turn on the radio and try to drown them out.
What I am relating here is a legend at our house. Kid#1 was in his irritating 14th year of existence when his only goal in life was to make his kid brother whine. And Kid#2 is a whiner. It was a cold wintry night, it was raining and the traffic was crazy. They were squabbling and I was wondering how much I could sell them for…… I had asked them to shut up many times and they had just ignored me.
They started hitting each other and I lost it. I braked, drove to the side of the road and yelled
“Its enough! I have had enough of this, and I dont need more of this shit. You dont want to listen to me and I do not want to listen to you. Shut Up!”
Total silence
“Get out of my car”
Total silence.
“GET OUT NOW!!! OUT! OUT BEFORE I LOSE IT!”
Kid #1 white faced : But Mommm, its far away from home!
Kid#2 : Waaaaaaaaaa
Me : You should have thought of it before. Out
They looked at me, I must have looked demented, so they got off, reluctantly. I stomped on the pedal and sped away. Not very far – just a few yards away while they were gathering their wits. Then I braked. They ran up to the car to find it locked. I lowered the window and looked at the little demons who looked ashen faced and growled “When I say shut up – I mean it. Are you guys deaf or something?”
“Sorry Ma, we promise to behave” they whined and groveled.
I nearly softened then, but decided that the lesson should be underlined and highlighted in red
“Too bad, start walking. I’ll decide when you get in.”
They looked at each other and started walking hand in hand. I drove slowly next to them. Poor things, they looked pathetic in their wet clothes. I melted and nearly allowed them in.
Kid#2 looked at me accusingly through his tears and said “Bad Mamma. I’ll never be so mean to my kids when I grow up”
Wrong thing to say. I revved up and they ran after me, all arguments forgotten. Soon they were sweating, and I stopped the car. They climbed in quietly, into the back seat, giving me the cold shoulder. I turned on the heat quietly, and we drove back in blessed silence.
Soon we were home, and they ran to their grandmother to snitch on me. I could hear them – the spawn from hell ….
Kid#1 : You know, I could have walked all the way home. I was just getting started
Kid#2 : Yeah. Its a good thing Granny, you did not make her do that when she was little. She’d have fainted or died from the effort of walking.
I got into bed with blue-prints of dungeons in my mind, dark, cold, smelly dungeons, where I could throw them and lose the key.
