
ou taught me to use Google, Whatsapp, blog, and Facebook. You taught me how to SMS and navigate with my phone’s GPS. You lost your patience. You told me I was “stupid” for not getting it immediately.
I chose the wrong route when the GPS directed us through the back roads and informal settlements, but we arrived at our destination eventually.
Without your help, I’d still be a technophobe with an old-fashioned map on my lap, browsing through encyclopedias for out-of-date information. I would still write handwritten letters and send them in envelopes with postage stamps.
I learned how to professionally clean and dress a wound and which medication to administer for the countless ailments only doctors’ children contract. I became an expert diagnostician of all the numerous unknown diseases that attack your immune system and didn’t need a general practitioner.
I won the Masterchef Home competition countless times for my inventiveness: hiding vegetables amongst meaty stews, often stuffing them deep into marrow bones or mincing them fine so you would eat a nutritious meal. I became a Master Baker: baking and decorating all your birthday cakes – the dinosaur and the castle you wanted, the Formula One car, Barbie in all her glory, dolphins, and butterflies.
You inspired me to prove my teacher wrong and to achieve what she was sure I would never be able to. Even though I was begged at school to take drama rather than needlework, I managed to sew all your baby clothes and bed linen. I knitted and crocheted many a baby hat, jersey, socks, and outfits that became my pride and joy.
My superior time management and organizational skills were perfected around juggling two jobs, two children, and your dad’s career. My to-do lists have columns for everything: each child, the house, myself, your dad’s calendar, and my private life and dreams. My days are planned well in advance, with extra daily time for the inevitable emergencies of being a mother.
I have earned my stripes as a superior financial manager of private and business expenses. I know how to stretch a budget beyond its limits and still have funds left over for that unexpected emergency of the “desperately needed” jacket or dress you’ve seen.
You had taught me how to climb over the boundary walls I had built around myself and often pushed me over those walls when I became fearful of completing the climb. You’ve taught me to be spontaneous, adventurous, and free from the restrictions I used to impose upon myself.
Without you, I would never have zip-lined over the beautiful Tsitsikamma forest or ventured onto the rollercoaster in France. I would only listen to Abba and the Bee Gees, and Queen would still be the only rock band I treasure (at least we share that passion). Guitar, violin, recorder, keyboard, piano, and saxophone would still be musical instruments “other people” played rather than part of the repertoire of music that filled our house with homeliness.
Your presence in my life gave me new careers: art teacher – who mixed finger paints and play dough; maths teacher – who labeled all the groceries in the kitchen with imaginary prices from 1 to 9 so that you could practice your basic maths skills. Music teacher – forcing you to practice your scales and clap the rhythm. Chauffeur – driving you to and from friends to extra-mural activities and music lessons.
And as you grew up, my knowledge expanded along with yours. At some stage, I realized that my attempt to keep up was futile – my brain could not retain it all, but without you in my life, I would never have known what a “fixie” was or how a keirin race worked. An RV would just be another abbreviation, and a Piper Warrior or Beechcraft just another name. And yet, you still make me feel special by asking my advice, and sometimes I do indeed know something you don’t.
But, apart from my countless many new skills and abilities, most of all, you’ve shaped me to be the person I am today. You have taught me that mistakes are the stepping stones to building one’s life. They are there to learn from and gain experience.
I’ve learned that I don’t need to know everything and be everything for everyone. I’ve learned that begging for forgiveness is more manageable than asking for permission. I’ve learned that telling a white lie is still a lie.
You’ve taught me that criticism can be harsh and painful and that friendship can be enduring.
You’ve taught me perseverance and discipline build character and that caring for others is the greatest gift one can share. But most of all, you’ve taught me how easy it is to love someone unconditionally and how warm a house can be with children to share.
To my children: thank you for being mine and shaping me into who I am today. It is a privilege and a joy to be your mother.
Leave a Reply