Children and the need to train them well

After years of searching for meaning in the political theatre and finding none, I’ve shifted my gaze to the things that really matter; like raising my four-and-a-half-year-old daughter.

I picked her up from school yesterday, armed with a handful of sugary treats. If I’d showed up empty handed, she would have knocked me down with a barrage of requests for things that I did not intend to buy. Being harassed by a relentless child is not my idea of a good time, so I stay prepared.

Also, it’s never a good idea to have an agitated pre-schooler in a car that’s moving; the temptation to roll down the window and toss them out is almost too hard to resist.

The idea that you could just leave them at the side of the road, and drive off into child-less ever after suddenly seems like a good one. This is why I approach my child fully loaded to save her from herself.

So I pick her up, strap her into her car seat, and hand her a blue lollipop. She likes them because they turn her tongue blue, and that’s something. I give her the lollipop and drive off. Ten seconds later, after struggling to get the wrapper off, she asks me to help.

Both my hands are on the wheel but I figure it’s a reasonable request, so I reach one hand behind, grab the blue thing, and struggle with the wrapper while trying to keep my eyes on the road. Then I toss it back to her thinking that I’ve done my bit for God, child and country.

The wheel

Minutes later she says, ‘Mama, I want my lunch box.’ Her lunch box is on the front seat, the girl-child in the back, so I reply, ‘Can’t you see I’m driving?’

And she responds, ‘Yes, but I want my lunch box.’  I reach across, unzip her bag with one hand, take out the lunch box, twist one arm backwards while gripping the wheel with the other, and give her box. She doesn’t even bother to say thank you, the little imp.

So then in my sweetest voice I ask, ‘Are you going to give Mama some food?’ By this time, she’s stuffing her face full of processed meat. She responds by breaking off the crusty edge of a chipolata and shoving it in my direction. ‘Haiya, if that’s all you’re giving me, then I don’t want any!’ I snap, my mood changing swiftly from sweet to salty.

I’m looking at her through the rear-view mirror and I watch as she looks me dead in the face, raises one eye brow, and goes ‘Fine. If you say so.’ Then she turns her head and looks outside the window as if she’s the queen of the world.

 Sheer audacity

‘What in the pre-school did you just say?!’ I splutter, my hands gripping the steering wheel so tight my veins were popping. ‘I said … if you say so,’ she repeats as if butter wouldn’t melt.

This is when I began to pray for the life of my child because God knows I’m ready to put an end to it. I take a few deep breaths trying to come to terms with the sheer audacity of it all. ‘You think you’re slick, huh?’ I say after a while, reaching for my stash of gum. ‘Well, you ain’t,’ I say, popping a stick in my mouth. She loves gum.

‘Me I want chewing gum, Mama!’ she begs less than a second later. ‘Do you, really. Well, I want a lot of things too, but that doesn’t mean I get them,’ I reply. Game, set, match; I think to myself, chewing loudly. My daughter may think she’s the queen of the world, but I’m the queen of petty.

She cries and begs all the way home, but I refuse to budge. I refuse to let my heart be moved, and I almost succeed too. But when we drive through the gate and she’s still wailing, I can’t help but feel sorry for her. She’s only four years old, after all. No match for my level of petty hatefulness.

So I buckle and gave her not one, but two sticks of gum. And you know what? I really want to let it go, but I just can’t resist having the last word. ‘Here’s your lesson for today my love,’ I say, raising her chin with my fingers, ‘choices have consequences.’

Ms Masiga is Peace and Security Editor, The Conversation Africa