Blue Hearts

There’s a relationship gap that grows ever wider between children and their parents and as it gets wider, it gets uglier and grows moles, warts and putrid open boils like those on the Troll that lives under the bridge. That’s when bewildered kids with 2 able parents are shoveled off into boarding schools like so much garbage and someone else’s responsibility, or handed over to be raised by mboches. Small wonder that our children’s mentality is sometimes akin to that of a mboch… do you really think that your house-girl or mlinzi will discuss the Stock Exchange with your child? Pah!

But anyway, how are we  - yes – you and me - supposed to know any better? I too was mboch-raised – and I have a million issues…

It’s not a surprise either that there’s a generation of thieves, murderers, liars and robbers in our streets – adults being car-jacked by 9 year old girls and Radio Presenters reporting daylight robbery committed by 7 year olds in peaceful Bagamoyo.

Bite into that blame cookie. It’s yours alright.

Mind you I’m not an entirely happy parent… murder is what I have on my mind after 2 weeks of struggling to help my son with his homework for 4 hours every evening and I’m seriously going to TWiT (read tweet) his teachers and demand a break – Mommy Should Have A Life – so please don’t tell me to meet you at the local or ask me if I’m watching whatever’s the latest on DSTV -  add my son’s homework to the task that Charles-don’t-call-me-pastor threw at his congregation - reading the entire NT by end Nov. That’s NINE CHAPTERS of Bible every evening that I have to read aloud to my child because there is no-way he’s going to read it himself.

Truthfully, my first thought after surviving the first frustrating week helping my sleepy and thusly ‘nothing-is-getting-through-his-brain’ son complete his homework was BOARDING SCHOOL! Or TUTOR! But on closer introspection I saw the Troll, moles, warts, boils and all, and I almost threw up, so I chucked that idea back under the bridge and ran into the phone booth to change into my SHero SuperMama costume. FYI, for you blondes, SHero is a female Hero.

Our children love us desperately, dreadfully and urgently.

How much deeper can I phrase that sentence? If you think you love your child, multiply that sum by itself then add a couple of zeros at the end and you still won’t get close to how much YOU are loved.

Your child’s love for you is greater than the brain knowledge that ‘that’ is my Dad or Mom.  It’s a physical need to be around you, to touch you, to receive a smile, encouragement, acceptance, to talk to you, to get you to laugh at something they said.  You men, you call the gripping physical pain when you go without sex for a few days ‘blue ball’. Well, let’s tag children who don’t receive some regular physical show of love from their parents -  Blue Hearts. And separation for kids from their parents - in any form -  equals a deep painful hurting that is compressed like, and saved as a zip file - and in adulthood when it’s released develops into an ugly, albeit well-hidden personality. Plus a generational gap.

The world is a tough place. In an imperfect world we all grasp for some small straws of love and baffled drowning children clutch at the straws of their Heros and SHeros, yet many parents disregard the grasping, close their hearts and shun their future – for what else are our children but our futures?

In my SHero costume I sacrifice ‘me’ time and sit with my son, helping him with his homework and ignoring my BFF’s Facebook chats. I disburse hugs, kisses and words of encouragement like a drug dealer at the corner store, because our schools today are full of bullies, tormenters, persecutors and harassed teachers, so when my kids come home they need an immediate ‘fix’ of SHero and Hero Love to keep Blue Hearts at bay.

Out.of.the.box

Every morning, our kids get Hero lovin’ and quality time in the form of their father driving them to school. There’s an alternative way to get to school – they could take the school bus. No, no no! We’re not arguing here so don’t start on with the I-can’t-do-that-because-of-traffic or I have-to-get-to-work or other whining excuses… I’m just giving you examples here of how you too can dispense love to your kids by sacrificing a few minutes of your time. And it’s for what, like only 10 years out of your 40? That’s not even a Pass Mark on your child’s test and yet you expect better from them! Dude!

…. Back to my kids and their father in the morning - they talk, sing, argue or discuss movies - whatever, I don’t know, ask Hubby – and he loves it – despite the fact that it means waking up in the dark and leaving the house at 5.30am. But our daughter who is 16 decided that she’s fed up of waking up at that ungodly hour and changed her morning plan – she will walk to the school bus-stop – and gain 2 hours of sleep plus morning exercise. Hubby got depressed. Seriously. He missed her vibrant presence and inane chatter in the car every morning and also saw the beginnings of the dreaded Troll. Because that’s how it starts, children grow up and begin to pull at the strings of independence and adults don’t want to release those bonds – instead demanding that they all continue doing things the same o same o. In comes ugly misunderstandings and out goes loving patience.

You and me both see them, those kids standing with frozen knees visible below shorts or skimpy skirts at bus stops with mboches waiting for the school van, their parents either zooming past them in luxurious heated cars in a rush to get to work and beat the traffic or in their warm houses (Nairobi) dressing themselves in killer clothes in preparation of that war-zone place they call “Work”. If it’s Dar it’s kids walking in the sweltering heat while the parents drive past in frigid cars or dress up in air-conditioned houses. Whatever!

Never have I seen a parent walk their child to the bus stop. Oh, wait. Mzungus do. The CEO of some big.time company standing with his sons in shorts and a faded T-shirt waiting for the bus… later you’ll find the same man in a Gucci suit as the Chair of The Board Meeting. Then we who have been raised by mboches have the audacity to wonder how come wazungu have such good relationships with their kids? I wish I had that. Honestly, if wishes were cars I’d be the one behind the wheel of that new Yellow Lamborghini in town..

Most likely you’re muttering:

Eti what? Who me? Walk out and stand there doing what? Wait for a bus? Si I have a houzi? What do I pay them for? Nyakio, get real…. Plus I got home late anyway, I neeeed my beauty sleep….

Guess what my Hubby does? He rushes child A to school, returns and walks our daughter to the bus-stop. By 7am, he’s ready to begin  work day having given both kids major Hero time. Ok fine, I’m blowing my own trumpet here but then again, look into the majority of children’s wistful eyes and tell me what you see – a desperate hunger behind the ‘I’ll reject you first before you reject me’ ATT.

Refuse to accept the norm. You’re the Adult in this situation anyway, so it’s up to you to bridge the relationship gap, it’s up to you to give your child some serious lovin’ because they get enough hatin’ from the world.

Don’t give your children Blue Hearts.

© NYAKIO MUNYINYI for The xPenSiev Report

Sept 2012