Monsters in the family

By CHRIS WC

Like it or not, some traits get passed down the line.

FINISH up all your food, think of those children without food!”

“When I call you, you answer immediately, do you hear?”

“How many times must I tell you to pick up all your things from the floor?”

Gosh! That was all me, not my mother. Sigh! I’ve turned into the one person whom the once-younger version of me swore not to turn into – my mother. Perhaps “mini me” has brought the worst in me?

Yes, I have come across a book for young children titled My Mom is a Monster, and I am comforted to know I’m not the only “monster” around. Some things never change, do they?

Decades ago, my mum was a monster, too. However, the much-mellowed side of me wholly appreciates the person that I think I’m partly turning into.

Before, my mum knew what she knew and did her best. She lived through two World Wars, and was a survivor who taught herself to read and write. If she had just one fish, she would feed the flesh to her eight children while she picked on the bones. I can’t top this. I’m proud of her strength and courage, which I’ve gladly inherited.

Now, I know better, so I do better. I’m a Baby Boomer and a late bloomer. Eight was enough for my mother but one is more than enough for me.

I don’t only tell my son to not waste food, water and electricity, or stress the importance of being neat and tidy. I show him films of less fortunate children in other parts of the famished world and pictures from the Internet of ridiculously messy homes and explain how it blocks energy flow and results in a cluttered mind and stressful life.

A picture says a million words, and yes, he got it – well, most of it. He was only four when I started telling him; now he’s seven and can keep a pretty organised room.

“Mum, just say it once, I hear you loud and clear!” “You told me not to do that but you’re doing it yourself.”

Those were from my son. Sometimes it’s like he holds a mirror to my face. If I had said those things to my mum when I was his age, I’d had a smack behind my thick skull for talking back or having a big mouth. Back then, little children must be seen and not heard. Nowadays, there is this “encourage your children to express and stand up for themselves” culture.

Yes, it’s okay that the children speak their minds. They are also people, like us, just several sizes smaller. We parents are not always right and we don’t have to be. It’s okay to say sorry to the kids.

Of course my mum will say this is madness, but I think they learn empathy and honesty, and that respect is something you earn. In the past, “be quiet, don’t ask so many questions”; “if you don’t listen, you’ll get a smack” or “the good book says to respect your parents” sufficed as answers to many unasked questions which we had to discover for ourselves later in life.

My mum had very obedient children. She said it, we did it, no questions asked. My son has learned the art of negotiation.

“You said oats cookies are healthy, so can I have more than two then?”

“No.”

“But you said there are fibres in them that will help me ‘poop’ better!”

Now it has progressed to films and staying up late at night. He gets to see sci-fi films that have an age limit of 12 years. Why? His father thinks he’s mentally equipped for it.

“Don’t worry mum, there’s no real blood, it’s just tomato sauce. The slimy-looking alien brains are just stuff made of plastic and there are no strange planets. It’s all shot in a studio, just a set-up.”

Some things have obviously changed, haven’t they? The millennium child is so smart and articulate. One part of his day can be spent in a fantasy world of computer games and yet later, he still plants his two little feet firmly on the ground.

We were watching a movie together and I get so caught up and said the ‘S’ word when the enemy was winning. Then I heard a small, steady voice beside me say: “It’s just a show, mum, you don’t have to use that word.”

Smart aleck! Sometimes I think we have created a little monster. This child knows about looking good, mix-matching and colour co-ordination. Only much later in my life did I realise I might have inherited this trait from my mother and he from me then. He also saves money.

At times, he’s a simple, carefree and joyful kid when I return with all his favourite things in the grocery bag. Or, after helping him with something, I’ll get a big hug with a huge kiss and, “You’re the best mum in the whole wide world!”

At other times, “Mum, you know I love you very very much but please don’t be mad when you see something on the floor in your office. Please don’t shout and I’m very sorry, I won’t do it again!”

Goodness! What now? I wouldn’t have dared say all those words to my mother or known how to say them when I was his age, for that matter.

I do wonder about his future years. What is a millennium teenager like? Hopefully, still a sweet little monster, just a few sizes bigger.