Teenhood: The things we always remember Waking up at 4:30 in the morning to milk the cows is no joke, but that is the price we had to pay by virtue of being a successful farmer’s children
Waking up at 4:30 in the morning to milk the cows is no joke, but that is the price we had to pay by virtue of being a successful farmer’s children

Waking up at 4:30 in the morning to milk the cows is no joke, but that is the price we had to pay by virtue of being a successful farmer’s children

Blessing Musariri Shelling the Nuts
I was looking for quotes on the subject of history and I came across this notable one, “We’ll be remembered more for what we destroy than what we create.” (Chuck Palahniuk, Invisible Monsters).

I haven’t read this book, but I watched the film version of “Fight Club”, which he wrote, too. I’m sure I have also heard it said that we regret more the things we didn’t do, than those we did. I may be mistaken and making it up, but it rings true for me.

As for the part about being remembered for what we destroy, this, I have found to be true. In my final days in sixth form, we performed the best last assembly presentation the school had seen in a while. We received many compliments from teachers and students alike and we ourselves felt a tremendous sense of achievement.

The following week, on our last day of school, we got carried away, created a great ruckus and damaged school property and walked through town in uniforms we had torn, written on and smeared with cake and other break-time victuals.

People in town actually phoned the school to report to our head that her girls were walking around town in a disgraceful state.

Back at the school we left broken desks, a damaged blackboard and a classroom filthy with spilled champagne, water and smashed up food.

Our form was filled with brilliant minds that were sometimes prone to hooliganism and unappreciated tomfoolery. I admit this freely. We were remembered for this and our excellent minds and assembly presentation were forgotten.

In the vein of things we didn’t do, this whole piece was prompted by a memory from my youth. Funny story: I belong to a family that has many sisters, brothers, cousins and we all grew up together. Our house was a mix of everyone’s children so much so that when we were forgotten at school no one noticed until supper time and by then the nuns at the school would be thoroughly put out by having to take care of us, again.

I will never forget being given a jug of tea to share and polony sandwiches to tide us over until someone came to pick us up.

I hated polony but at that point I was often too hungry to be picky. Being forgotten used to happen whenever the driver was diverted during the latter part of day and assumed alternative arrangements were made for our pick-up when he was delayed and so he would head home, after completing his mission, with a clear conscience, knowing that after five we were no longer his concern. With both parents working into the evening it was easy to be overlooked. We grew used to it. The nuns did not. However, I digress.

During school holiday, those of us in our house who worked at the businesses in town would remain in town and the rest of us would get packed off to the farm, about 100km out of town.

Being sent to the farm during the holidays was a mixed bag. It was tough because we had to work hard but when we played, we had a lot of fun.

We used to be woken up at 4.30 in the morning to milk the cows and we were encouraged to go for an invigorating run around the fields by virtue of being farmer’s children. The milking we couldn’t escape but as for the running, you can wake a child up and make them get dressed, but you can’t make them run. That was never going to happen.

Anyway, one year when things were good, my father bought a boat. A speedboat, for us to use on the small lake. One day we asked for permission to take the boat on the water after all our chores were done. It was my two brothers, my three younger sisters and I.

I don’t remember how we got the whole operation going but we got there and through some slightly dodgy process the first lot to go on the boat were selected.

I stayed on the bank with my one other sister because not all of us could go one time. I don’t remember the reason. Both boys got to go because both knew how to drive the boat and both wanted a turn to drive on the first go – free time was precarious, my father could turn up any time or send someone to call us back to do something a lot less fun.

What surprises me in this memory is why I wasn’t one of the first lot on the boat. I was usually very assertive in those types of situations, everyone knew that if anyone was going first, it would be me. I would be interested to remember the reason, for purposes of historic evaluation, of course. The launching got off to a good start and they were off. From where we were, we could hear the boat but we couldn’t see anything because of tall grass and a bend in the little inlet where we moored. It was all terribly exciting.

My father was a hard task master and often we didn’t look forward to holidays at the farm but then when we were rewarded with moments like this we forgot about the slog and enjoyed to the maximum. We could barely contain ourselves.

While waiting on the bank we imagined how much fun the others were having and we couldn’t wait for our turn to come. However, after some time we realised we could no longer hear the engine and we wondered what had happened.

Had they unknowingly gone too close to the dam wall and driven over into the shallow river below? Had someone fallen overboard? Had they run foul of a crocodile – not that we’d ever seen one but we’d heard they were there. Worry eventually turned to annoyance as the wait crossed the one-hour mark. Then two. By this time we were cursing them; they had probably gone upriver and had forgotten we were waiting our turn because they were having so much fun. How selfish!

We were tempted to just leave and go back to the house in a fit of pique because we no longer cared for what would end up a much shorter ride than the first lot’s because it was almost time for us to return and make supper.

However, we waited because who knew when we would next be allowed to use the boat on our own! We waited. And finally we heard the engine come rumbling in. We were ready with our complaints.

They were loud and heartfelt. When finally we piped down and no longer had anything to say but an occasional kissing of teeth, my sister spoke up and said:

“Ha! You guys are lucky you were not on the boat. It wasn’t fun at all. We drove a little and when we stopped to turn around and come back, the boys started arguing about who would drive the boat back. They switched off the engine and we were just stuck in the middle of nowhere while they argued and argued. We were burning in the sun and dying of thirst.”

Now, these two brothers of mine are similar in thought and deed so I knew the extent of the torture it must have been. At one point the one holding the keys had threatened to throw them into the water because the argument had become heated, but sanity prevailed because even he realised how that would not help their position.

And so they had continued to argue while my sisters sat and tried to inject reason and find a solution, while we sat in the hot sun and scratchy grass and waited and waited.

I don’t remember who finally won the right to drive the boat back, maybe because by then, none of us cared about the outing anymore and anyway we had run out of leisure time and were needed back at the house. No one had a good time that day and it was the first and last time we ever got the opportunity to use the boat alone.

We could have spent a good three hours of fun on the lake with everyone having their turn. I regret that I didn’t assert my usual foregone right to be first in everything (amongst my younger siblings, of course), but instead two people held everyone to ransom and the history we wrote for ourselves on that day is one of wasted opportunity.

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