Skip to main content

PARENTS






By Jude idada

And we raise psychopaths.

These parents who blame the government for their woes and yet can't raise their own children to be sane, civil, courteous, law-abiding and functional individuals.

My friend came to see me with her son this morning.

A 7 year old.

At the door I exchanged pleasantries with my friend and said hello to her son.

He didn't respond and walked past me, got to the living room, sat on the glass coffee table, picked up the remote control and changed the channel.

His mother didn't say anything.

I told him the glass table will break and he should sit on the couch.

He ignored me.

She said to him.

'Uncle says the table will break, stand up and sit on the couch."

He ignored her.

She continued.

"If you don't stand up, I won't take you to Cold Stone."

He stood up and eyes still fixed on the disney channel he backpedelled to the couch and sat on it.

As they sat in the living room.

I served them drinks and snacks.

He drank his orange juice in one continous flow and then descended on his mother's.

He dranks hers.

And then belched loudly.

Instead of an "excuse me" or an "I'm sorry," he laughed loudly.

His mother's only response was an 'Thats so gross" in addition to her laughter.

I watched on.

Sadly.

As I chatted with my friend, I noticed he was no longer watching the TV but was focused on the remote control.

He had removed the batteries and was fidgetting with it.

I asked him.

"Isn't it working?"

No response.

Then in a couple of minutes he had discarded the remote control on the floor and walked away.

I stood up and picked it up.

Lo and behold he had broken the latch.

I said to her.

"He has broken it."

She said to me.

Helplessly.

"This boy will kill me one day."

Then she called to him.

Over and over again.

No response.

All we heard was the clinking and clanking in the kitchen.

I walked there.

He was rummaging.

"What are you kookinc for."

"A knife and some butter for my crackers."

His tone was cold and dismissive.

I opened the drawer, brought out the knife, opened the refrigerator brought out the tub of butter and handed it to him.

He collected and walked away.

Not a "Thank you."

He gets to the living room, sits down and gets to work.

His mother was typing on her phone.

Not a follow up on the remote.

I sit down and she looks up at me.

"Where were we?"

We continued chatting.

She moaned about the useless country and the geriatric President who is a demon from hell.

She complained about her husband who was all over the place working.

She slyly boasted about the surplus money she was bored of spending.

Then was pretentious in her saying that she needed to get something worthwhile to do.

My eyes strayed between her and her son.

He was making a mess of the butter and the crackers.

Then he spat a mouth full of chewed food on the table in disgust.

I looked at his mom for a reaction.

She just rolled her eyes and shook her head before she said.

"No cold stone for you."

"Why?"

"Because you are being rude and disgusting. Why will you do that?"

"Cos it tastes like shit."

"And you will spit it out on the table?"

"Yes."

"Now clean it up."

"No."

"I'll tell your dad."

"Tell him."

"Uncle will be mad at you."

"I don't care. His butter and crackers suck balls."

I was surprised he could use those words - suck balls.

I looked at her.

She could see my shock.

She said wearily.

"I tell you o. Seven year old with gutter mouth."

Then a question popped into my head.

I asked it.

"How come he is not in school."

She sighed.

"They suspended him."

I turned to him.

He had my watch which I had left on the side table in one hand and the knife in the other.

And he had cut through the strap.

I stood up walked to him and collected both knife and watch from him.

His mother visibly angry asked him.

"Why did you do that?"

He shouted at her.

"Cos you said you are not taking me to Cold stone!"

She looked up at me.

"Jude please come and sit down. Ignore him. He is looking for attention."

There was no sorry from him or her.

I sat down.

He stood up.

And announced.

"I want to go home."

She ignored him and continued speaking to me.

He walked to the door and began screaming while stamping his feet on the floor.

"I want to go home! I want to go home! I want to go home!"

Visibly exhausted and fuming while staying calm.

My friend stood up and said.

"Jude let me take him home. I'll call you."

She walked past him in annoyance, opened the door and stepped out.

He eyeballed her and then me, kissed his teeth and walked out after her.

Then he reached in and slammed the door.

Lagos.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

FEBRUARY 27

By Ola Vincent Omotade Aderonke will be my only poem that never ends, For a good woman is but a poem. A genuine poem that comes in blue moon. You are a jewel of purest gold, The smile that never grows old. You are the beauty of the sunset sky, The intricate twinkle of a happy star. You are the keeper of an unborn life, A champion, heroine, a candlelight . You are a budding shoot, evergreen, a colourful sweetness. Your laughter is like the whirlwind of the spirit, it  keeps resounding in the valleys and hills of life and motions. Encircling the hearts of men with magical notions. So now the night of January is past and the day of February is broken Today speaks of this calmness, this brightness,the one you brought. Today carries  messages of heavy words, Words that are pregnant with beauty for you. And with my golden mouth and pen, I wish to celebrate your existence. What joy of a fuller and freer life, have I got if onl...

ÌGBÀ ÈWE (CHILDHOOD DAYS)

By Teslim Opemipo Let our mothers come like harmattan haze and swear by the sacrality of ògún if the roof lying above their fathers' house has never been stoned by a boy in love to walk them out for an evening talk. Let our fathers come like a windy rain and swear by the simplicity of òsun if the path that leads to the village stream has never danced to serenades sang by their soles in chase of maidens with braids so long. Let the elders come like a mid-year harvest and swear by the tranquility of the moon if they've not once tasted the bliss of childhood fermented with the morals of moonlight tales. In our village, childhood is made of water; kinsmen, remember, water is brewed with life and life is the laughter moulded on our lips when we gambol from rivers to trees and to fields painted in the colours of hopping grasses. Brethren, if you hear an elder saying: growing up kills laughter and joy, do not giggle for they once like us tasted the bliss o...

FADING SAPPHIRES

By Ola Vincent Omotade She shouted at me  '' just walk away '' You made my past miserable, you're meant to be forgotten. I tried  to walk gently out of her sight. she then 'whispers'  I hate you ,cheater, devil  she said. Then i knelt down and from my sour mouth,I said "Could me and you with fates conspire,to break this sorry scheme of a thing entire. Cos my glances nowadays are now in glimpse. She looked  at me and replied i give you just five minutes. Then i knew i had to do more of poetry and not planning. So i started this way Clouds and Darkness were round about me. Just like the first time i saw your face. And After your lightning enlightened my world, there was a great race in my heart. The way my heart beats radically still wont Change. so I wept bitterly upon the mountains and upon the Hills and it seems someone is taking me away.. Waters cannot quench our love neither can flood drown it....wait Just mention, e...