You know those cool aunties, usually frowned upon by many parents because they never take life too seriously, are likely to lead the nieces and nephews into the ways of the world and feign blindness when they catch the nieces and the nephews doing borderline illegal stuff? I am that auntie.
I was born to be that cool aunty. Why else would I be the last born in a big family, not just the last born, but one whose first nephew is five years younger? Why else would Mother Earth make me so unserious, that if I take anything seriously, people around me are allowed to panic?
It’s a position I have held with pride. I was there when they first tasted alcohol, and not because I told them to, but because I asked them to feel free to call on me if they ever wanted to try.
Such things must always be done in front of a trusted person. I was that person. I was that aunty who took them to clubs and gave them that talk of birds and bees. There are still traces of that aunty in me, but just, because they are grownups. Besides, I am no longer the going-out type as I already did my time, and right now I would rather sit at home with a couch blanket, and watch movies as I doze on and off. When I go out, I spend up to three days recovering, and it does not matter if alcohol is involved or not.
Now, I am a mother of girls. Strange how, when you are young, unnecessarily reckless and often disobedient, you never think of the possibility of a future with you on the other side, as the parent.
You never stop to imagine what it would feel like if your child turned out like you, and behaved like you. I believe if we did, the world would be full of line-toeing humans because clearly, we care more about our children than we care about ourselves.
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We would try out drugs but go berserk if you found your child doing the same. I mean, those substances are dangerous, but only when consumed by our children (not a fact). As a mother, I find myself revisiting my teenage, which is the age both my daughters are right now. At first, I worried, a lot. I was not a particularly bad-mannered teen, but I was not exactly a model one either. There are things I experimented with that would halt my old mother’s heart if she found out. With the girls, I worried because of that, but I have stopped – or tried to, and instead become proactive.
I talk to them about my teenage years. But there are details I cannot share, lest it looks like bragging (or dare). But I talk to them about how I felt about stuff as a teenager. I have told them about my first boyfriend.
I have told them about boys hitting on me as a teenager and spoken about my fears. I hope to make them realise the stuff they are going through is normal for their age. I carefully choose the moments to talk, but many times they initiate the talks.
If they ask about it, they are ready to hear about it. It is working. I hope it is. It looks like it is working. They talk to me about boys, those who like them. They have not admitted to liking any back but I hope when that happens, I get first-hand information. We have talked about alcohol, and they know that if ever they wanted to try, it must be either in my presence, the dad’s, or one of my many nieces, those I stood up for. Payback time.
We have talked about sex and a hoard of other taboo topics. We can choose to live in denial, hoping that if we do not talk about stuff, it is not happening. But we know teenagers will be curious, and the stuff we may be running away from is more likely to happen than not. Would you not rather be the one equipping them with the truth?