last word
Parent Trap
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If you are a parent, it means you have no secrets,
shares Nury Vittachi
ids do the darndest things.
A child aged eight handed
out 60 small bags of hard
drugs to his playmates at a
school in Pennsylvania, according to a
police report I was sent. Some curious
youngsters investigated their goodie-
bags: empty containers were found in
the bins.
But I couldn’t find a single report on
the REALLY interesting thing—what
was the scene at the kid’s home?
I imagine his parents must have had
a difficult conversation.
Dad: “Where’s my stash?”
Mum: “In that box.”
Dad: “That’s not my stash, that’s
chicken nuggets and a juice carton.
WHERE’S MY STASH?”
Mum and Dad stare at each other as
the grim truth hits them.
“School officials sent a letter home
to parents about the incident,” the
report said, again without quoting the
actual letter.
Judging by letters from teachers I
have had, I can imagine what it would
have said: “Hello, Mums and Dads!
Today, your cute little munchkins spent
the morning finger-painting. Then there
was also a little incident in which a little
boy—naughty naughty!—distributed
large amounts of high grade drugs, but
don’t worry, your little angel probably
didn’t too eat much of it. Tomorrow we
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are going to learn a new alphabet song
and have a school trip to the junkie
detox centre.”
I get lots of stories like that in my
inbox from readers around the world.
For example, there was the case in
which police knocked on a door and
asked to see a woman.
“She’s not here,” the man who
answered the door said with a straight face.
The giggling child, aged four, at his
feet, added: “Yeah, mummy’s upstairs
hiding under the bed.”
Teachers of course get these tales
all the time. A Hong Kong kindergarten
teacher told me: “The main reason I
went into education was for the sheer
entertainment value of hearing everyone’s
secrets.” Such as: “My homework’s all
crumpled because I left it on the sofa and
Daddy slept on it last night.”
A clergyman of my acquaintance,
minister at one of the churches in
Nathan Road, Kowloon, was given
a medical suppository to insert into
his child’s nether regions. Instead of
grabbing the kid and slipping it in,
he decided that it would be more
considerate to explain to the child
exactly what was happening.
Unfortunately, there were three
factors he failed to consider. 1) His child
hated the idea. 2) His child had a loud
voice. 3) His parishioners were holding
a meeting in the next room.
His eyes glazed over as the horrific
memory returned. “First, my son
shouted, ‘Leave my bottom alone’.
Then he shouted, ‘But I don’t want you
to put that thing in my bottom. I don’t
want ANYTHING up my bottom.’” The
minister abandoned his attempt to
administer the medicine and left it to his
wife. You can bring down an ENTIRE
RELIGION with an incident like that.
Anyway, dear reader, I am pretty
sure that every parent on the planet
has a memory of their children saying
something wildly inappropriate in a
crowded space.
For years, when my children were small,
I would come home late from work and find
no space in my own bed, as small bodies
slept horizontally next to their mother.
I gently encouraged them to spend the
whole night in their own beds, of course.
One day I came home from a
business trip with a colleague and
the family met me at the airport. The
youngest jumped up and announced:
“Good news, Dad. No one slept with
Mummy while you were away this time.”
My colleague’s eyes widened.
“Good! Things are improving then,”
I said. “Mummy gets a gold star
for that.”
Nury welcomes your comments and
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