Parenting Could Be A Contact Sport

They felt good eyes upon then
and shrank within – undone;
good parents had good children
and they-a wandering one

The good folk never meant
to act smug or condemn,
but having prodigals
just “wasn’t done” with them.

Remind them gently, Lord,
How You
Have trouble with Your children,

Ruth Bell Graham

Recently Roogz called telling me that his pair of sneakers had reached beyond the point of repair and that he needed a new pair. Urgently.

I took a break from the office and visited a local flea market store to look for a shoe. Shopping for a pre-teen is not just about getting a shoe. And the vendors knows that. Man, am I glad I went without him.

I settled for an ol’ skul, now in, Nike shoe with some psychedelic colours. I was so sure I was on point with this one. I dropped them off where he was staying for the weekend and waited for the INEVITABLE, “thank you, thank you, thank you,dad, I love you, you just seem to know what is right for me and on and on and on.”

Waited  was the operative word. I couldn’t hold on for much longer than 24 hours, now concerned that my very well thought through love care package may not have been delivered to its rightful owner.

“Hi?” blah blah blah

“Did you get the shoes?”


“Did they fit?”


Now, getting irritated…

“Did you like them?”




That was it. I gave up at that point. Frustrated at the attitude of ingratitude.

Then I got it.

Getting shoes and a lot of other stuff  for my son is my duty. My job. My obligation.

And it should be consistent. Continuous. Constant.

Doing it for any other reason is vainglorious.

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