Their memories are incredibly selective

ELEANOR GOGGIN

THEY have rewritten history. My kids who are now adults, that is. We were out for a meal recently and the talk — as usual — got around to stuff that happened when they were younger.

It seems they had a terrible childhood. They harbour the most incredible resentments. Stuff like too many ornaments in the house for their pals to feel comfortable.

I worked all week and spent weekends driving them to extracurricular activities, of which there were many. Obviously I shared the driving with other parents, as I couldn’t do mid-week trips. They only remember the other parents. They have selectively forgotten that I devoted my weekends to their every whim.

When they were older teenagers, I was prone to going for an after-work drink of a Friday. Sometimes more than one, so I had an understanding with a pizza place that would deliver three pizzas and I would drop the money in during the week. They say they still remember the pizzaman’s face clearly. They saw it so often, they say. The other six days were wiped from their memories.

It appears that I gave up trying to disguise the fact that the mashed potato came ready-made and I was serving it with the corners of the package still intact. It also appears I rarely cooked a meal. I might add my spaghetti bolognese, chilli con carne and homemade burgers were legendary.

I reminded my youngest that I had handed over our only bathroom for a whole day to his pal who was making a film. He looked at me with incredulity. No memory of that. Luckily the other guy was able to recall that, in fact, the bath had been filled with baked beans for the purpose of the film. For once, I got back-up.

But they shut up when I mentioned the parentteacher meetings I had to contend with. Funny that.