Memories are made of this

Even though it happened a good 45 years ago, today I want to apologise to my mother for my behaviour in the OK Bazaars in 1972. It was totally unacceptable and I humbly ask your forgiveness. In my defence, I was only four years old.

And if you hadn’t insisted on rehashing the story at every opportunity, I would have been completely oblivious to the fact that I single-handedly destroyed a two-storey pyramid built with baby soft twin ply toilet rolls.

And I’m also sorry for everything that followed that morning.

I’m sure it must have been my only toddler tantrum, or at least the only one worth remembering. Strangely though, it does seem that every child throws one game-changing tantrum in their life.

Recently I was privy to a tantrum of note.

It was a ballet concert. A stage full of little princesses in pink tutus doing pirouettes.

All except one little girl. There she was, with her puffed up cheeks refusing to point. Or turn. Even standing up was a no-no.

No amount of coaxing, promises or threats could convince her to un-anchor her bum from the stage floor.

The mother was on the verge of hysteria. Father was silently mortified, switching off the video camera with a shake of his head. The man was devastated. And understandably so. The entire family was invited to little princess’s ballet debut. Even grandfather was flown in from Cape Town.

The worst was the sniggering aunt with her I-told-you-so attitude.

The vindication beamed from her face. She had obviously known all along that little Miss Princess wasn’t as angelic as her proud parents pretended.

The good news is that it’s over. The little girl’s parents can sleep soundly in the knowledge they will never have to deal with the Titanic of tantrums again – apart from relating the story incessantly for the next five decades.

That’s the thing with toddler tantrums. The children can’t remember and the parents can’t forget.