What it’s like to grow up black: a trip down memory lane

GROWING up black – yes there is such a thing – comes with its own quibbles and quirks at times; some of which become interesting topics of discussion and conversation among friends during lazy after-hours catch-up sessions as we get older.

Drawing from a varied set of some of my own experiences coupled with observations, conversations and banter overhead through the years, for some reason I felt compelled to take a written trip down memory lane retold as follows.

Black parents. They really love the TV remote but frequently manage to position themselves out of its immediate reach. But no worries, children were had to attend to this as and when such situations arise.

More often than not, you’ll hear your name being screamed furiously from the TV room despite being kilometres away. You’ll be told to pass the remote which is sitting prettily on an adjacent couch once you get there. You could be halfway up Mount Kilimanjaro and get a phone call from one of your parents demanding that you descend and get home real quick because they need to switch to the news channel and the remote won’t pass itself.

As a member of a black family, you get used to being constantly blamed for things you haven’t done. Using a step-ladder to fish out the 2kg box of Choice Assorted biscuits she snuck into the house and hid in a loose panel in the ceiling just last week, your mother opens it and is on some like “but this box was full of biscuits just a few days ago and now there’s only one left”.

Everyone promptly turns and looks at you. Okay you did it but that’s not the point. It’s not your fault that you seem to have some kind of internal radar for sniffing out these things.

According to you this is a skill, not a liability. But your family begs to differ.

Being the youngest sibling in a large family can have its advantages.

For instance, you can generally count on one of the older ones being forced to polish your school shoes, cover your workbooks and make your lunches.

However, one of the biggest drawbacks is that you’re destined to become the king or queen of hand-me-downs; particularly when it comes to clothing. Upsetting as this is, you become accustomed to it.

So much so that it’s always a shock to the system when once in a blue moon you are given anything new or unused.

Of course nine times out of 10, it comes from some long-lost relative you’ve never even heard of who makes a sudden appearance before disappearing again because your parents know better than to waste money when there’s a plethora of yet-to-be-inherited hand-me-downs calling your name. No wonder you only had one child. Black parents love their tea. So much so that generally the first chore or task they teach their children is how they prefer their cuppa. Fathers are the worst at this for some reason and they’re known to drink at least five cups a day.

Live in a house with a manual gate? Shame for you.

Chances are your father is an expert at pulling up at the gate and hooting repeatedly until you run out of the house to open and close it for him.

He’ll honk that horn for a good 20 min- utes if he has to; you’ll have to come out eventually.

And then we find ourselves in the noughties and beyond where our children are allowed to have opinions.

You don’t spank them, that’s abuse, and you take your leave to coincide with their school holidays so you can bond and spend quality time with them.

It’s quite alright if they don’t manage to finish their food and they don’t have heart palpitations when they spill juice on the floor because the domestic helper will wipe it up.

Now mommy and daddy think it’s cute when junior spends the evening running up and down the aisles terrorising other patrons when they go out to dinner at the Spur and junior also has a gadget collection that easily trumps yours because it has become the in-thing to reward him for every little milestone; no matter how minute.

Our kids – the lucky buggers – will never realise how much easier they have it because growing up black back then was something else.

In fact, there was nothing quite like it.