Chopsticks at four? Today’s kids make parents look dumb

Children are so advanced and at ease with technology it’s enough to put one off having one, writes Nelly Shamase

THE thought of being someone’s mother scares the bejesus out of me. Fortunately for me, ahem, I have yet to meet a man who’s managed to convince me to change my mind. And I blame my reluctance to procreate on the kids of today. Mostly.

Having been a child of the ’80s, growing up was much simpler back then. Less complicated, too, as we tended to find joy in the littlest of things. Give a child a set of colouring books and a pack of crayons instead of the latest iPhone today and they’ll side-eye you for days. I’ve seen this happen. And which tween wants a bike nowadays anyway? That’s if they even know what to do with one. My 14-year-old niece can’t ride a bike to save her life and she’s not the only one. Trying to recall any young person who couldn’t ride a bike when I was growing up draws complete blanks. Weekends spent having bike races and competing in amateur neighbourhood leagues have instead been replaced with hours spent trawling malls with friends to catch up on celebrity culture and keep up to date with the latest gadgets.

What a travesty. Surely falling off bikes and the inevitable scraped knees and elbows was a rite of passage? One’s childhood simply wasn’t complete otherwise.

Speaking of gadgets, I still can’t get over how infants in nappies who can barely say a word or two are so technologically advanced that they navigate things such as tablets with ease. Check YouTube if you don’t believe me. Clearly playdough, Lego and puzzles just don’t cut it anymore. These ones in primary schools even have their own cellphones now, yet they can barely tie their own shoelaces.

This seven-year-old is busy telling his mother he’s not sure what time his soccer tournament ends but he’ll WhatsApp her after he’s confirmed with his coach. We’re being WhatsApped by primary schoolers now. What next?

And these rapidly developing youngsters just won’t stop. We now have reality TV shows such as MasterChef Junior, where eightyear-olds with the most advanced palates whip up gourmet cuisine that can easily rival the menu pickSCIENTISTS ings of those fancy restaurants. And you thought your little munchkin was advanced for his age in being able to make his own peanut butter and jam sandwiches. In the meantime, these little masterchefs get their own cookbooks published and release their own branded cookware and cooking kits.

It’s crazy to me how extravagant children’s parties have become. These days your kids won’t speak to you until they reach puberty if you don’t almost seemingly bankrupt yourself when it’s birthday celebration time.

I’m telling them right now, long before they’re even born: no kid of mine will get the whole of Gold Reef City closed off to the general public to celebrate their birthday as they ride around on exotic animals and feast on a menu of food flown in from Italy coupled with a cake so pricey it could pay off someone’s car instalments for at least a year. You will blow out the candles on that cake from the corner bakery after opening your cards while marvelling at the complete set of Roald Dahl storybooks you’ve been gifted. And you will like it.

How on earth does someone at the age of four know how to use chopsticks? You go meet a friend at your favourite sushi spot where you’re seated at a table next to a family with a four-yearold girl who tells the waiter she wants the miniature assorted salmon platter but without the sashimi. Thought she’d eat her sushi with her hands? Not so. She uses her chopsticks as skilfully as a native from Japan, yet I know of adults who can barely use a fork and knife set properly, let alone know what to do with a pair of Asian eating utensils.

When did we get here? The way kids seem so advanced nowadays one almost expects them to sleep through the night from birth and start walking, talking and using the toilet by themselves by the time they reach six months.

Just the other day I had a dream where shortly after I gave birth, my son opened his eyes, turned to me and said: “Let’s skip the ooh-ing and aah-ing, please, and just take me home already; I’m exhausted.” I still get palpitations at this thought.

In light of this madness, I’d like to make a public service announcement to those dear friends of mine who are parents: under no circumstances am I available for babysitting duties. These adept kids of today are too much for me.

Besides, I doubt you’d want someone as basic as me looking after your wizard little darlings anyway.

We’re being WhatsApped by primary schoolers. What next?