Carol’s Column

Flush your worries away — ask the kids

AT the third traffic light on the way to school yesterday, I learned I was redundant.

It happened during the early-morning lift scheme run as the orthodontically-plated promise of the future and his siblings discussed the affairs of the world.

"Claire's mother had a circumcision yesterday," announced my gap-toothed daughter to her older brother.

He nodded sagely, his nine-year-old intellect working overtime.

"They always do that when the baby's stuck," he said authoritatively.

I opened my mouth to speak, but there was more to come from this source of misinformation.

"The baby has to have a caesar because he's Jewish," added my daughter the-Hedda-Hopper-of-Parkwood.

The rest of the lift scheme sat mesmerised.

"Listen kids, I think you've got the wrong end of the story," I managed to get in while wrestling with the gear-lever.

"Ma, what do you know about such things?" they chorused in unison. "Times have changed."

"You're telling me they have," I muttered grimly as the gear lever came off in my hand and the car jerked to a halt.

I mean, when we were kids, we wrote "thank-you" notes to teachers at the end of the year. Not so today.

"Dad, I'd like to negotiate a loan," said Ralph at dinner last night. "Miss Zartz is getting married at the end of the year so the standard five's thought it would be nice to put down a deposit on a house as an end-of-the-year present."

"Isn't that a little extravagant?" said my husband choking on his toast. "What's wrong with a little duplex? In my day . . ."

Ralph didn't let him finish. "Dad; times have changed."

They sure have.

"Who's that strange man taking a shower?" I asked my bleary-eyed, snoring partner as we met briefly en route to the bathroom.

He shook his head. "I'll go and see," he said.

"He says he's your son and he's been living here for a long time."

I peeped through the shower curtain.

"Barry, is it really you?" I asked hesitantly.

"Aw, come on ma — don't you recognise me?" We had supper together two months ago.

They're a competitive bunch this new generation. Whereas we were satisfied with simple pleasures when we were young, even the top's not high-up enough.

Take the case of Herschel. "Herschel's going to beat Bjorn Borg," said Ralph the other day.

"He got a new aluminium frame racket with a reinforced inner central spring rod made of Titanium for his Barmitzvah. His forehand is so powerful it smashed the window of his father's car from a kilometre away."

"But his father drives a convertible."

"Ma, you've got no imagination," said Ralph. "You've got to hang right in there."

Eat your heart out Bjorn Borg.

But it's true, things have changed. Take pocket money.

We'd just booked our normal camp site near the railway line in Muizenberg for the April school holidays next year when my offspring informed us they couldn't make it as they'd made other arrangements.

We discovered they'd formed a merger, consolidated their pocket monies, invested them in a building society, bought Sasol shares with the interest and were flying to Seychelles with the cash from the dividends.

We went to the school quiz last night and learnt that Karl Marx founded capitalism, Istancow was the feminine of Istanbul and Chopin was a chef.

I now know that Jackie Onassis has flat feet which is why she won't allow any full frontals in the nude, Pik Botha had a nose job for TV appearances and Farrel Brenner's going to break Mark Spitz's breaststroke record at the Zoo Lake gala tonight.

My nine-year-old told me.

Today's kids are into ecosystems, ectoplasms, eczema, integration and pollution.

But when it comes to the crunch, there are things that don't change. Like the crisis that hit us recently.

Hell hath no fury like a spurned goldfish I discovered when I mistakenly threw Golda Mayo down the toilet while cleaning out the fishbowl.

As one person, the clan rallied round with tea strainers and there was much splashing in the family bowel centre when suddenly Golda disappeared and simultaneously Barry's arm got wedged in the S-bend.

It took two hours and the fire station to finally extricate Golda and Barry, but throughout, family morale remained high.

Happily, Golda is physically none the worse for wear. But psychologically, she's a changed fish. The vet calls it a rejection syndrome and she's been placed on a course of vitamin tablets.

She seemed to perk up slightly when we introduced a companion to her bowel. Ian Smiff, a handsome black fish with hooded eyes and an open jaw.

Barry's arm is slowly losing its S-shape and it was only this morning that I heard Ralph say to Jamie: "You know, Mom and Dad aren't bad, in fact, they're almost human."

Who said?

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