Loss of Innocence

Friday, February 12, 2010

After coming back from my Tennis class on every alternate day, it’s a race against time for me. I come back tired and tend to laze around a little with the fresh newspaper. Then suddenly my husband shouts from the bathroom to alert me to the tasks of preparing breakfast, dealing with the crankiness of my 4 year old daughter, sending her to the bathroom, etc. My job doesn’t finish with bringing the breakfast to table, I then need to plead with my already delayed husband to give himself just five more minutes to eat his breakfast. I remind him that he has to go by his own car, so, it wouldn’t bring the sky down if he takes a little more time to give his body a much-needed meal before embarking on his 1 and a ½ hour drive to office.


Yesterday, after coming back from the class, I received a phone call from my parents. It further added to the rush that normally awaits me. I was about to bring the breakfast to the table when I heard my husband opening the main door. I shouted that the breakfast was ready, but that day, he was in no mood to forgive. He curtly announced his departure and suddenly, all hell broke loose. I asked him to close the door and come right inside the house. He sensed trouble instantly and quietly came back inside. All my pent up frenzy took hold over me and then started the oral fireworks which stopped only when I realized that my daughter was yet to be sent to her school. I went to her room and found her engrossed in her art work, seemingly oblivious to the domestic disturbance. While I was readying her for the school, she asked me if Papa could take her to her bus-stop. I told her to ask her Papa about it.


My husband, having sent our daughter to school, asked me if I was done with my ‘talking’ with him, and whether he could go to his office. Interpreting my silence as an answer in the affirmative, he finally started for his office.


In the afternoon, both my kids were having their mid-day snacks when my daughter gestured towards her elder brother and asked me if he knew anything about Papa’s story. Astonished by her question, I asked her what she meant by ‘Papa’s story’. “That he did not have his breakfast and then you shouted at him,” she said. “But Mummy, you should not scare Papa,” she added. Her query stood in stark contrast with her calm demeanor at the time of our quarrel.


I realized that our children tend to grow old when they witness their parents indulged in childish squabble. I want my shame to go deep down within me and stop me from robbing my own kids of their childhood.