Crybaby

   I was out with a couple of girl friends tonight and we were just chattering away, talking about everything and nothing, as girls do. I mean, as women do. I just can't seem to be able to refer to myself as a woman, despite having passed that quarter-of-a-century mark.

   Anyway, one of the topics that came out was children. One of the girl's nephew had apparently been crying and refusing to go to play school. The first time he cried, it was apparently because his teacher had pinched him. When it kept on happening, his mother asked him why he didn't want to go, thinking that perhaps the teacher had scolded or pinched him again. His answer was unexpected and surprised his mother. He said, "If I go to school, how will I watch my 'Ultraman'?

   Kids! Love them. The other friend's nephew had to be rushed to the hospital last week because he had somehow managed to stick a piece of Lego up his nose. I remember my sister and cousin doing something similar when they were about 4 or 5. My sister had stuck a peanut up her nose because my cousin had stuck a button up hers. Go figure.

   Back to the nephew who didn't want to go to school. When I heard that little story, I was reminded of a story about when I was starting kindergarten. My mom had put me on the school bus, and when I came home from that first day, I was crying my little eyes out. Apparently, the bus driver had hit me.

   My mom was obviously furious. The next morning, she went up to the bus driver, all ready to do battle. She was all like, "How dare you hit my child. She came home crying to me."

   The bus driver denied this. He said, "I didn't hit her. She fell asleep on the bus, and I shook her shoulder and she started crying!" Poor guy.

   But I was so traumatised that I refused to ride the bus anymore. So, my poor mother had to carry me to school everyday [quite a distance away, I was told] and I would be bawling, begging her not to take me. This happened every day of the week, except for Friday. And that was only because, according to my father, who was laughing hysterically while telling me this, I was asleep when she took me in, and when she picked me up, I was still asleep.

   Old habits die hard. To this day, I still love to sleep. My name is Badriyyah, and I'm a sleep-o-holic. 

   Oh, dear. I've just had another thought. I've been told that however naughty you were as a child, your own child will be 10 times worse. Karma, and all that. Hmm...