Story proposed by Janita Purcell Thursday 4 March
I have two sons and three daughters and all or nearly all of my memories of them are fond. I can’t remember any that are not fond, but there must be as nobody’s perfect, except perhaps John Eales. (it’s a rugby joke).
Bringing up five children, we practiced a sort of communist regime – everyone got the same share, first last time is last this time and always check that the dogs have water.
Our children were and remain unfailingly good, mischievous, serious, loving, clever and beautiful and many other things that it hurts to remember.
They are all bright, talented and independent and love a family braai on a Sunday. They ask advice, listen and even sometimes seem to heed it. I think they ask me just because they know it makes me feel good. They ask their Mum when it’s something serious.
All of them are university educated, paid for by themselves, and have travelled abroad. They all like dogs and are polite and kind to people too.
I suppose the fondest memories I have of my eldest son is his pride in catching a slimy barbel on the farm, when he was about seven and his colours awards for hockey and Academics.
The fondest memories of my youngest son is him consoling me in my rage when someone else was awarded Best Player when he should have got it, and him reading to his baby daughter.
This is very difficult as I am somewhat sentimental. I think they all know that I am quite fond of them.