The Wrong Kid In The 80’s
Things were simpler in the 80’s; there were fewer rules and yet everything was still fine.
At preschool one of the rules was an obligatory, afternoon nap. If, like me, you could not sleep, well tough luck, you still had to lie down and be quiet.
I spent many an hour staring at the ceiling from my designated foam mattress, on a floor awash with kids happily polluting the air with an orchestra of flatulence and snoring.
One day, thanks to my inability to nap, I learnt a very important lesson that kids would never learn today, due to all rules in place. I learnt that it is entirely possible for a parent to be so tired, that they may not notice when the lady on nap duty hands them the wrong kid.
Children of the 80’s understood very quickly that you’d have to stay alert if you wanted to make it to the 90’s, with the same set of parents you started off with.
So, it was nap time, I was awake, and waiting for my dad to collect me, when suddenly I heard his hurried footsteps marching down the corridor. He started work at 4 am, so he was always in a rush to get home. He tapped on the door, nap-lady opened it, and then waded through the horde of napping kids, whispering “sorry sweetheart”, when she squashed someone underfoot.
Instead of coming for me, she picked up a girl who looked a bit like me, insofar as we both had brown hair.
She handed the little impostor to my dad, he thanked her, and off he went back down the corridor. A few minutes later, the door swung open and there he was holding the kid at arm’s length. “This is not my daughter”, he announced.
Nap-lady took the girl — who was happy to have escaped the pungent room — into the corridor to get a look at her in the light. “Oh yes you’re right, sorry about that…yours must be over there”.
I was indeed “over there” and silently seething at all the nonchalance on display. My dad was miffed that mix-up was delaying his own nap and nap-lady thought the whole thing was hilarious.
On our way out, my dad turned to me and said: “Don’t worry, you have a birthmark on your shoulder, so we’ll be able to check it’s you, if we really need to”.
I understood two important things: firstly, my dad was giving me a heads-up that he just might be tired enough for this scenario to repeat itself, and secondly, that there was no need to worry because someone would, eventually notice.
In the 80’s, a comment like this was considered helicopter parenting.
Once my indignation had subsided, I realized just how lucky I was to have that birthmark — which someone would definitely check for — if they needed to.
“Ohhh…
I have a birthmark…
…phew!”
