The importance of having children – Part II

Yesterday I awoke with a giant pimple on my forehead. I read the paper to discover that Bafana Bafana had in actual fact not qualified for the Africa Cup of Nations. And then, just in case things couldn’t get worse, the Boks lost to Australia in the quarterfinal of the Rugby World Cup.

Life is grand.

When my wife told me the rugby news (I didn’t have the guts to watch the game live) I spent about 10 minutes simply staring into space. Fark. The Aussies. Please let it not be true. I passed through all the phases. Anger. Denial. Anger.

And yet, for some unfathomable reason, both my 3-year-old and my 5-month-old were oblivious to the catastrophe that had befallen our country.

Whilst they happily gurgled and tried to steal yoghurt-coated raisins from the Vida counter, I was asking myself, “Where to from here?”

The beach it seems. We packed up the kids and hopped in the car. I sat at the steering wheel, morosely giving one word answers to Bell’s feeble attempts to cheer me up. And then my 3-year-old insisted I join her in a rendition of “George George George of the jungle, he’s as strong as can be. Lalalalalalala, watch out for that tree!”

On the 23rd cycle of repetition I started to feel strangely better. The Bokke are out of the Cup, and yet it feels like life could go on… Who knew?

Kids know what’s really important. Ice-cream, swings, and sandcastles. In that order. I’ve relegated the likes of Bryce Lawrence to that corner of my mind reserved for devilled-kidneys, anchovies and Julius Malema. Deserving of vaporisation, but totally undeserving of messing up my good vibes.

We may be out of the World Cup, but at least we don’t have criminal records. I was looking forward to Puff Diddy lifting the William Webb Ellis trophy, but I guess its only fair that the home team can finally get a taste of greatness… Go the All Blacks, and long live George of the Jungle!

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