• We learnt to climb trees before we could read.
• We learnt to cartwheel before we could write.
• Formal school began at 6. Before that, we played outside. Nature was our classroom and jislaaik what an education she gave us.
• Strangers were friends we hadn’t met yet.
• Our teachers didn't only educate us, they were a shoulder to cry on, discreetly helped us with little ‘accidents’ and wrote us letters to keep in touch after we’d left their class.
• Pocket money was doled out in coins. A bank account was for grown-ups.
• Barefoot was standard attire. Shoes were for school. Or church. Or a trip to town.
• We never needed an invitation to visit friends.
• A photograph was forever.
• Going to the cinema was as big a treat as a birthday. It happened once a year. If that.
• The TV was hardly ever on in the daytime – unless there was test cricket. Then it was on all day.
• Running to answer the landline telephone was a huge deal. So too was the greeting.
• Sport was compulsory at school and took up way more time than homework ever did.
• There were winners and losers in school sports days.
• We knew our academic aggregate and what place we came in class.
• Riding bikes, skateboarding or rollerskating in the street was as natural as being outdoors in the first place.
• Rain never stopped play.
• Helmets, shinpads or kneepads didn’t exist.
• At birthday parties, the whole class was invited. There’d be a garden, a pool and a table of treats. No party bags, entertainers, bouncy castles. Games we made up ourselves. We’d leave barefoot, with wet hair, exhausted and mildly sunburnt yet happier than pigs in…well, you know.
• Dress-up was a simple as rummaging through mum’s cupboard.
• We dried our hair in the sunshine.
• Air-conditioning was opening a window. Heating was wearing an extra jersey.
• We ate meals at a table.
• We drank milk or water.
• Milk was full-cream. Butter was real.
• Peanut butter sandwiches were a staple in many a school lunchbox. As were peanuts.
• There were no frozen ready-meals.
• We never had takeaway.
• Potato, rice and bread weren’t the anti-Christ.
• Protein and fat were simply food groups as part of a balanced diet.
• Gluten, dairy or nut allergies were very rare, almost unheard of.
• Coming from a divorced family was the exception, rather than the rule.
• Friends’ mums were Mrs 'so and so' and their dads Mr 'so and so'.
• Please and thank you were non-negotiable, always.
• We were hardly ever ill. Going to the doctor was so rare it was a novelty for us – as were antibiotics, plasters and medicine in general.
• Roasties doused in Mercurochrome were badges of honour.
• We spent every Sunday evening with our grandparents. It was family tradition.
• Beach holidays were all about family. All of us swimming, frolicking in the rock pools, collecting shells and lying in the sand.
• Eating out at a restaurant was only for special occasions, like birthdays or school awards.
• Books were revered and treated with respect at all times.
• Encylopedias were the oracle of all knowledge.
• A trip to the library was an adventure.
• We kept in touch with friends who moved away by letter via post.
• Our aunt and uncle were our second parents, our cousins as close as siblings.
• We believed in fairies, unicorns, the Easter Bunny, Tooth Mouse and Father Christmas. And heaven.
• We respected the rule of the wooden spoon. Or mum’s flip-flop. Whichever was closest to hand.
• The elderly were heard, their histories valid and stories relevant.
• Wildlife was all around us – we simply had to step outside.
• We said ‘I love you’ in person.
My little girl is growing up in a very different world to this. A world where she’s taught to be suspicious of strangers, her school uniform requires three sets of shoes, she'll most likely own a phone before a bra and exploring the wildlife in her own backyard is a challenge simply because there’s no wildlife and there’s no backyard. She can read, write, count to 100 and watch war being broadcast live on TV – yet she can't swim, climb a tree, cartwheel or ride a bike. She’s four years old.
As much as the digital era has connected us in terms of communication and access to information, it’s also disconnected us from a much simpler way of life. One where we look each other in the eye, speak English in full sentences and give actual hugs. She’s missing out on a life where the outdoors is the ultimate entertainment. And it’s not just enough; it’s everything.
Today she may be able to use an iPad, navigate my iPhone, channel surf on Netflix and scan my groceries in a self-checkout. Later, she can become prime minister, lead a trip to the moon or develop a vaccine for a flesh-eating virus. She can be or do anything she aspires to. And don’t get me wrong – that’s truly remarkable. But so too is looking back on a childhood rich in adventure where the memories last a lifetime: The fun of pulling fat juicy sticks of sugarcane from a passing truck, the joy of jumping into a silo stuffed with mielie kernels, the excitement of spotting a rhino in the veld or the sheer exhilaration of racing tractor tyres down the bank to the river. Memories like these are pretty remarkable too. Well worth their weight in all the free Wi-Fi hotspots in the world, in my opinion. I can only hope that one day she agrees.
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| Sally all scrubbed up - with 80's voortrekker-inspired dress and in shoes, no doubt. Prepped for a photo. No digital, deletions, edits or filters. It was film all the way baby. Twas a serious business. A serious business indeed. I'm pretty sure in my head I was outside playing amidst the fruit trees with my sister and cousins. |
