Columnist, Aasma Day: Oh my god, I think I’m turning into my mother

A mature mother and daughter. See PA Feature WOMAN Mother. PA Photo/Generic
A mature mother and daughter. See PA Feature WOMAN Mother. PA Photo/Generic

Driving home, I got to a pelican crossing and as the lights turned red, I stopped while a group of school children crossed the road.

As a lad around the age of six got to the other side, he turned to look at the traffic with an impish grin – and then pressed the button again.

“The little monster!” I thought, thinking of all the cars which would soon have to come to a halt, all for nothing, adding unnecessary moments to their commute home.

Then I got a sudden flashback to being a child myself, and I remembered how I too used to do the same thing.

Whenever I travelled anywhere in the back of a car as a youngster, I used to love hanging my head out of the window and feeling the wind on my face and ruffling my hair.

I remember travelling in the same car as an aunt complaining it was messing up her hair.

I can clearly recall thinking: “I hope I never become like that when I’m a grown-up.”

But just the other week, I was in the car with our children and caught myself saying: “Please will you close your windows – my hair’s getting all messed up.”

It got me thinking about all the different things we tell our own children off for nowadays – even though we used to do them ourselves.

I have to hang my head in shame with my next confession of how as a child, me and my friends used to love the game of knocking on random doors or ringing doorbells and then running round the corner and watching as someone answered the door to find there was no one there.

Eating certain foods in a variety of weird and wonderful ways was another childhood pleasure.

I distinctly recall I would only eat Jaffa Cakes by first nibbling around the edges, then peeling off all the chocolate, then eating the soft biscuit base before sucking the remaining orange jelly centre.

Custard Creams presented the challenge of trying to separate the biscuits without breaking them before scraping the cream centre with your teeth.

If I witnessed my own children eating their food in any of the ways I have described, I know I would automatically say: “Eat your food properly – stop messing with it.” What a hypocrite.

Arrrgh, when did it happen? When did I become a grown-up? I still feel like a big kid myself … even if the mirror tells me otherwise.

Then another more frightening realisation dawned. Oh my God. I’m turning into my mother.