growing Up series: Breaking Bad

I’ve always had a sweet tooth as far back as I can remember. I loved anything sweet and detested anything bitter. This means I don’t take bitter lemon, Schweppes, ‘agbo jedi’, beer, kola nut, garden egs et al. As a kid I used to go to the kitchen to take a spoon of sweetened cocoa powder or a cube of sugar every now and then.

This fateful day however, my plan was about to be botched! It was a holiday so I woke up ready to play. We had two very old laundry baskets in a room I shared with my brother and sister. I don’t know why I thought that it was something I could use to play with. I started to bounce on it until I heard a crack! I was scared so I hid it behind the door. Confession was the furthest thing on my mind more so we were supposed to go visit Aunty N that afternoon. No one wanted to miss a visit to Lekki where she lived. So I wore my gown and went a-visiting.

We got home that evening and I happily went to the kitchen for a top up ‘dose’. That day, I didn’t want one cube but two cubes of sugar. I popped them into my mouth happily and started swirling round the kitchen until I heard my name: ‘KC’!

Let me briefly introduce you to the name caller, my mum, fondly called ‘mummy’. My mum is a teacher and a lovely one at that. She also was the disciplinarian while my dad was the cool guy. I happen to be a regular when it comes to defaulting: theft, breaking valuable dishes, wasting food. I was the serial ‘bread peeler'.

At that moment I couldn’t even answer my name because in my beautiful little mouth were two cubes of sugar taking their time to melt. My eyes popped out with dread as I remembered what I did to the laundry baskets. It was so obvious that one of my siblings had ratted me out. I stood before mummy, my eyes counting the spots on the rug. I was in a dilemma.

Do I dare explain myself and plead guilty at the expense of exposing my sweet tooth sugar popping addiction? The cubes just wont melt!

‘Can't you talk? Why did you break the baskets?’ my mum awaited my response. I just couldn’t respond. I feared I would get a double beating for opening my mouth. It wasn’t worth it.

‘KC, talk!’ mummy prodded to no avail. I saw tears drop as she reached out for ‘Mr. do-good’. All the joy I felt at aunty N’s place left me and was replaced with sorrow. I stretched out my hands for two strokes of my not-so-nice acquaintance.

After the rebooting, I went to the toilet to shed the remaining tears. The two cubes of sugar, that I defended didn’t even bother to tell me sorry. They just kept melting at their own pace. I was angrier at them than I was at my mum or at my sibling who ratted me out. But did I spit them out? No. I let them continue at their pace. 

In the toilet. By myself.  Me and my sugar.