Saturday
12/10
Mr. And Mrs. Bernard, I Presume?
As my small outrigger swirled ever faster past the rocks of the Umfolozi River and the roar of the Mangeni falls grew to a deafening crescendo, I began to suspect that all might be lost. The situation did indeed look grim; even my trusted manservant and Bantu guide Mpande had jumped ship and swam for the safety of shore, leaving me with only my dented pride and the few trinkets with which I had hoped to dazzle any unfriendly chieftains we might encounter.
The roar of the falls continued to grow as I looked back upstream and considered whether or not my refusal to bring either a paddle or a map on our expedition was a mistake. Granted, though my preparations for this expedition had been, shall we say, unorthodox, I had still been surprised by the bemused disbelief exhibited by the chaps at the officer’s club back at Port Durban.
Colonial adventurer and notorious roué Henry Flynn was the first to speak up: "Really, old boy, are you certain it’s wise to head down-river without a map or any paddles? You may just find yourself in a spot."
"Heavens Flynn," I said with a smug chuckle that may have been emboldened by my third snifter of the particularly fine ’42 we were enjoying, "why all the gloom and doom? All that planning and equipping for such a journey is such a ducéd nuisance. Really now lads, how could my complete abdication of responsibility for the trip or my porter’s safety go wrong?"
Back on the swirling Umfolozi River, my boat began to slip past the point of no return and over the edge of the falls into watery oblivion. As darkness surrounded me I considered that maybe, just maybe, it was my own foolishness that had lead to this unfortunate turn of events… And then, as is no great surprise, I started awake from the little catnap in which I had been indulging in front of my computer.
As I rubbed my eyes and focused on the screen it became clear what had inspired my little unconscious reverie: this little nugget from the BBC news about a Florida couple whose own journey through parenthood can only be described as similarly unsuccessful and, apparently unbeknownst to them, rather embarrassing. The piece goes on to explain that Cat and Harlan Bernard have managed to raise a pair of children so selfish, so self absorbed, and so useless that the Bernards have decided to go "on strike" in their front yard and leave the little dears inside the house to fend for themselves.
As the BBC piece continues, the Bernards certainly seem to be full of righteous indignation at not being treated respectfully by their brood, and yet they seem completely oblivious to the notion that they have no one to blame but themselves. I have no doubt that they feel pushed into a corner, but for heaven’s sake, ending up involved in such an embarrassing public display of parental failure can only be the result of having come home from the hospital years earlier with each newborn child and saying, "Paddle and a map? Nah, who needs ‘em?"
