Carol’s Column

Matric’s killing me! I just can’t stand the strain!

LIFE'S pretty tense at the moment. I'm writing matric.

In fact, we're all writing matric. Momma and Poppa, Barry, Ralph, Jamie and Nicky Lazar.

Not to mention the three dogs, cat, goldfish and anyone else who happens to be in the vicinity of this household.

Matric's tough these days.

We're all taking it pretty seriously.

“Shhttt! Stop breathing as you walk past Ralph's room. He's swotting. You'll disturb him.” I whisper softly hoping that the slight sound will not waft under the crack of Ralph's door and disturb his concentration.

“Stop barking! Ralph needs absolute silence,” I screech, quite quietly, to the dogs who feel threatened by a moving blade of grass and are daring to woof loudly.

“Oil your bike,” I mutter to Jamie, “and kill that squeak immediately. How do you expect Ralph to learn his history with that dreadful noise.”

Yes, matric is difficult.

And everything in our house makes a noise.

The phone, the plumbing, the electric light bulbs, the spindrier, the floorboards. Even, the stove howls when it's switched on.

This is not a sanctuary. It is not a home of silence. It is a battle-front with heavy artillery.

However, in times of crisis, this family, like every other, pulls together. Everyone in a different direction.

I thought I'd give them all a pep talk. So, while Ralph was sharpening his mind on a little bit of physics, I assembled my family in the diningroom.

Sacrifice

“Listen, kids, dogs, cat, fish and father,” I said. “I know this is difficult for us all, but we have to make a sacrifice. We have to maintain a semblance of silence for the next three weeks, until Ralph's matric exams are over. It's vital to his brain cells that he has a peaceful environment in which to study.”

“Right, Ma,” said Jamie. “We're in this together. We'll fight noise in the bathroom, we'll fight noise in the kitchen, and we'll even fight noise in the diningroom at breakfast.”

I was proud of my little family. I knew I could count on them.

We take our shoes off outside the front door so as not to clip-clop like cart horses and tiptoe through the house like a group of Twinkletoe clones.

Speaking is done in hushed tones and even sneezing is pianissimo.

All social arrangements have been cancelled for the next month.

We put off a weekend braai because of Afrikaans literature, a dinner because of biology.

But it's good to know we're not alone.

On Tuesday night we made an exception. The Halls popped over quietly for a quick drink to meet our new neighbours, the Rouxs.

“How's Andrea?” I whispered to Tish, “how's her matric going?”

“Oh, it's dreadful,” replied Tish. “Tomorrow we're writing biology for seven hours and then on Wednesday we've got geography for another seven. It's too much. I can't stand the strain.”

Doug nodded, and swallowed a glass of wine quickly. “The tension's terrible,” he muttered into his glass.

Our new neighbours, whose children are not writing matric this year due to the fact that they're only four and two, sat wide-eyed.

“Don't worry, Maureen,” said Tish commiseratingly, “your time will come. In fact it's not a bad thing to start extra lessons now — you know, get in early.”

You could see that Maureen, who'd come all the way from Nova Scotia to settle in Parkwood, was thinking that she'd have been wiser to stay in the nether regions of Canada.

The Halls left early. “We've got Afrikaans coming up, you understand,” said Doug.

We nodded sombrely.

Shattered

Only yesterday morning, my good friend Betty phoned. “Baby's fine,” she said, commenting on her matriculant daughter, “but I'm shattered. I can't take the strain. We're thinking of renting a flat for the duration of the exams because it's impossible to keep the house quiet enough.

“And, I'm putting on so much weight from all the midnight swotting snacks, it's ridiculous.”

I know.

Never mind, only a few more weeks to go.

“Ma, stop worrying,” said Ralph, as he set off to write history.

“Worrying, who's worrying?” I said.

“For one. Why are you drinking gin with your orange juice at breakfast?”

“It's not gin,” I snapped angrily. “It's brandy and it soothes the nerves. Anyway it'll help me with history. There's nothing like brandy for the French Revolution.”

As I said, matric's tough.

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