The term to ‘take for granted’, referring to the Oxford Dictionary of Definitions is to:
· fail to properly appreciate (someone or something), especially as a result of overfamiliarity.
· assume that something is true without questioning it.
and the Cambridge Academic Research Dictionary adds:
· when you take something for granted, it means to never think about something because you believe it will always be available or stay exactly the same.
I have not only been guilty of taking something for granted - but am the victim of being taken for granted. That started the day my first born arrived in the world 17 years ago. Attached to my boob as if his life depended on it, I realised back then that this little bundle of snuffles naturally assumed I was always going to be there for him; between his sweet little milky breaths he surmised I would always be willing and able to bow to his every beck and call. The hormones that kick in those early baby days are overwhelming and you find yourself happy to become the unrequited slave parenthood is and joyfully give in to any independence and freedom you may have gained as a human, pre-baby. Sleepless nights roll into days, which roll into months and roll into years and one day you wake up and the little cherub is 17. I have been fortunate enough to have kept my health and been around for him and, although he doesn’t know it, and probably doesn’t appreciate it yet - he has been so lucky to have a mum who adores him and has lived long enough to see him blossom into a young man. Like a symbiotic relationship – we both just took on our roles as parent and child without question – taking for granted how extraordinary that concept actually is and how for some, the journey isn’t that straightforward at all.
We take it for granted that our parents are there for us – I know I did. My parents are still together and still on this mortal coil and, even after a world pandemic, I am still taking them for granted. I definitely did when I was younger – I can’t remember offering to cook or hoover or do an errand they asked me to do without a dramatic eye-rolling performance - I just swanned in and ate and ignored them and swanned out again. There were times as a teenager I would stomp around banging on about how unfair life was; overreacting with melodramatic huffs and shoulder shrugs if something didn’t go how I wanted it to. I can’t believe some of the arguments I cooked up for the sake of a row; or that I didn’t see the selfishness in what I was suggesting. One row I vividly recall - I thought it very unfair and how mean my parents were for not letting me drive one night to my then boyfriends University, 60 miles away, literally weeks after passing my test. I must also add it was a random Tuesday school night, I had an A-level essay to hand in the next day - and I didn’t have a car. The main crux of the argument was, I wanted to borrow the only car my parents owned, which would have left my mother car-less for her shift as a nurse at the hospital the next morning, but hey, that was OK, I argued– you can get the bus to work. God – yeah - so unfair. I recoil in horror now at just how selfish I was acting. And instead of accepting the adult, mature point of view which comes when you actually are a mature adult rather than an inexperienced late teen – I would stomp off to my friend Sasha’s house and listen to Bauhaus in her kitchen. Yep. I was that cool.
The stuff my two come up with isn’t as bad – yet. I hear all of you with older teens… it’ll come, it’ll come… My two are more of the ‘where’s my hoodie’ brigade, as if, magically the filthy black thing that got wet at rugby practice miraculously climbed itself off the bedroom floor into the laundry basket. Or the call for supper routine where I stand at the bottom of the stairs, asking, politely - calmly at first - for help with just setting the table, as I have dinner-to-finish-and-serve-dog-to-feed-dishwasher-needs-emptying and erupting into hot-headed spittle the nineteenth time of being ignored – both sons taking for granted that the food will appear, the washing gets done and someone else in the house will lend a helping hand. They take for granted the clothes they wear, the mobile phones they stare into 24/7, the Netflix accounts. They take for granted that we are willing and able to drive them to where they want, that they have kind friends and a loving family - and on a fundamental level they take it as read that they have clean water from a tap, warm showers and a safe roof over their heads.
Of-course they do. We all do. We all take it things for granted. I take my sons for granted relying on their unconditional love to keep me sane – I am sure when they finally move out, I will miss their dirty trainers and weep over their unslept beds. I take for granted the hustle and bustle and noise of a close family and will damn well miss it when it goes. This time last year, November 2019, we all were taking it for granted that we could just go into an actual shop and buy a non-essential candle or cushion. That we could sit in a pub, squash up to people at a gig and hug strangers at football matches. That we could hop on a plane – funds allowing – and spread our wings. That we could sneeze into our hanky or stifle a cough at the cinema without being judged. That we could see our loved ones by choice, especially the ones we’ve always taken for granted. And now we can’t, we miss the everyday, the normal, the stuff we never questioned. The stuff we took for granted.
Do you think when lockdown restrictions have lifted once and for all, and the vaccines work their promised magic that 2020 will become and distant memory and we will go back to as we were? Like being in full blown labour or having the most horrendous hangover – absolute hell while it is happening, but the second it is all over, and the moment has passed, we forget – blot it out and go back and do it again? Or do you think we will all reflect and appreciate what we nearly lost and become a humble nation that finally learns to appreciate those little things we assumed would always be around?
I am hoping the latter.
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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