Kretsch

Kretsch

(crèche)

I loved my crèche days, before we seprationalized ourselves into main-ous and the vaal-ous. We didn’t know, we didn’t care.

When we went to crèche we became miniature psychopaths. I guess that’s why crèche was jail-like. I mean you had a high fence around it. You were given meals and a chance to play in da yard. Most of the time you were locked up until your parents bailed you out.

Now I mighta been fcuked up as a child, with my toppie blowing second hand zol smoke in me face. But I swear teacher Margie, who ran the place, looked just like Liewe Heksie. Ahhh good ol’ days….but if I think about it nowadays, the crèche was a bastion of child abuse.

Lights-out (nap time) sometimes really meant lights-out. Your buddy might’ve got a hiding cos he didn’t wanna sleep, but you mighta gotten the backlash, sommer so a buckle on the kop….lights-out. I swear uncle Donald musta been a belt wielding ninja. You could get a hiding around the corner and you didn’t even see it coming.

After lunch we were allowed to go play on weapons of child destruction…coated in lead paint nonetheless. We would swing quite high…like we were trying to do a 180° turn. But we never got so far and rather jumped off the swing at it’s highest point, thinking we were Raboobie. Ninja Donald gave you three smacks with the belt even before you hit the ground.

There was the jungle gym…the I’m king o the crèche masterpiece. Whoever sat right at the top was the hond…and we were small…so the jungle gym to me was like the Empire state building. One day I decided fcuk this I’m going right to the top….i fell down on a bar…it was like Stone Cold Steve Austin personally giving me a back breaker.

I swear I could’ve braaied bacon and eggs on the metal slide. And I’ve been down a slide in more positions then I’ve had sex…..fcuk you gareth for wysing me to go head first….ya I know now what a grass and sand sandwich tastes like. And there was this rocking horse thing….and there was always a long strong naaier in the front of it, jumping like his life depended on the motherfcucker. Being a kleintjie I sat at the back, balls being cracked by each jump and falling off onto the merry go round, the 2nd best form of self induced vomiting next to a finger in your throat.

All too sudden home time came, one by one we were bailed out….until it was me….alone…wheres my fcuken parents. I looked like a SPCA puppy waiting to get out. The fcukers done forgot to pick me up from crèche. What kinda parents are you…..eish new government parents even before we knew there’d be a new government. To this day I still imagine my mother saying…where’s JB…I guess he’s sleeping…oh well. I’m still at the fcuken miniature prison you sent me to mom. The best of all…I got a hiding because they forgot to fetch me.

JB

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I was a 14 nommer in creche…halfway there to being a 28