Sticks and stones will break my bones

It's a Dad's Life:I received a new insult last week from my eldest child. It was pretty straightforward but I never saw it coming, just hadn't expected it for at least a couple of years. I was blindly working my way through the usual barrage of requests with a continual "No", writes Adam Brophy

"Can I have some ice-cream?" "No". "Can I have some crisps?" "No?" "Can I go to LeisurePlex?" "No". "Can I have a Nintendo DS?" "You're having a laugh, aren'tcha?" "Well, can I?" "No". "You never give me anything, Dad. You're gay."

And there it was. I started to explain that my hip was sore from doing all sorts of alpha male stuff and I couldn't help walking like this. That I just like to dress well and take care of my skin, it didn't mean anything, the moisturiser was specially formulated for men, straight men no doubt.

The Elder took one look at my three-year-old Jack Jones jeans and oily visage and muttered a derisory, "Pah!" before stomping to the bedroom for a bout of harrumphing. For her, it was all about the denied Nintendo. I was coming to terms with being stripped of any machismo.

Of course, I should have waited for the Missus to come home and talk to her but I had to go storming in there with my big straight size-12s. She was refusing to engage and the muttered "Get out!" was a fair indicator that further conversation wasn't being encouraged. But come on, she's five, I can't let her win all the time.

"What do you mean, I'm gay? Where did you hear that?' Rather than being concerned about her origin of the phrase, my startled mind is wondering if that is the word on the street, or worse, in the infants' playground, about me. But now I've shown weakness and, cute as a fox, she sees the opening and goes for the jugular. There may be something profitable in this for her.

"Gay means you like boys. Well, you like boys, you big gay. And you're a lesbian." Ha, the mutual exclusivity of the last statement melts me and I finally get over myself and realise the daft situation I've walked into. Now I have to deal with it and it's far too early in my parenting career to be negotiating this particular path. I manage to pull out all the right-on lines about respecting people, and there being all sorts of differences in the world, and how we need to encourage diversity and freedom of expression and facilitate people to be their true selves without any sense of fear, when I finally twig she has no idea what I'm on about and neither do I.

It transpires that while at her cousin's communion party the previous month, the Elder had gone into the bathroom with another cousin. When they came out, one of the Communion boys, in the true spirit of Christ, had pointed at them and guffawed, "You were in the toilet together! You're lesbians!" The fires of damnation beckon for that little urchin.

Obviously this mocking had preyed on the Elder's mind. She had probed her cousins about its meaning and come up with a vague realisation about the love between women. Further investigation over subsequent weeks in the schoolyard uncovered "gay" and suddenly there was a whole new world of misunderstanding to wonder about.

Later that night the Missus gently explained the relevant terms in some detail and pointed out that words are necessary to describe things, but when they become used in name-calling they can be hurtful. I stood around, nodding and looking thoughtful, and wondering why I hadn't figured that out myself.

The Elder took it all in while the Younger sat there throughout, playing with her dolls and paying us no mind. Just as our earnestness approached critical mass, she jumped up, pointed at both of us, shouted, "You is lesbians", and took off roaring with laughter.