IT'S A DAD'S LIFE:IT DOESN'T happen very often, but there are times I'd be fit to kill them. The kids, that is. Any parent would recognise why: the squalls, demands, tantrums and ingratitudes. They are commonplace, which is probably why parents rarely act on that impulse, writes ADAM BROPHY
All that makes me wonder what I did that was so bad as to cause my own mother to try to off me over the weekend.
She was subtle enough. She offered me dinner, nothing too fancy, bit of grilled fish and reheated fried rice with prawns. But she tinkered with the microwave settings. Instead of heating through, she set it to “Cultivate Microbacteria That Will Fester In Son’s Gut And Aid His Exit From This World In Screaming Agony”. The following 48 hours were a hallucinogenic walk through pain park. Just as I’d think I was approaching recovery, my innards would once again make a break for freedom, diving at the wall in a Jackson Pollock inspired reverie.
Whatever I did, mum, I’m sorry. But you could have just told me you were annoyed. There was no need to get all Shakespearean on me.
What had us in the mammy’s recently deranged bosom was once again the elder child’s pony mania which is being fed by my sister. This sister, commonly referred to in our house as “Horse” (not in the rural, amicable way of greeting bigger folk, but because of her love for all things equine) had arranged a private riding lesson for herself and the elder. The near-murderous granny and the younger child also attended as spectators.
First off there was a meet and greet with the pony that was to be ridden, followed by the lesson itself. Once that was over the regular non-addicted-to-horses folk, ie murderous granny and the younger daughter, left while the sister and elder daughter continued to feed their habits with some grooming, mucking about and general horseplay. The two of them burbling on about stirrups and bridles and hand heights, delighted to have found another to share their infatuation with. They laughed and joked, fed carrots and forked hay. They are mirror images of one another, 25 years apart.
The sister and the daughter now share a bond. I’m a little jealous. I was the elder’s go-to guy for everything for nearly eight years, but now on this topic her knowledge already far outstrips mine – and she knows it. If she wants to discuss fetlocks and dressage there’s no point coming near me as I will merely snort and whinny in indignation while her aunt will snort and whinny in imitation.
A more experienced parent than me commented recently on the dwindling intensity of parent-child relationships as they grow out of early childhood. When you’re in it, up to your elbows in nappies and pureed vegetables, all you can think about is the possibility of a rational conversation with a reasonable human being. Not the constant strain to understand the non-verbal communication of the all-consuming creature in front of you. But, incredibly quickly, that phase is gone.
Next you have a small child who, while she can express her needs, will still express them all to you, and expect you to address them. Then she learns some independence, but always looks to you for approval and affirmation. Then she doesn’t. Then she recognises a more knowledgeable source might be elsewhere. Then she only needs you occasionally.
How many later children are conceived by parents who have just realised they are no longer indispensable? The bonds that you rail against when thrown into the new life that is fatherhood for the first time are disappearing, and you immediately miss them. I find myself reminiscing about walking the floors with a sick child, watching the sun come up through the kitchen window as I cajoled an infant to sleep. Suddenly that time seems better because at that time there were only the two of us. In those moments, the only person in the world of any relevance to her was me. Where else do you get that? What else could help you survive the torturous sleep deprivation they inflict on you?
So, the elder is horse mad. I am not horse mad. Therefore we should have another child. Is this how other parents’ thought processes work? It goes without saying that this makes no sense, and yet it seems so natural that I can only presume many others have been duped by this false logic in the past.
Then again, maybe we should breed numerous offspring simply to have a choice in the ones we want to knock off in later life. Is that what happened, mother?