The balance of power has shifted but taking a back seat can be surprisingly comfortable, writes DAVID ADAMS
I HADN’T been in the car for more than 10 minutes when Liam poked his head round from the front seat. “I’ve got dog food here, Granda,” he said.
The grandson strapped comfortably and safely into his small-person’s seat in the front of the car, Grandma at the wheel and me in the back, is a little indicator of how the balance of power has shifted within our family over the years. To put it bluntly, if we were tropical fish, I’ve gradually morphed from surface cruiser to bottom feeder.
It’s actually a surprisingly comfortable position, once you learn to accept it. Not being deferred to means you don’t have to take every important family decision (or, more accurately, you no longer have to kid yourself in that regard).
Nowadays the sons and daughter patronise me a bit, sometimes carefully explaining the obvious, as if to a very young sibling. Grandma, with whom power has always ultimately resided, very thoughtfully plays it as though I’m the boss (though, admittedly, not to the extent she used to), and only ever pulls rank when she has no option.
Liam, surveying the world from his exalted position, is still learning the game, but he is doing so very quickly.
Every so often, to resurrect false memories of times past, I’ll come over all I’m-still-head-of-this-family and try to lay down the law on a “point of principle”.
To their credit, my little shoal of loved ones will indulge me for a short while, knowing that I’ll soon sink contented back to the bottom of the tank.
Quite a while ago, I declared that we would have no more family pets – this was during my mid-tank period, I think. It’s not that I don’t love pets; in fact, the exact opposite is the case. Such is the devotion our family invests in any furred (and on one occasion, feathered) addition to the family, that when a pet expires we go into an extended period of deep mourning. We’ve been known to grieve for weeks over the demise of a hamster. So you can imagine what the final farewells to various cats and dogs were like.
Eventually, I swore that we’d never again put ourselves through such trauma. A daft position to adopt, I know. It’s a bit like deciding not to have children in case something happens to one of them. Depriving oneself of years of pleasure in order to avoid a relatively fleeting moment of pain might well be a male thing. Then again, come to think about it, maybe not.
While I was working from home this “no pets” rule was occasionally challenged, but never seriously. My supporting argument, that I would be left to look after any animal while everybody else was at school or work, was unassailable. Unfortunately, I seriously overplayed it, to the point where it came to be seen as my only objection.
Hence, almost immediately after I began spending my working days in Dún Laoghaire, everything changed. I came home one weekend to find two rabbits, Flopsy and Toby – two beauties, to be fair – hutched in the back garden. “Ach, sure Liam loves them and it’ll be great for him to learn how to look after animals,” I was told.
What could I say? A few months after that, a couple of turtles (Sheldon and Napoleon) appeared. “A girl in work needed a good home for them”, was the story this time.
“Okay, but that’s the last,” I declared, while marvelling at them.
This brings us, albeit somewhat circuitously, to three weekends ago, and Liam and the dog food.
I laughed at first, telling him it was for the rabbits. “No, Granda,” he insisted, in a slightly exasperated tone, sounding not unlike his mother and two uncles (I told you he is learning fast). “It’s for our new dog.”
Grandma, who was suddenly totally absorbed in the traffic, said nothing, which was a bad sign.
The moment passed. I had no heart to pursue the conversation, fearful of what I might discover. Perhaps Liam was talking about a toy dog they’d bought for him? Still, I kept imagining a gangly big Doberman or German Shepherd pup lolloping down the hall to greet me when I got home.
When we had parked the car, Liam and Grandma rushed past me into the house, giggling and whispering loudly about “Granda’s surprise”, which wasn’t long in coming. My younger son met me at the back door, with a little bundle of fur in his arms. “Dad, meet Walter.”
I fell in love with Walter instantly, as apparently my son had predicted I would. The plan had been to say nothing and let Walter work his magic on me, but Liam couldn’t keep the secret.
The new addition to the Adams family is a nine-week-old Shi Tzu, already house-trained, and the most delightful little creature imaginable. He has even taken to treating me as though I am his master.
Perhaps he’s another quick learner. Or maybe he has yet to realise that his furry little belly is the first thing I see when I look upwards, from my comfortable position at the bottom of the tank.