Friday, 3 July 2009

A Deeply Demented Dad

I'm not a Mad Manic Mama - in fact, there are two ways in which I don't quite qualify under the heading MMM. Firstly I'm a DDD - a Deeply Demented Dad. And secondly my children are grown up. I have two daughters (aged 30 and 28) one of whom is married and the other in a long term partnership. I had a son who died in infancy and have a son aged 21 living at home. It is this son, who will be affectionately known as Junior, who causes me to recognise a certain fellow feeling with Saz and Fhina. The point being that leaving the teenage years behind does nothing to diminish things like the ability to clear a fridge at 10 paces - it just means they can eat more and it disappears overnight when you are least expecting it. As for eating one out of house and home in less than a week - hey, you two, be realistic, less than a day is more like it!!

Both the girls went to university in cities a respectable distance away from the family home. Junior chose to reject offers from 'abroad' (which in his book is anywhere beyond the bounds of Scousedom) and is at Liverpool John Moores University. This is within commuting distance. Easy commuting distance if all you have to do is lie back and close your eyes while chauffeuse (aka Mum) drives you there. There was a time when anyone who stood the vaguest possibility of driving and getting an old banger did so at the earliest possible age. Have you noticed there is now a trend towards rejecting that idea? I would love to think that it was because this modern generation is more environmentally aware and doesn't want to pollute the atmosphere. Rubbish! It's because they have got their parents better trained than we ever managed. Getting the bus or spending money on a car is a poor alternative to being chauffeured.

And talking of money; whatever happened to working every hour one could during the university vacation and often holding down an evening job as well. Of course, if you live at home so many of life's essentials are there on tap - no need for the expense. Accommodation, water, electricity, gas, Sky TV, telephone, food, pots and pans...

Add to that the saving on energy and time in having a gardener, cook, cleaner, and every other sort of slave available at the push of a button and life is pretty cushy. "It's not like it was in my day" is a popular cry from every older generation since the days of Socrates but perhaps that’s because it’s true - clich├ęs often are.

So I shall be joining FFF and WONI in offering the occasional piece of advice or seeking the occasional piece of help on this blog! Or, simply moaning about Junior's latest doings - (I love him dearly, honest!). I may not provide you with the humour that they are both so eminently capable of but heck, this is no laughing matter folk!!!

5 comments:

  1. Laughing! What great post Scriptor and another perspective and experience into the mix!
    We appreciate your candour and yes humour!!

    I hope you contribute regularly and that you enjoy being part of the team!

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  2. This is just wonderful, John, and your thoughts and experience will be a tremendous boost to us, who are still in the thick of it, and behind you in oh, so many ways! As for the chauffeur thing, I have the very cap to wear myself! Your son is very lucky, and I'll bet he does know that... x

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  3. Wonderful job, SS!
    Laughing and crying are only separated by a breath, are they not? I cringe and stop myself every time I want to start a statement to my older kids (21, 23, 25) about money and/or self reliance with something along the lines of, "In my day..."
    You're right -- not a laughing matter!
    sink

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  4. Fhina sent me over and I have to say - been there done that. Problem is teenagers are replaced by adults who still have the power to cause sleepless nights. Grandchildren though...now they're just wonderful! Love the blog, thanks for the invite. Will visit often. xxxxx

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  5. As the dad of a 6 year old, all I can say is thanks for telling me what I have to look forward too. Maybe I should have had a girl.

    Thanks for the laugh,

    Tony

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