This is a story about three boys: a fourteen year old; a ten year old; and Luke Skywalker.
The fourteen year old was me in 1994. I went with a youth group to the local cinema. The younger half were going to watch some kiddies' film whilst the older and cooler ones were seeing 'The Bodyguard', which was a 15 certificate. I was determined to be older and cooler. I approached the ticket desk with absolute confidence: I'd recently started shaving and my voice had broken the previous Summer. I was Barry White with bum fluff. There's no way she wouldn't believe I was fifteen. Unless, of course I did something really stupid like...I don't know...this:
"Ticket for 'The Bodyguard' please."
"Here you are, that's £5.10 please."
"No, no. I pay £3.50, I'm only fourteen."
"Then you can't go and watch The Bodyguard can you?"
I spent the next two hours with the local kindergarten watching a bunch of animated puppets singing, feeling depressed partly because I wanted to watch 'The Bodyguard', but mostly with my own stupidity.
The ten year old boy is an ex-pupil. I shouldn't really use his real name. I can think of lots of different names to call him, some of which I used when he wasn't listening, but none of those would be appropriate here, so I'll call him...Trevor.
Trevor was a very clever boy who could be charming and funny, but he had a volatile temper which was often triggered by the most innocuous of circumstances. Teaching him was like walking through a mine-field: one minute all would seem calm and peaceful, then with virtually no warning at all he'd be punching another child in the face, or throwing a chair across the room, or standing in the doorway and informing me (in a voice that the whole school could hear) that I was a female reproductive organ who was currently engaged in sexual activity.
The most challenging thing about managing Trevor wasn't his day-to-day behaviour. It was the attitude of his parents. I honestly believe that I could have sat them down at the end of the day and told them that their son had single-handedly triggered a nuclear holocaust in the West Midlands, and still the response would have been: "Well who's wound him up then??!...Who's done something to him to make him behave like that??!...Who gave him the Uranium??!!...He doesn't do that at home!!...What are you teaching him that for??!...Why aren't you doing nothing about it??!!"
I kind of get it, to be honest. As a parent it must be upsetting and humiliating to be told that your child has very serious behaviour problems and probably needs professional help. The problem is, it was the truth. A couple of years after teaching Trevor, I bumped into a colleague who still worked at the school. I asked after Trevor. He'd been permanently excluded from secondary school because his behaviour was completely unmanageable. His parents had had to take time off work in order to try and home-school him. I feel sorry for Trevor. In spite of everything, I genuinely liked him. And I wonder how things would have turned out if Mum and Dad had been brave and humble enough to accept the truth.
If only they'd been more like Luke Skywalker. He had the courage and the humility. The most psychotic and evil individual you've ever met. Your sworn enemy who's just chopped your hand off. And what's the next thing he tells you?
"I am your Father!"
NOOOO! Anyone but HIM! I can't deal with that!!
But Luke did deal with it. He was in denial, then in shock, then depressed...but he eventually accepted the truth, difficult as it was. And at the end of the next movie, it was only by crying out "Father!" to Darth Vader that he saved both his own life and the soul of his Dad.
If Darth Vader is the voice of uncomfortable truth, I wonder what he'd have said to my fourteen year old self?
"Accept that you're fourteen. Either that or don't be a colossal idiot."
What would he have said to Trevor's parents?
"This is your son. This is how he really is. Be upset and angry if you need to be, but don't deny it. Accept the truth and we might be able to get somewhere."
What would he say to Matt Hancock...Boris Johnson...Donald Trump?
What would he say to me. Right here, right now?
Get to know the truth. It might be hard, but the truth will set you free.
Saturday, May 9, 2020
Sunday, May 3, 2020
My Favourite Albums
People are getting a bit reflective at the moment, aren't they? Facebook is full of it: '10 photos that make me proud to be a Mum'... '10 movies that have made an impression on me'...'10 albums that have changed my life'...'10 shoe-horns that rocked my world'...'10 types of instant gravy that led me to a higher plane of consciousness' and so on and so on. Maybe we're all contemplating our mortality a bit more at present and feel more inclined to be open about the things that have shaped and influenced us.
I'm feeling a bit left out, to be honest, because I haven't been nominated to do any of these 'Top 10' things. I probably wouldn't do it anyway, mainly because I'd struggle to think of ten anything that have influenced me in a profound way. So, I'm going to do music albums, right here and right now. There won't be ten of them, I'm not going to spread them out over a number of days and I don't intend to nominate anyone else. Apart from that it'll be the same as everyone else's. Here goes:
First album I owned. I was eight and having my first celebrity crush on Kylie Minogue. I didn't really get pop music at this point and thought that Terence Trent D'arby's song 'Sign Your Name' was about open heart surgery. I was also confused by Sinitta's 'So Macho', because it contained the lyrics: I don't want no seven stone weakling. At the time I weighed about four and a half stone and so assumed that Sinitta only wanted to be friends with fat kids.
I spent most of my teens and twenties hating this music but have got more into it again recently. Prefab Sprout's 'The King of Rock and Roll' is brilliant.
About four years older and so much cooler! Naive and foolish people have since claimed that by the time I got this in 1992, the cool kids were actually releasing their rage and angst by listening to Nirvana, but I'm having none of it. I was by this point a nerdy church kid who wore plimsolls to football practice and had a hair-cut like Ronald McDonald. Listening to Axl Rose swear and smashing the hell out of my drum-kit like Matt Sorum was all I had. Don't take it away from me!
Of course! Who didn't? I was actually more of a Blur fan, but this was iconic and it was all everyone listened to for about a year. It gave hope to those of us who played an instrument as well, because I'd listen to the drumming on all these tracks and think: "I can do that." It kind of became a victim of it's own success though, because it really was played to death in 1996. The first time I heard 'Wonderwall' I thought it was magnificent. Six months later? Today, Is gonna be the day... Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP.
I discovered this one late. A friend from sixth form who was on a music course asked me to drum with his band for one of their assessed performances, and 'Killing In The Name Of' was one of the tracks they covered. What a blast! If there's a better rage-release song then I've yet to hear it. Who doesn't occasionally want to jump up and down screaming "F*** YOU I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME!!!"
I started listening to it at home, but was always worried that the swearing would get me into trouble, so if ever I thought Mum and Dad were within ear-shot I'd replace the word 'Fuck' with a loud "WOW!!" My altered lyrics went something like this:
"WOW!!...do what you tell me!"
"WOW!!...do what you tell me!"
"MotherWOW!!"
My brother-in-law is a particularly brilliant mathematician who may one day change the world, but as far as I'm concerned his greatest gift to humanity will always be introducing me to this album. Effortlessly brilliant. Although I quickly learnt it wasn't appropriate to walk into Church singing 'Ring-a-ding ding ding, I'm going down.'
And finally, how about a renassisance? My five year old absolutely loves this at the moment:
And...guilty confession...I love his music too. It has resulted in some tricky exchanges with said five year old though:
"Daddy, you know Thriller?"
"Yes son."
"Michael Jackson isn't really a zombie, is he?"
"No, no, sweetheart. It's just make-up and costume. It's not real."
"Daddy, you know Bad?"
"Yes?"
"Michael Jackson isn't really bad, is he?"
"Err...well...not bad, no, but...oh look it's lunch time."
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"You know 'Smooth Criminal?"
(Oh please son, no...)
I'm feeling a bit left out, to be honest, because I haven't been nominated to do any of these 'Top 10' things. I probably wouldn't do it anyway, mainly because I'd struggle to think of ten anything that have influenced me in a profound way. So, I'm going to do music albums, right here and right now. There won't be ten of them, I'm not going to spread them out over a number of days and I don't intend to nominate anyone else. Apart from that it'll be the same as everyone else's. Here goes:
First album I owned. I was eight and having my first celebrity crush on Kylie Minogue. I didn't really get pop music at this point and thought that Terence Trent D'arby's song 'Sign Your Name' was about open heart surgery. I was also confused by Sinitta's 'So Macho', because it contained the lyrics: I don't want no seven stone weakling. At the time I weighed about four and a half stone and so assumed that Sinitta only wanted to be friends with fat kids.
I spent most of my teens and twenties hating this music but have got more into it again recently. Prefab Sprout's 'The King of Rock and Roll' is brilliant.
About four years older and so much cooler! Naive and foolish people have since claimed that by the time I got this in 1992, the cool kids were actually releasing their rage and angst by listening to Nirvana, but I'm having none of it. I was by this point a nerdy church kid who wore plimsolls to football practice and had a hair-cut like Ronald McDonald. Listening to Axl Rose swear and smashing the hell out of my drum-kit like Matt Sorum was all I had. Don't take it away from me!
Of course! Who didn't? I was actually more of a Blur fan, but this was iconic and it was all everyone listened to for about a year. It gave hope to those of us who played an instrument as well, because I'd listen to the drumming on all these tracks and think: "I can do that." It kind of became a victim of it's own success though, because it really was played to death in 1996. The first time I heard 'Wonderwall' I thought it was magnificent. Six months later? Today, Is gonna be the day... Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP.
I discovered this one late. A friend from sixth form who was on a music course asked me to drum with his band for one of their assessed performances, and 'Killing In The Name Of' was one of the tracks they covered. What a blast! If there's a better rage-release song then I've yet to hear it. Who doesn't occasionally want to jump up and down screaming "F*** YOU I WON'T DO WHAT YOU TELL ME!!!"
I started listening to it at home, but was always worried that the swearing would get me into trouble, so if ever I thought Mum and Dad were within ear-shot I'd replace the word 'Fuck' with a loud "WOW!!" My altered lyrics went something like this:
"WOW!!...do what you tell me!"
"WOW!!...do what you tell me!"
"MotherWOW!!"
My brother-in-law is a particularly brilliant mathematician who may one day change the world, but as far as I'm concerned his greatest gift to humanity will always be introducing me to this album. Effortlessly brilliant. Although I quickly learnt it wasn't appropriate to walk into Church singing 'Ring-a-ding ding ding, I'm going down.'
And finally, how about a renassisance? My five year old absolutely loves this at the moment:
And...guilty confession...I love his music too. It has resulted in some tricky exchanges with said five year old though:
"Daddy, you know Thriller?"
"Yes son."
"Michael Jackson isn't really a zombie, is he?"
"No, no, sweetheart. It's just make-up and costume. It's not real."
"Daddy, you know Bad?"
"Yes?"
"Michael Jackson isn't really bad, is he?"
"Err...well...not bad, no, but...oh look it's lunch time."
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"You know 'Smooth Criminal?"
(Oh please son, no...)
Saturday, April 25, 2020
This is the Middle
Why is the middle so hard?
Back in my foolish days of cross-country running it was always the middle of the race, both psychologically and physically, that was the toughest part to endure. I have generally fond memories of the start: even though stripping down to a vest and shorts in the middle of January and feeling your appendage shrink to the size of a chipstick wasn't always a barrel of laughs, there was a great camaraderie on the start-line and during the early parts of the race.
I remember a race in University days when the temperature was below freezing and, seconds before the start, the sky turned black and we runners huddled together whilst being battered by a hailstorm. The marshals (brief aside: if sadism is your thing then find out how to be a cross-country race official) decided to start the race anyway, and it was hilariously good fun. For about fourteen seconds. On another occasion, I remember laughing hysterically at a team-mate who fell flat on his face in the first fifty or so yards, only to trip myself as I hurdled his prostrate body, face-plant just in front of him, and then bring down another runner by hauling myself up on his thighs. In a crowded field of about 400 runners, I somehow managed to avoid getting spiked. I'm not sure if the other two were quite so lucky. Good times!
The end is exhilarating too, of course. The finish is in sight, the crowd are cheering and you know the pain will be over in just a few moments. You sometimes even start looking forward to the next race as you pass over the finish line and enjoy the satisfaction of a challenge met and overcome, when just ten minutes earlier you'd been wondering why on earth anyone would subject themselves to such brutal agony.
But the middle. Oh the middle! The middle, to put it bluntly, is a bastard. The enthusiasm and fun of the start is a distant memory. The finish-line is an impossible dream. You're out there, by yourself, gasping for breath, legs screaming in pain, face often drenched in spittle or snot (yours or someone else's) and it's all you can do just to keep going. Can I finish? I daren't even think about the end yet. Okay, can I just make the next stride? Maybe. Yes, maybe I can manage that.
Right now, it feels like we're in the middle. Nobody really knows how much longer this lockdown is going to last, so mathematically it may or may not be the middle. But it feels like it. Five weeks ago I was enthusiastic and energetic, even looking forward to the chance to step out of life's current for a while. Now I find myself shouting at my five year old if he doesn't put on his socks quickly enough. Five weeks ago, maneuvering my trolley so as to keep a safe distance from other shoppers, and waiting patiently for an aisle to clear, seemed quite novel and charming, even fun. Now I'm forcing myself to smile and have to fight the urge to shout - "Sod this, who's up for a game of Aldi dodgems!"
The middle is tough. Physically and mentally it's hard. What encouragement is there to be had? Well, the most enjoyable part of the whole-cross country running experience was always the after-race social. We did it boys! Every one of us went through the same pain and suffering, and now we're here and we can laugh about it and it's brought us all closer together. Well, apart from that poor bloke who Joe Shepherd dragged to the ground...
Good luck with your middle everyone! One stride at a time. Don't even think about the finish-line yet. But do believe that you will get there.
PS - One of my favourite ever poems is 'Aristotle' by Billy Collins, which is very relevant to all this. Highly recommended!
Back in my foolish days of cross-country running it was always the middle of the race, both psychologically and physically, that was the toughest part to endure. I have generally fond memories of the start: even though stripping down to a vest and shorts in the middle of January and feeling your appendage shrink to the size of a chipstick wasn't always a barrel of laughs, there was a great camaraderie on the start-line and during the early parts of the race.
I remember a race in University days when the temperature was below freezing and, seconds before the start, the sky turned black and we runners huddled together whilst being battered by a hailstorm. The marshals (brief aside: if sadism is your thing then find out how to be a cross-country race official) decided to start the race anyway, and it was hilariously good fun. For about fourteen seconds. On another occasion, I remember laughing hysterically at a team-mate who fell flat on his face in the first fifty or so yards, only to trip myself as I hurdled his prostrate body, face-plant just in front of him, and then bring down another runner by hauling myself up on his thighs. In a crowded field of about 400 runners, I somehow managed to avoid getting spiked. I'm not sure if the other two were quite so lucky. Good times!
The end is exhilarating too, of course. The finish is in sight, the crowd are cheering and you know the pain will be over in just a few moments. You sometimes even start looking forward to the next race as you pass over the finish line and enjoy the satisfaction of a challenge met and overcome, when just ten minutes earlier you'd been wondering why on earth anyone would subject themselves to such brutal agony.
But the middle. Oh the middle! The middle, to put it bluntly, is a bastard. The enthusiasm and fun of the start is a distant memory. The finish-line is an impossible dream. You're out there, by yourself, gasping for breath, legs screaming in pain, face often drenched in spittle or snot (yours or someone else's) and it's all you can do just to keep going. Can I finish? I daren't even think about the end yet. Okay, can I just make the next stride? Maybe. Yes, maybe I can manage that.
Right now, it feels like we're in the middle. Nobody really knows how much longer this lockdown is going to last, so mathematically it may or may not be the middle. But it feels like it. Five weeks ago I was enthusiastic and energetic, even looking forward to the chance to step out of life's current for a while. Now I find myself shouting at my five year old if he doesn't put on his socks quickly enough. Five weeks ago, maneuvering my trolley so as to keep a safe distance from other shoppers, and waiting patiently for an aisle to clear, seemed quite novel and charming, even fun. Now I'm forcing myself to smile and have to fight the urge to shout - "Sod this, who's up for a game of Aldi dodgems!"
The middle is tough. Physically and mentally it's hard. What encouragement is there to be had? Well, the most enjoyable part of the whole-cross country running experience was always the after-race social. We did it boys! Every one of us went through the same pain and suffering, and now we're here and we can laugh about it and it's brought us all closer together. Well, apart from that poor bloke who Joe Shepherd dragged to the ground...
Good luck with your middle everyone! One stride at a time. Don't even think about the finish-line yet. But do believe that you will get there.
PS - One of my favourite ever poems is 'Aristotle' by Billy Collins, which is very relevant to all this. Highly recommended!
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Rules and Regulations!
“God? Well, I tell ya, let me give you a little inside information about God.
God likes to watch. He’s a prankster. Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift and then what does He do? I swear, for his own amusement, his own private cosmic gag reel, he sets the rules in opposition. It’s the goof of all time!
Look, but don’t touch.
Touch, but don’t taste.
Taste, don’t swallow.
And while you’re jumping from one foot to the next, what is He doing?
He’s laughing his sick, fucking ass off!”
Just reading the words don’t really do them justice to be honest. When Al Pacino (playing the Devil, naturally) delivers these lines at the climax of the movie ‘The Devil’s Advocate’, he spits them out at his terrifying, menacing best. No-one delivers the lines quite like Pacino! You watch and listen to some of his iconic speeches, like this one, and you’re either too transfixed or too terrified to disagree!
On the other hand, it kind of helps to have them written down. It gives you the opportunity to read them, re-read them, think about them and judge them dispassionately, without Pacino’s electrifying delivery influencing you one way or the other. I know it’s just a movie, I know it’s not there to be taken literally or even particularly seriously, but I had a friend at University who used this speech as his entire basis for trying to discredit my Christian faith, and I think Pacino’s words reflect what lots of people think about Christianity and religion in general. Is that fair? Is it accurate? Is the gospel according to Al more reliable and trustworthy than the ones that were written two thousand years ago?
I’d rather steal money from Al Pacino, Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro then text them my address than pompously claim to be certain about any of these things, but one thing I’ve come to believe over the years is this: Christianity isn’t about following rules. I believe in a God who doesn’t want people to follow a set of commands. There are only two that matter to him:
“Love the Lord your God…and love your neighbour as yourself.”
That’s it. It doesn’t get any more complicated. And over the years some Christians, usually with the best of intentions, have extrapolated rules and regulations from this that have missed the point.
“Don’t ever have sex outside of marriage!”
No. Don’t have sex in a way that isn’t loving and kind.
“Don’t swear!”
No. Don’t use language in a way that isn’t loving and kind.
“Don’t drink or smoke!”
No. Don’t treat your body in a way that isn’t loving and kind.
“Those who don’t believe what we believe will go to hell!”
No. No. No. Be loving. Be kind. And don’t you dare judge another person whose circumstances you know nothing about.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s okay to touch, taste and swallow, so long as it’s done in a way that is loving and…you get the idea. Love the Lord your God. Love your neighbour as yourself. It’ll make you, your neighbour and God happier than anything else ever will.
Now excuse me while I go and watch Gavin and Stacey, because after half an hour of listening to scary Al Pacino speeches I need to go and laugh my fucking ass off.
God likes to watch. He’s a prankster. Think about it. He gives man instincts. He gives you this extraordinary gift and then what does He do? I swear, for his own amusement, his own private cosmic gag reel, he sets the rules in opposition. It’s the goof of all time!
Look, but don’t touch.
Touch, but don’t taste.
Taste, don’t swallow.
And while you’re jumping from one foot to the next, what is He doing?
He’s laughing his sick, fucking ass off!”
Just reading the words don’t really do them justice to be honest. When Al Pacino (playing the Devil, naturally) delivers these lines at the climax of the movie ‘The Devil’s Advocate’, he spits them out at his terrifying, menacing best. No-one delivers the lines quite like Pacino! You watch and listen to some of his iconic speeches, like this one, and you’re either too transfixed or too terrified to disagree!
On the other hand, it kind of helps to have them written down. It gives you the opportunity to read them, re-read them, think about them and judge them dispassionately, without Pacino’s electrifying delivery influencing you one way or the other. I know it’s just a movie, I know it’s not there to be taken literally or even particularly seriously, but I had a friend at University who used this speech as his entire basis for trying to discredit my Christian faith, and I think Pacino’s words reflect what lots of people think about Christianity and religion in general. Is that fair? Is it accurate? Is the gospel according to Al more reliable and trustworthy than the ones that were written two thousand years ago?
I’d rather steal money from Al Pacino, Joe Pesci and Robert De Niro then text them my address than pompously claim to be certain about any of these things, but one thing I’ve come to believe over the years is this: Christianity isn’t about following rules. I believe in a God who doesn’t want people to follow a set of commands. There are only two that matter to him:
“Love the Lord your God…and love your neighbour as yourself.”
That’s it. It doesn’t get any more complicated. And over the years some Christians, usually with the best of intentions, have extrapolated rules and regulations from this that have missed the point.
“Don’t ever have sex outside of marriage!”
No. Don’t have sex in a way that isn’t loving and kind.
“Don’t swear!”
No. Don’t use language in a way that isn’t loving and kind.
“Don’t drink or smoke!”
No. Don’t treat your body in a way that isn’t loving and kind.
“Those who don’t believe what we believe will go to hell!”
No. No. No. Be loving. Be kind. And don’t you dare judge another person whose circumstances you know nothing about.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s okay to touch, taste and swallow, so long as it’s done in a way that is loving and…you get the idea. Love the Lord your God. Love your neighbour as yourself. It’ll make you, your neighbour and God happier than anything else ever will.
Now excuse me while I go and watch Gavin and Stacey, because after half an hour of listening to scary Al Pacino speeches I need to go and laugh my fucking ass off.
Sunday, April 12, 2020
Home-schooling
For the last three and a half weeks since the schools closed, I've been looking after my 5 year old on most working days between 9 and 2.30, whilst Mummy works. It was a venture that began with enthusiasm and noble intent, but as time has passed it has become more an issue of survival. It is possible that other parents in a similar situation might relate to this. It is also possible that I'm just a lazy, feckless father. Some of the following really happened. Some is either exaggeration or wishful thinking. Sadly, I think it's unlikely you'd accurately be able to work out which is which.
School closure day 1
School closure day 4
School closure day 14
School closure day 1
- 9am - Do PE on Youtube with Joe Wicks. Complete the entire session.
- 10am - Reading and phonics: compiled a list of all words, digraphs and trigraphs that he's struggling with and told him we'd re-visit them on a daily basis
- 10.30am - Healthy snack for me and him
- 11.30am - Number games on the lap-top. Mild frustration that he doesn't have better control over the mouse-pad, but otherwise fine
- 12 - Lunch
- 1pm - Art, create an ocean scene. My depiction of a humpback whale is genuinely brilliant, whereas his octopus looks like a talking dandelion on drugs. Never mind, he'll learn.
- 2pm - Television, strictly limited to 30 minutes
- 2.30pm - Television. Just another 15 then.
- 2.45pm - Read a story
- 3pm - Go for a pleasant walk with Mummy
- 3.30pm - Mummy takes over
School closure day 4
- 9am - Do PE on Youtube. Stop after 5 minutes because he wants to do Just Dance instead. We do Ghostbusters and Gangnam Style. He was rubbish. I killed it.
- 10am - Reading and phonics. After about six pages I want to punch Biff and Chip in the face, so we read Batman comics instead.
- 10.30am - Healthy snack for him. I have a satsuma while he's watching, then hide behind the fridge and neck three chocolate biscuits. I put a beer in the fridge...for later.
- 11.30am - Television. Bit earlier today. Still strictly 30 minutes.
- 12 - Lunch
- 1pm - Science. He wants to do the experiment after we've watched the Youtube video but I can't remember what it was because Maddie Moate is quite fit.
- 2pm - Television. No harm in it
- 2.30 - Television. Don't judge me.
- 3pm - Go for a walk with Mummy. Get a bit shouty when his scooter crashes into the hedge for the fourteenth time. Otherwise nice.
- 3.30pm - Mummy takes over.
School closure day 9
- 9am - We're both fed up of watching what Russell Brand would look and sound like if he took steroids, so Joe Wicks can do one. Instead we dance to Shakira's Waka Waka on Youtube. Four times. So that we can...get the moves right.
- 10am - Reading. With some help from me, he masters the tricky words 'Snickers' and 'Mars' before we both eat them to reward ourselves.
- 10.30am - Ice-cream for him, chilled beer for me. I'd put it in the fridge at 7. He burps loudly and I'm convinced I can do better, so we have a contest.
- 11am - Television. Fast and Furious 2. My choice.
- 12 - Lunch. Pot Noodles.
- 1pm - Televsion. Film to finish.
- 2.30pm - Television. His choice. And to be honest, I prefer Octonauts to Fast and Furious anyway.
- 3pm - Go for a walk with Mummy. No scooter. I hold his hand, wrist or head all the way. Only way I can get through this.
- 3.30pm - Mummy takes over.
School closure day 14
- 9am - Youtube videos. My choice
- 10am - Youtube videos. His choice
- 10.30am - Four-pack for me, ice-cream for him. Share a cigarette in the garden.
- 11am - I've earned some PPA time, so he amuses himself in the garden with the lighter for an hour.
- 12 - Lunch. Chocolate biscuits and Wotsits.
- 1pm - TV marathon. Bob the Builder series 2, Super-ted series 4 and Scooby Doo series 6.
- 3pm - Go for a walk with Mummy. Particular low point is him turning around and shouting at me "Daddy you're a great big penis!" while we're passing other people. Their interpretation of social distancing very quickly increases from 2 metres to about 40.
Oh, and that last bullet point was neither exaggeration nor wishful thinking.
Sunday, April 5, 2020
Don't touch me
My last post was about the silver linings that are all around us, despite the anxiety and heartache of present circumstances. On a personal level, it wasn't an exhaustive list of positives: hopefully we can all find encouragement in the reduction in pollution levels and increased community spirit that Covid 19 has fostered, but for me (and I suspect others unfortunate enough to have similar hang-ups) another welcome benefit to all of this is social distancing. People other than my wife and son are being told that they have to stay at least 2 metres away from me, and all that I have to say about that is....thank God and about time!
I like other people. I really, really do. I appreciate their gifts, talents, quirks and idiosyncrasies enormously. I have fantastic friends, brilliant colleagues and a wonderful extended family. I also enjoy meeting new people. Well...I can usually tolerate it with a smile. But I've always struggled with the whole physical touch thing. When to hug...when to shake hands...when, how and where to kiss... If someone else confidently takes the initiative then I'm up for anything, but if there's even a hint of uncertainty on their part then I'm a complete mess, and the encounter is likely to result either in them thinking I'm distant and cold, or in me putting myself in serious jeopardy of being arrested for some form of assault.
Take church, for example. I love church and am missing it a great deal at the moment. But I hate...hate...hate sharing the peace. For the uninitiated, this is a point in the service when the vicar or service leader announces to the congregation "The peace of the Lord be with you," and the congregation responds "And also with you." Following this, the congregation are expected to approach as many people as possible, within a time frame of between one and five minutes (and I'm literally in hell when it's at the longer end) and 'share the peace'. How exactly this is done is open to interpretation: dependent on the congregation and the individual, it ranges from a smile and nod of the head to an act of sexual foreplay.
What on earth am I supposed to do? If the peace-sharer is male then a handshake seems appropriate, although I'm up for a hug of no longer than 1.5 seconds. When they're female, however, it's a minefield of spiritual etiquette. I'd feel most comfortable with a smile or handshake, but this seems quite formal and 'masculine'. Will they feel that my peace-sharing is sincere if I'm not up for a bit more? A kiss on the cheek? Possibly, but if I move in and she doesn't then I'm either going to nut her or look like I want a snog. A hug? Maybe, but how to position my body? Clasp her to my chest and again she's going to think that the peace I really want is a piece of her. Stick my arse out and hug with weak arms and I may as well be telling her that she's a leper.
The whole thing is horrendous! I'd be much happier if sharing the peace was permanently done in the spirit of Covid 19: friendly and sincerely expressed good wishes from a safe distance. The way it's currently done is really quite ironic, because for me it's the least peaceful part of the whole service.
It's a cause of frequent anxiety at work too. It's someone's birthday...it's the last day before a holiday...it's the first day back after a holiday...someone's upset...someone's happy. What on earth to do! Again, if the recipient is very clear and deliberate about what they want then I'll go along with anything (up to a point) but if they're even a little bit unsure then I literally agonize about how to walk the tightrope between coming across like some frigid Victorian schoolmaster, or a deviant predator.
My birthday last year was a horror show at work. A female colleague burst into my classroom, smiling and enthusiastic, wishing me a happy birthday. I was sitting at my desk and she bounded up to me, covering the considerable distance between the door and my chair at a surprising pace. "Oh right, she's up for it," I thought to myself. "I think I've read this one right: it's going to be a hug." So confident was I in my interpretation of her behaviour, I stood and moved forward to make the embrace. At that moment (and I shudder to recall this) she kind of froze mid-bound and just looked at me with wide eyes. I immediately doubted that the hug was what she wanted, but I was so physically committed to it that to back out would have been unbearably awkward, so I kind of grabbed her and pulled her to me for a tenth of a second, then sat down immediately and couldn't look her in the eyes. She left the room mumbling and simpering in what were clear signs of PTSD (at least it sounded like it to me) and I avoided speaking to her for about a month afterwards.
Other people are so good at this! It comes to them so naturally, and needless to say the insecure voice in my head tells me that it's because they're either more popular or more attractive (or at least slightly less repulsive) than me. I'd be so much happier if it was all written down. A hug for this person in this situation; a handshake for this; a pat on the back for that.
Actually, I'd probably be happier if everyone apart from my nearest and dearest just kept their distance. So please people, let's keep saving lives: maintain social distance; stay at least two metres away from anyone you don't live with.
Oh, and we should probably do what we can to stop Coronavirus too.
I like other people. I really, really do. I appreciate their gifts, talents, quirks and idiosyncrasies enormously. I have fantastic friends, brilliant colleagues and a wonderful extended family. I also enjoy meeting new people. Well...I can usually tolerate it with a smile. But I've always struggled with the whole physical touch thing. When to hug...when to shake hands...when, how and where to kiss... If someone else confidently takes the initiative then I'm up for anything, but if there's even a hint of uncertainty on their part then I'm a complete mess, and the encounter is likely to result either in them thinking I'm distant and cold, or in me putting myself in serious jeopardy of being arrested for some form of assault.
Take church, for example. I love church and am missing it a great deal at the moment. But I hate...hate...hate sharing the peace. For the uninitiated, this is a point in the service when the vicar or service leader announces to the congregation "The peace of the Lord be with you," and the congregation responds "And also with you." Following this, the congregation are expected to approach as many people as possible, within a time frame of between one and five minutes (and I'm literally in hell when it's at the longer end) and 'share the peace'. How exactly this is done is open to interpretation: dependent on the congregation and the individual, it ranges from a smile and nod of the head to an act of sexual foreplay.
What on earth am I supposed to do? If the peace-sharer is male then a handshake seems appropriate, although I'm up for a hug of no longer than 1.5 seconds. When they're female, however, it's a minefield of spiritual etiquette. I'd feel most comfortable with a smile or handshake, but this seems quite formal and 'masculine'. Will they feel that my peace-sharing is sincere if I'm not up for a bit more? A kiss on the cheek? Possibly, but if I move in and she doesn't then I'm either going to nut her or look like I want a snog. A hug? Maybe, but how to position my body? Clasp her to my chest and again she's going to think that the peace I really want is a piece of her. Stick my arse out and hug with weak arms and I may as well be telling her that she's a leper.
The whole thing is horrendous! I'd be much happier if sharing the peace was permanently done in the spirit of Covid 19: friendly and sincerely expressed good wishes from a safe distance. The way it's currently done is really quite ironic, because for me it's the least peaceful part of the whole service.
It's a cause of frequent anxiety at work too. It's someone's birthday...it's the last day before a holiday...it's the first day back after a holiday...someone's upset...someone's happy. What on earth to do! Again, if the recipient is very clear and deliberate about what they want then I'll go along with anything (up to a point) but if they're even a little bit unsure then I literally agonize about how to walk the tightrope between coming across like some frigid Victorian schoolmaster, or a deviant predator.
My birthday last year was a horror show at work. A female colleague burst into my classroom, smiling and enthusiastic, wishing me a happy birthday. I was sitting at my desk and she bounded up to me, covering the considerable distance between the door and my chair at a surprising pace. "Oh right, she's up for it," I thought to myself. "I think I've read this one right: it's going to be a hug." So confident was I in my interpretation of her behaviour, I stood and moved forward to make the embrace. At that moment (and I shudder to recall this) she kind of froze mid-bound and just looked at me with wide eyes. I immediately doubted that the hug was what she wanted, but I was so physically committed to it that to back out would have been unbearably awkward, so I kind of grabbed her and pulled her to me for a tenth of a second, then sat down immediately and couldn't look her in the eyes. She left the room mumbling and simpering in what were clear signs of PTSD (at least it sounded like it to me) and I avoided speaking to her for about a month afterwards.
Other people are so good at this! It comes to them so naturally, and needless to say the insecure voice in my head tells me that it's because they're either more popular or more attractive (or at least slightly less repulsive) than me. I'd be so much happier if it was all written down. A hug for this person in this situation; a handshake for this; a pat on the back for that.
Actually, I'd probably be happier if everyone apart from my nearest and dearest just kept their distance. So please people, let's keep saving lives: maintain social distance; stay at least two metres away from anyone you don't live with.
Oh, and we should probably do what we can to stop Coronavirus too.
Tuesday, March 31, 2020
Silver linings
There's a lot to feel anxious about at the moment. My daily read through some of the headlines on the BBC news site is an important part of the day, because I want to stay informed, but it's also something I need to psyche myself up for: it leaves me feeling depressed and worried and I generally need to follow it up with a can of beer and something mindless and distracting on the TV.
I don't know about you, though, but I also have moments throughout the day when I feel optimistic, encouraged, even quite positive about everything that's going on at the moment. There have been a few articles and comments doing the rounds that have encouraged us to try and look on the brighter side of life during these present troubles, and whilst mine will certainly add nothing revolutionary or radical to the mix, it will serve as a useful reminder (to me at least) that for every cloud...yeah, that.
The impact on the environment
There are encouraging reports around the world of significant drops in air pollution, reductions in harmful gases going into the environment and the residents of Venice seeing fish in their canals for the first time in generations. A vast reduction in vehicles on the roads and planes in the sky will hopefully give our exhausted planet the vacation it needs from the harmful things that we inflict on it. I bet wildlife all over the world is loving it too: I feel quite emotional when I see the birds, bees and plants being able to get on with their lives without having to survive the usual swarm of humans all around them.
Exercise
Being told that I can only exercise once a day has made me, for the first time in at least twenty five years, exercise once a day. My ambition to emerge from this lockdown with a physique like Anthony Joshua is almost certainly misguided. I might just, however, be a fitter and healthier version of myself.
Keeping your friends close
For the first time in years, I'm making a deliberate and regular effort to call friends and family. I'm usually rubbish at doing this: I hate talking on the phone, my life gets all too easily consumed by the 'here and now', and I take the people who are closest to me for granted, assuming that they'll always be there and that "I can always call them tomorrow." Now, though, I hate the fact that they I can't see them or that they might be sick or lonely. I love these people. Coronavirus has helped me to actually do something about it.
Gratitiude for my job
It saddens me that I no longer get to see the class of children whose year with me was so abruptly halted. It saddens me that I can't go to work and do the job that I have grown to love. I'm also enormously grateful that I do a job which makes a real difference to people's lives, and I thank God that I have a salary which has so far been protected throughout this crisis. And I pray that He will watch over and provide for those who are less fortunate.
Gratitude for my family
There have been moments when my wife and son have driven me to distraction over the past couple of weeks, and there will be many more such moments. I also wouldn't be without them right now for anything in the world. I appreciate their personalities, temperaments, strengths and skills a whole lot more as we spend each day supporting each other through this period of lockdown. I'll try to remember all of this when life gets back to normal.
A new appreciation for others
It goes without saying how much admiration we all have for the medics, scientists and emergency services who are on the front line and working tirelessly to keep us safe. But how much respect did we previously give to cleaners, supermarket workers and delivery drivers? When we eventually beat this thing, their contribution will have been as important as anyone's. If this virus teaches us to be a bit less snooty and a bit more appreciative of those who do these jobs, then it will have done all of us a great service.
Ubuntu
I came across this South African word the other day. It means 'I am because of you'. Or, as Simba sings to his daughter Kiara in The Lion King 2, "We are more than we are, We are One." So much of the hostility, vitriol and hatred that we've seen in recent years seems to spring from an individualistic mentality: to hell with the rest of you, I'm only looking out for myself/my family/my tribe. It's an insidious and poisonous ideology. Christianity has been teaching us for over two thousand years to love our neighbour, whoever he or she might be. Not because I want to make some noble act of sacrifice that will diminish me and enhance someone else, but because I can only ever be as prosperous, happy and healthy as I seek to make others. We're all making sacrifices at the moment for the benefit of other people. If we can carry on doing so after all of this has come to pass, then we'll have made a better world for everyone.
I don't know about you, though, but I also have moments throughout the day when I feel optimistic, encouraged, even quite positive about everything that's going on at the moment. There have been a few articles and comments doing the rounds that have encouraged us to try and look on the brighter side of life during these present troubles, and whilst mine will certainly add nothing revolutionary or radical to the mix, it will serve as a useful reminder (to me at least) that for every cloud...yeah, that.
The impact on the environment
There are encouraging reports around the world of significant drops in air pollution, reductions in harmful gases going into the environment and the residents of Venice seeing fish in their canals for the first time in generations. A vast reduction in vehicles on the roads and planes in the sky will hopefully give our exhausted planet the vacation it needs from the harmful things that we inflict on it. I bet wildlife all over the world is loving it too: I feel quite emotional when I see the birds, bees and plants being able to get on with their lives without having to survive the usual swarm of humans all around them.
Exercise
Being told that I can only exercise once a day has made me, for the first time in at least twenty five years, exercise once a day. My ambition to emerge from this lockdown with a physique like Anthony Joshua is almost certainly misguided. I might just, however, be a fitter and healthier version of myself.
Keeping your friends close
For the first time in years, I'm making a deliberate and regular effort to call friends and family. I'm usually rubbish at doing this: I hate talking on the phone, my life gets all too easily consumed by the 'here and now', and I take the people who are closest to me for granted, assuming that they'll always be there and that "I can always call them tomorrow." Now, though, I hate the fact that they I can't see them or that they might be sick or lonely. I love these people. Coronavirus has helped me to actually do something about it.
Gratitiude for my job
It saddens me that I no longer get to see the class of children whose year with me was so abruptly halted. It saddens me that I can't go to work and do the job that I have grown to love. I'm also enormously grateful that I do a job which makes a real difference to people's lives, and I thank God that I have a salary which has so far been protected throughout this crisis. And I pray that He will watch over and provide for those who are less fortunate.
Gratitude for my family
There have been moments when my wife and son have driven me to distraction over the past couple of weeks, and there will be many more such moments. I also wouldn't be without them right now for anything in the world. I appreciate their personalities, temperaments, strengths and skills a whole lot more as we spend each day supporting each other through this period of lockdown. I'll try to remember all of this when life gets back to normal.
A new appreciation for others
It goes without saying how much admiration we all have for the medics, scientists and emergency services who are on the front line and working tirelessly to keep us safe. But how much respect did we previously give to cleaners, supermarket workers and delivery drivers? When we eventually beat this thing, their contribution will have been as important as anyone's. If this virus teaches us to be a bit less snooty and a bit more appreciative of those who do these jobs, then it will have done all of us a great service.
Ubuntu
I came across this South African word the other day. It means 'I am because of you'. Or, as Simba sings to his daughter Kiara in The Lion King 2, "We are more than we are, We are One." So much of the hostility, vitriol and hatred that we've seen in recent years seems to spring from an individualistic mentality: to hell with the rest of you, I'm only looking out for myself/my family/my tribe. It's an insidious and poisonous ideology. Christianity has been teaching us for over two thousand years to love our neighbour, whoever he or she might be. Not because I want to make some noble act of sacrifice that will diminish me and enhance someone else, but because I can only ever be as prosperous, happy and healthy as I seek to make others. We're all making sacrifices at the moment for the benefit of other people. If we can carry on doing so after all of this has come to pass, then we'll have made a better world for everyone.
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