Sleeping on the job of fatherhood
When I was a boy, my Dad insisted we experience some culture.
‘We’ is me and my two older brothers.
‘Culture’ is ballet.
‘Experience’ is getting dragged along to a performance.
The three of us, all done up. Hair brushed. Shirts tucked in. Shoes on our feet. Scuffing as we dragged them into Newcastle’s Civic Theatre, but on our feet nonetheless.
But Dad had insisted. And when my Dad insisted, nobody dared argue. At least not loudly and not for long.
And so we filed into our seats, the youngest members of the audience by several decades.
The ballet started.
My father promptly fell asleep.
He may have snored in tune to the music. Or perhaps my memory is corrupted.
While he was dreaming of better places, we were sinking as low in our seats as possible. Desperately embarrassed by the unconscious lump beside us.
That lesson in culture left scars. I have certainly never returned to a ballet concert. Or recital. Or performance. Or whatever it’s called.
So, when fatherhood pirouetted into my reality, I set my own stage for how I’d behave.
A simple checklist of wills and won’ts.
High on my ever-expanding list is a promise that I won’t force my child to endure something she has no interest in.
To balance that out, I will wholeheartedly encourage her interests and expose her to as many different experiences as possible, so she can make an informed choice.
It was with this in mind we went to the Queensland Museum, without visiting the dinosaur garden.
It was a fantastic exhibition. Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures.
Miss Marvel was into it. There was, after all, a crown. A crown means a princess. A princess is always a winner.
We sat through the video and learned how staff from the National Museum, Kabul hid priceless artifacts during a Russian invasion.
I deflected questions about who wanted to destroy the crown.
We walked through the exhibition, marvelling at the ornate workmanship of the ancient jewellery. We saw the crown. That was enough for Miss Marvel.
I wanted to stay, but what about rule number one?
I won’t force my child to endure something she has no interest in.
It was time to go. It was time to go shopping.
Miss Marvel had brought along the contents of her piggy bank.
$26.50 in small change. There were so many coins I was surprised she could lift her bag.
But girls will be girls, so off we traipsed on our shopping expedition.
The mission was deceptively simple. Miss Marvel was determined to spend all her money on toys.
As it turned out, she wanted to spend all her money on the first toy she saw. And the second one. And every toy after that. Unless, of course, it was a ‘boy’ toy.
Four shops later; hundreds of toys later; $24.95 later we finally had a winner.
A pony castle. We already had ponies. We already had castles. But we hadn’t thought of combining the two until our shopping adventure.
To her credit, the shop assistant maintained a smile while she counted all those coins. Even shoppers behind me were patient.
My history lesson had somehow morphed into an economics tutorial. Once you spend your money, it’s gone. So spend it wisely, on something you will value.
Miss Marvel walked out carrying a bag so big it dragged along the ground, even though she held it up at her chin.
As I watched her struggling not to bump into people as she made her way through the mall, I wondered if I need to revisit rule two.
I will wholeheartedly encourage her interests
But what if this shopping experience is just the start? What if her interest has been caught? What if she graduates from toys to clothes? Or more frighteningly, shoes?
Maybe I don’t need to put my whole heart into encouragement.
Perhaps I could learn from my Dad all those years ago. And sleep through the worst of it.
Follow Michael on Twitter @MichaelCoombes
