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I took my son on the evening dog walk and introduced him to the art of stone clearing, or at least introduced him to the 35 acres that will one day be his duty to continue clearing (in the unlikely event that I do not fulfil my goal in this life time). I didn’t really want to encourage him to throw stones or to accidentally clunk him on the head with a misthrown chunk of flint, so for now I was just familiarising him with the environment, whilst I surreptitiously filled the Brexit ditch (still working brilliantly) while he wasn’t looking. But stone clearing is innate and hard-wired into my DNA and I couldn’t stop him bravely running out into the stocean, with no regard for his own safety and he picked up stones and my heart filled with pride as he threw them. Sadly he was throwing them a) not very far and b) further on to the field, but there is time enough to teach him this complex craft. What is important is he gets the idea that stones are different and must be thrown, but only in safe circumstances.
He then became more interested in some puddles at the top of the field, which disappointed me. Splashing around in water helps no one and is a waste of time. But there is hope for the new generation. Let no one tell you that children aren’t interested in the old ways.
My daughter shows no interest in stones any more sadly (after a period where she would gather them and bring them home - which of course will only bring a curse) but she has a keen interest in jokes. And she’s already subverting formats, impressively before she’s even understood how the formats work. Here’s today’s knock knock joke
Knock knock
Who’s there?
Ketchup bottle.
Ketchup bottle who?
He’s always trying to make pizza. Err, that smells!
She thought the smell bit was the punchline, but the disparaging delivery of the pizza line made me laugh more. She looked delighted at getting the reaction of laughter. “You’re laughing daddy” she told me. She was pleased with herself. I recognised the look. I have spawned a monster.
