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At Little Gym one of the younger dads, who was about 6ft 6 and almost as broad shouldered was throwing his 3 year old son high into the air. I mean really high. He was genuinely nearly hitting the ceiling which was at least 15 ft high. The boy squealed with delight. Phoebe saw this and laughed and shouted “Me! Me!” Even if I was able to throw a child ten feet above my head I am not sure I would have the confidence to do so, but alas for Phoebe I can’t. And not just because I am nearing 50, though that doesn’t help. I threw her upwards anyway, though she never got more than an arm’s length away from me and I mainly didn’t even let go of her. But she still liked it. It probably felt to her like she was flying towards the ceiling. In time she will have to accept me for other attributes than strength and daring, but for now, she still thought she was getting the same ride.
I've never really been one of those short guys who is upset about being short (well maybe when I was a teenager a bit, but it's not driven me to despair as an adult). But I allowed myself a pang of jealousy and regret that I could not be that for my children. I have other things to offer. But who cares about that? We all just want a dad who can throw us impossible distances and then catch us. I mean occasionally one of us will be dropped and horribly injured, but that's part of the thrill.
She’s making me braver though. In the afternoon we went to a really local park with a playground that we’ve only just discovered (as we’re about to leave the area). In the middle is an artificial mound (like something out of the Tellytubbies) with a spiralling slide coming down from it. There are official stone steps up to the top, but Phoebe just dashed up the steep side of the hill, even though it looked impossible for someone of her size to make it without toppling and even though I was pretty terrified of making the ascent myself. But I had to give it a go, because of the fatherly duty to not allow your child to kill itself. We were both fine. There were a couple of wobbles, but we made it every time. Phoebe threw herself down the slide and decided it would be more fun if she rolled as she slid. She’s insane. But I love it. She’s grasping life and is hardly afraid of anything. Perhaps bitter experience will dent her confidence, but I am not going to. I thought I would be a pampering and over protective dad, but actually I enjoy helping her throw herself in harm’s way (whilst always hovering behind her, ready to catch her). I know that her derring-do will ultimately put me in a situation where I fall and break a hip or something, but my course has more or less run. I have to do my best to ensure her life is lived in less fear than mine.
Somehow we have created a cool child. My wife is a dweeb and I am a nerd, but somehow our offspring has let us down with an until now dormant swagger gene. She’s confident with other kids and shakes it off if they’re six and so don’t want to babble along with her and she also has attitude. I took a photo of her wearing a new outfit and her sunglasses and she just stared at me, unsmilingly. I said “Say cheese,” but she just posed without smiling. Once the photo was done she allowed herself a sly smirk. She knew what she was doing. She knew she was cool. And I don’t think she’s ever been under any illusions that I am cool. It’s going to be a long time before she understands my intrinsic value and I will be long gone by then. But I am delighted to have such a spirited and confident daughter. And I vow to do nothing but encourage those attributes. That’s why I am secretly and ultimately cool.
I do love being a dad. It’s ridiculous that I left it so long. It’s the job that I think I am most suited to. I should be on my third family by now, with the grown up kids from my first marriage raising their eyebrows at me. But due to my selfishness those eyebrows never got to exist, let alone be raised, so who’s the ultimate winner? Me or my non-existent family from my twenties? It is me. Take that unfertilised sexcrement.
The final The Best of the tour was tonight. Numbers has picked up a little bit and it was another good crowd. I wasn’t quite as on top of my game as I was night where everything came out crisp and sharply. I made some almost imperceptible stumbles and garbled the odd word. Not enough to spoil anyone’s enjoyment, just annoying for me that this was the show that was being taped. Maybe the second half was better than last night though and literally no one except me would spot the differences.
I doubt that it’s the last time that I will ever perform those routines - I mean hopefully there’s another best of in me in another 30 years time and I can’t imagine the genealogy of Christ or the racists being more liberal than liberals routines wouldn’t still be in there. But I am proud of the way that I have made all this stuff stick together (and the fun I have had in the bits that don’t quite), turning it into a show which still has many callbacks and a conclusion that draws the themes of the piece together. The weirdest thing is how much the genealogy of me, with the made up and joke names of my supposed ancestors, includes so many odd words that showed up in the previous routines. I didn’t expressly organise it so that that would happen - it’s the same genealogy that I used back in 2011. It’s more to do with my obsessions with hubris and pudenda and urethras, but still….
We will make the audio available on download at some point. There are some jokes in there that aren’t from other shows (though some of those may get an airing in Oh Frig I’m 50!) and most of the routines have some new bits. It will be worth the small amount of money we will ask you to part with.
