How true ...

'She hated conclusions. They sat there like sirens, luring the scholar onto the rocks of pomposity and complacency'
p326, Hemingway's Chair, Michael Palin.

Sadly, I am struggling to avoid the treacherous waters right now!

Soap flowers

96 red roses
miniscule chocolates in embellished wooden boxes
soap flowers (really, whose bright idea was that?!)
giant teddy bears
Clinton cards, Beaverbrooks necklaces and Vistaprint photos
candlelit cakes at midnight and surprise barbecues
been there and done them all


The balance has tipped this year - for I have
now known her for more than half our lives
A point of no return, an invisible
yet indelible line in time


So what do I do for her birthday?
More cakes or cards or chocolates, perhaps
Or may be soap flowers (!) yet again ...


Midnight, in the electric blue glow
of the clock radio
I see her sleeping between
the two little people
who fill our lives


I creep - awkward and graceless
till my lips are next to her ear
and whisper "Happy Birthday"
which brings a hint of a smile
to her sleeping face


...
......
.........


the thing is

I'm skinned!

Finishing school for cavemen

Lesson 1: Personal hygiene
Caveman (Cm) is humming innocently (and rather tunelessly) in the shower as he splashes about, happy to have a recently discovered opposable thumb when suddenly the bathroom door bursts open and Pretty Face (PF) storms in.
PF: Have you been using my shampoo instead of shower gel?
Cm: What shampoo?
PF: The one in the bottle you are holding upside down!
Cm: You mean this? It would be good if it says so on the bottle...
PF: It is blindingly obvious, if only you bother to read
Cm (reading aloud): 'Rainforest Moisture', you mean?
PF: Don't play dumb, you know the other one is the shower gel
Cm: Which one? the 'Hydrating cream oil'?
PF: Yes!
Cm: So the oil is actually soap and the one which sounds like a David Attenborough DVD is the shampoo?
PF (as she slams the door): Get your paws off my stuff and stop being so melodramatic!

Lesson 2: Cosmetology
Cm: Crunch munch, gobble gobble, Snort! BUUURRP!
PF: Stop making such a fuss - can you not eat like a human being once in a while?
Cm: Actually, I was just thinking how sophisticated my palate is - this new cheese spread is certainly an acquired taste
PF: What cheese spread?
Cm: The one you bought yesterday - pink grapefruit and strawberry
PF (between fits of giggles): That is face cream, my little monkey boy with the sophisticated palate!
Cm (nervous laugh): Oh - I knew that - just pulling your leg
(note to self: DO NOT mention the tub of cocoa butter that you licked clean last week)

Cm will eventually evolve - until then, at least he can parallel park!

Romantic interlude

We started the night before - nappies, wipes, extra milk bottles, white sleepsuits with grippy soles (and his special green one with the red dinosaur), sachets of paracetamol, a little pinafore for her and a sleeveless jumper for him, the toy mobile with flashing lights and the carrot flavoured finger food ... the little trolley suitcase looking more and more bulimic by the minute, disgorging contents shoved down its throat in a hurry, prompting recruitment of more bags and carryalls to mop up the moisturising cream (half kg tub!) and the toothbrushes with the flashing lights and bunny rabbits, desperate attempts to find a spare corner to stuff an electric shaver and a phone charger before finally zipping up the chaos, substituting grunts for swear words, mindful of the excited young audience looking up at their ugly father's night time antics...

The morning after is not short on last minute panic as prams and travel potties jostle each other, looking for elbow space amongst the corpulent luggage piled high in the boot (this is just a day trip, for crying out loud!) as I wonder for the umpteenth time why babies do not come with a statutory warning - some much needed small print, even if insincere, at least a pretence of an apology so that parents can ease their way into domestic madness...

They are finally in their car seats, having gone through stages of loving hugs and bribes for good behaviour through to threats of prespecified geometric indoor real estate - corners - full of naughtiness it seems, as if hallowed ground dedicated to smiling Gods of mischief. One is sobbing, throwing the odd accusatory glance at her father whilst the other kicks the back of my seat with a systematic thoroughness that would put a German to shame - I decide not to stoop low or rise to the occassion, not from any dietary surplus of moral fibre, but rather from sheer lack of super charged mitochondria, the latter having depleted all in the barely controlled chaos of the last twelve hours...

As I drive up the ramp onto the motorway, my hand slips off the gearknob to find a long lost companion, delicately turned fingers lace through mine for all of thirty seconds before one of them (not sure which and don't really care) starts afresh in the backseat, demanding the attention of it's more attractive parent...

My romantic interlude over, I am alone again as I focus on the road ahead, direct my frustrations at the lorry in the slow lane and prepare myself for another day of pure unadulterated fun!

kindergarten dream

Nursery debriefing in full swing

'What did you do today?'
'Did you have your lunch?'
'Were you naughty?'

He fields every question
but his answer
kills the conversation
abruptly, brutally
'I played with Black Natalie ...'

His middle class parents
are shocked into embarrassed silence
Even though it is a private
conversation, with
no audience to judge them

Unspoken questions hitch a ride
on worried glances:
'Where did we go wrong?'
'Are we closet racists?'

Mental hand wringing abounds
as political correctness lies bleeding

Oblivious to the drama
unfolding in silence around him
He restores peace in an instant
in his inimitable innocence:
'... as Red Natalie was too busy to play'


Of course, in his two year old eyes
the colour of someone's clothes
trumps the colour of their skin

And why not? after all
there is more of the former
on display when we look at
one another

If only the adult world
could live up to his
kindergarten dream

not saying much

there are certain people
who make you feel at ease
even when you share silence
in the confines of shared space

they people your silences
with their unsaid words
and oddly enough

you miss their share of silence
in your silent solitude

an orange ball in the laundry bin
and a green one in my left shoe
a little pink dolphin stuck on my remote
and a blue penguin on the kitchen cupboard

the fridge smiles like a battle scarred veteran
its face pock marked by letters
as if someone splashed
alphabet soup all over it

little giggles in my book case
and impish grins in the wardrobe
my house is invaded by
childhood

and so is my car
with the biscuit crumbs in its
un-hooverable depths
and muddy footprints on the back of my seat

as I clean up the last mess
and wait for the next
I pause to send a grateful thought
to the great beyond
for the irreversible entropy
of parenthood

perspective

Next time your computer freezes, you have a choice:

either get angry and frustrated
OR
compose a little haiku

this is my version:
'the naughty little hourglass
does cartwheels...
as my desktop meditates'

I know it isn't saying much, but it helps me get through the day...

Robots go walking in our woods

I went out last weekend
walking with him
in the woods behind our house

He started off quite keen and
full of beans, but soon lost
his fizz and wanted me
to carry him on my shoulders
little legs straddling my neck
and muddy shoes brushing against
my lapel, much
to my annoyance

We looked at the path, all covered
with ground moss and dead
leaves, all shades of yellow
as if Nature, like some home makeover
lady, had spread out pastel shade
samples on the floor
undecided as yet
about the colour of this hallway

The sunlight filtering through the branches
leaves unruly scribbles of light and shade
on the leaves scrunching underfoot -
clearly Nature is a busy mother
who like all other,
decides 'that will do'
on seeing the state
of her house

There in the tall grass he spies
a patch of blue
and points silently
we walk towards it - shiny,
pearlescent, with little grains under
the smooth  surface that
catch the light

An odd shape - what is it?
we ponder for a moment before
deciding - it must be the
kneeplate of a robot - you know
the part behind the knee,
where the leg bends?
We think that's where it came from

The robot must have been
out walking in our woods
when he sat down
in the long grass
to change his kneeplate

that made perfect sense

so we walked on

amongst the
autumn leaves
falling
in silence
all around us

Q: What do you call
the time it takes
for a leaf to fall
in the woods
behind your house
when you are out walking
with your two year old son?

A: A magic moment

I see a father in the mirror

'This is my child, he said. I wash a dead man's brains out of his hair. That is my job'
Cormac McCarthy, The Road, p77

... and so it goes, unrelenting, holding no punches, raw and honest. It was certainly one of the most harrowing books I read. And at the same time, I am glad I read it now and not before I became a father. There is a danger that you read books before their time - or rather before the time in your life for them to really talk to you, to hold you and shake you and smother you - sometimes with beauty, sometimes with pain.

It was a book that demanded and warranted respect and careful treading, a book I could only read in short bursts, for anymore was sensory overload.

Above all, it was about fatherhood, tender and brutal in equal measure, just like the real thing where someone imperfect who has not yet understood how the world works, tries to be a role model for someone innocent who looks to him for guidance, shelter and love.

in search of grace

'Every man follows his own path in search of grace, whatever that grace may be ... without our knowing whether this closes or finally opens the path or where the path may lead us ...'
Jose Saramago, Baltasar and Blimunda, p166

This resonates with me perhaps more than I expected it to, for reasons which I am trying to map out.

So bear with me.

What is grace?
Having searched the various meanings of the word, the closest I came to which would explain why it feels special in the current context is when grace means 'divine kindness'.

And why is this important? For it explains what I do and it is as if I have understood my actions, as if I have read an all important footnote which changes mere ritual into something meaningful.

Where lies grace for a generic human?

Is it in the toothless smile of a child?

Is it in the holding of a hand, delicate and loving with just the right amount of pressure to know someone cares?

Is it in the sense of achievement that comes after a long and painful wait filled with dark thoughts and desperation?

Is it in words of appreciation or recognition, words which lift you above the mundane even if transient?

Is it in the company of grief and loss punctuated by a loved one's tears?

Does grace fill those fleeting moments where one regains the innocence to believe in beauty, the courage to think with one's heart and the conviction to act for the greater good?

Perhaps grace is a place where the human becomes less generic.

'The world seems resistant but carries within it for ever the desire to be transformed into something higher'
Ben Okri, A way of being free, p6

Boys to men

He woke me up
We drove together in silence
He held my hand
As we walked into the colourful place
With kind ladies and smiling kids
We looked around in silence

When we parted company
There was a hint of sadness
- a subtle quiver of his upper lip
As he hugged me
And then moved away

I was alone

As I put on a brave face
and prepared to face the world,
I thought:
Life IS funny...

For, this was today
He is two
and I am his big and ugly father
Who felt like crying
just because it was his first day
at the nursery
and I could see that
he was trying hard not to cry
just for my sake...