It's a Dad's Life:Every day the kids come pouring out of school. I get a bag and a jacket thrown at me and the elder takes off with her buddy in a sprint for the gate. There's a bit of "you're on", "no, you're on" action and then they retreat to their parents' legs. There they proceed to gleefully shout abuse at each other until the parties separate at the end of the laneway, writes Adam Brophy
Favourites include "you're a smelly skunk head" and "you're a stinking pooface". Bodily odour features regularly in this repartee.
We pile into the car and go wherever we're going. Often, we'll see the buddy again about 50 yards down the road. There will be a renewal of combat through the open window with increased energy, as now the battle has moved out into the world. For whatever reason, seeing your classmates outside the school gates is like spying a white leopard strolling down Grafton Street munching on a 12-inch sub. It merits much whooping and intrigue. These people live beyond the classroom. Who knew? The elder, and increasingly the younger, like to stalk their own kind in playgrounds and supermarkets. They circle cautiously, assessing hair, clothes and any accessories - wheelies, bikes, dolls, scooters, footballs, prams, they all say a lot about the owner. Once the butt-sniffing is complete, they either move away to more acceptable suitors, or move in for a closer inspection. This is an intense forging of friendship. It may be brief, but the effects could be far-reaching. Views will be exchanged, as will an inventory of possessions and likes and dislikes. Six-year-olds may be fickle, but they know what they want and they're not shy about telling you.
Of course, there are exceptions, the kids who find it hugely painful to engage with a peer. For them, the shy ones, the exposing of their personalities is a physical hardship that rarely gets easier with time. What does happen with time is a learning of acceptable societal behaviours that blanket our interactions with strangers and even friends. As we get older, we learn how to ease into homogenised conversations without having to display our own neuroses and anxieties. Fair enough, all very manageable, but you don't find each other's aroma mentioned in adjectival, verb or noun form in these exchanges.
A while back, in a fit of derring-do, I decided to speak more to strangers, and not just about the weather. As a result, I got to know all about Krakow where one of the girls working in my local Centra is from, and discovered a guy working in Xtra-vision is a remarkable poet. And I began to notice the duckers and get annoyed.
We've lived on our road nearly eight years. There's a family whose front door is not 40 feet from ours who have never acknowledged us. One night I backed into their car (not deliberately), owned up and in a fit of guilt forked out unquestioningly for the exorbitant amount the dad said it would cost to repair it. The day after he got the cash he went back to ignoring me.
One of the other dads in the creche appears everywhere I am - out walking, driving or running, and there he is. No matter how hard I try to stick my big head out and make eye contact, he stares ahead and goes by. Our paths cross daily, but there is no recognition.
Apart from panelling one guy's car, I can't have offended these fellas, because I haven't had the chance to. Give it time and it'll happen, but right now we operate like we're blind. Maybe their acquaintance quotas are full and I have to wait for an existing one to die before being invited in with a friendly nod. Maybe they're repulsed by my taste in shoes. Either way, I would take great pleasure in getting into a bit of personal odour discussion with them. The elder has been teaching me how.
