It's a Dad's Life:We have a little routine going. It's something I always wanted, that we would fall into the habit of doing something that would suit parents and kids alike. Nothing fancy, just fun. Our routine is very straightforward, writes Adam Brophy.
After the elder finishes school on a Friday, we head into the local barbecued chicken fast food shop. There, we hook up with one of her buddies and her dad. Occasionally there are a couple of other children from the school in at the same time. Me and the other dad grab a table, we perch the younger up in a high-chair and ply her with chips, while the schoolkids sit a little apart, making demands and having a giggle. They love it. They get to socialise with each other knowing that we're just a few feet away, but pretending that they're little adults.
Fortunately, other dad and I get on very well. Maybe a bit too well; we tend to ignore the behaviour nearby so we can enjoy our coffee and talk about sports and girls and shaving and stuff.
In short, we're probably the type of group you might hate to be near when you go in anywhere for a bite to eat. Kids screaming and bopping around, adults looking the other way. I know the score: what we see as cute and expressive, you experience as assault. At least, that's what it felt like to me back in the days BC (Before Children).
So, I get it. People have a right to a little space to eat their food in peace. But I also get that the kids should be able to have fun as well. There has to be a happy medium because I'm not going to tie them down and gag them, and at the same time they can't be allowed to wipe their noses on other people's burgers. But this isn't Guilbaud's; this is finger-licking chicken eaten off a tray, this is where the great and the good rub elbows as they snaffle down drumsticks and lather spicy gravy on their fries. There is no chamber music here and it can get boisterous.
Still, I should have realised that the three elderly ladies a couple of tables away were not overly taken with the antics beside them. When the one chewing the wasp muttered something to the one who had discovered her nettle burger was rancid, I should have intervened. However, it was the third lady, the one who appeared to be enjoying a nice cup of battery acid, who got there first.
"You girls sit down and be quiet!" she barked. "We're trying to enjoy our meal here." The girls stopped and stared. Then the elder looked at me, wondering what the protocol was and who was in charge. I walked over and got the kids to make their way back to where we were sitting before turning back to the lady. "If you have a problem with the kids, I'm sorry. But you speak to me about it, you don't speak to them." This, of course, was the signal for the floodgates to burst. "If you're not able to chastise your children, well then someone will have to do it for you. You're sitting there, engrossed in your conversation [ nods disdainfully at other dad] and they could be running out the door and you would have no idea. We're the only people looking after your kids." I would like to take this opportunity to thank that kind, warm woman for her interest in the well-being of my offspring.
I have since bought an antique birch rod and she is welcome to come round and perform flayings herself should the children dare to show signs of enjoying themselves at home. As for when we are in public, they will henceforth only travel with Hannibal Lecter-style masks attached and, if required, be fed through straws. Laughter will no longer be tolerated and heavy chains used to limit movement.
Hopefully, she will be around to witness the improvements on future Fridays.
