A DAD'S LIFE:One day it's calm, the next morning all hell breaks loose, writes ADAM BROPHY
KIDS ARE sneaky. They have cycles, taking their time to lure you into smug self-satisfaction before pulling the rug from under you and crashing your well-ordered world around you.
I’ve listened to a mother despair as her eldest hit teenhood and morphed overnight from a bright, friendly lad into an organism buried in a hoody and relating to the world through his eternally playing iPod. As she figures out some way of relating to this new entity who has taken up residence in her house, she looks at her younger daughter, who’s hand in hand with my daughter, and states: “It’s not like that anymore.”
She knows he’s all right. She knows this because she knows him well, because she’s put in the time. She knows this because she remembers it all herself, but that doesn’t seem to make his metamorphosis any easier. And I looked at her, and her daughter, and silently thanked some spiritual entity that I don’t have to deal with a teen for another few years.
Because right then, my youngest was giving off the beatific vibe. She had the smile going on. I took her home and she played a while. When asked if she had any homework, she whipped it out and got stuck in, taking great pleasure in insisting I check her spellings so she could show off a little.
Afterwards she helped me cook – well, we boiled up pasta and added cheese sauce. She believes me when I tell her this is gourmet. Her sister arrived in and, instead of launching at each other as can often happen, the two of them chilled, reading and colouring in the livingroom.
In my own head I remarked how comfortable this was, how civil they were being to each other and to me. I figured the teen years are a long way off, maybe I could freeze them there, being nice. My only concern was finding a column to write if they continued being near human. I considered prodding them – it’s worked in the past when material has been a struggle – but cooled my jets.
I shouldn’t have worried. By the next morning I was hauling the younger from under the breakfast table to get her out the door to school. Literally. She had decided to take umbrage at the fact her mother wasn’t present and, out of the blue, downed tools. “I hate you and I love Mum,” she told me, minutes after I’d handed her Nutella on toast and cranberry juice.
This I batted off and went about packing the lunches. But when she ignored my instructions to brush her teeth for the fourth time and slid under the table with the announcement she would never again do anything I said, the red mist descended.
The clock was ticking, we were slipping off schedule. Her sister had distractedly moved to the couch and seemed to have forgotten she was putting on her socks. One dangled skew-ways from her left foot, the other from her hand as she stared out the window. I lost the head.
You can picture the following few minutes. Kitchen chairs and child dragged out of the way, orders barked and reissued, shrieks and screams filling the air until the smell of cordite settles and, once again, I am left apologising, calming fragile child egos.
The school gate is made as the bell rings with children seemingly restored to working order. I drop them and sit back in the car but realise quickly there is no point in attempting to concentrate; I need an interlude between school run and work. I’ve hit a speed wobble. I go for breakfast with another dad and spend half an hour ranting about the stress their vagaries put me under.
The breakfast is good: crisp bacon and decent Clonakilty black pudding. We have tea and the cafe owner comments on how quiet the town is. Angled rain beats against the window, but it’s warm in here. Other dad does his job, listens attentively and fills me with horror stories about what his crew has done and the gaskets he has blown in response. I know he is deliberately overblowing his and their behaviour to make me feel better and I’m grateful for that.
Easy street my arse. You expect your teen to challenge you, to do the opposite of what you suggest, mainline cider and discover the joys of Slipknot, glue and joyriding. It’s no picnic, but you know the arena you’re playing in. You understand the nature of the beast. Most of the time, I still have no idea what creatures my two will be on any given day.