My nine-year-old son has switched allegiances. It's subtle enough that no one else hardly even notices, even his mother.

It's glaringly obvious to me however. I've been designated his new mentor. He handled the appointment himself. It must have all started a couple of months ago, around the time he took up his position as goalkeeper for the local soccer team. I suppose that sense of being part of a male fraternity, with its inherent responsibilities, instigated this change in him. Or maybe he realised that boys become men.

In any case, I'm chuffed. It's now my words he listens to; me he sits closest to; my opinion he values; my company he seeks.

Mom has not been totally sidelined or even left on the benches. She's only been relegated to another, less interesting club. Although still in the first division, she's no longer top of the table in his book of heroes. Whereas I'm man of the match with a page all to myself.

Our new relationship is taken very seriously. We've important things to do. Instead of simply kicking a ball around the garden we now go out and do training. If his sister or, God forbid, his mother should join in it just ruins everything.

Another, not-so-obvious obligation comes with being so much in his spotlights. I truly have to watch what I say and do. To see oneself in caricature opens your eyes to how others see us.

His innocent parody of my gestures can be comical. Not so funny are my flippant remarks he takes on board as truth. They have a tendency to come back at me later on, totally misconstrued and sometimes ugly.

So no matter how light-hearted it's meant to be, I make mental notes to stop trying to be funny at someone else's expense. The world does not need another racist, misogynist or verbal bully. It doesn't translate as humour when it comes out of the mouth of a child.

This is no great sacrifice on my part; just a slight adjustment. I even feel better about myself in small ways. It's amazing what you pick up from kids.