The Last Straw: For many of us, the birth of a child is a life-altering event. Not for Colin Farrell, though. According to the Sunday Times, the Hollywood star felt his life change the precise moment his son was conceived by model Kim Bordenave.
"I know it sounds like bullshit, but a feeling washed over me," he told the paper. "I remember that moment - it was a moment of unconscious creation of the future, grasping my destiny. He was ready to arrive, and I knew he'd be a boy."
Now, I've always been under the impression that conception is a bit of a lottery. And although, if half the stories are true, Colin has bought a lot more tickets than most of us, I just wonder how could he be so sure that any one of them had the right combination. Also, if I recall my sex education classes correctly, the timing of the lottery is somewhat uncertain. You could enter - as it were - on a Saturday, and it could be nearer the mid-week draw before Ronan Collins calls your numbers out.
No doubt Colin Farrell has high motility. His lead sperm probably swam up to the uterus in record time and stormed the egg like a SWAT team ending a hostage situation. But maybe his recent experience playing Alexander the Great, a man who conquered the known world in a mission to spread Greek values, before dying at the age of 33, may have coloured his judgement. This would explain the "grasping my destiny" bit.
Still, I hate the way celebrities are always upping the ante on parenting. Most of us were grasping a good night's sleep at the moment our children were conceived. But Farrell has probably started a trend here, and soon it will be the norm. One day my son will ask: "Daddy, where were you when I happened?" And I'll have to explain that it was a different time back then, that the actual conception wasn't something men had to be around for and that, incredible as it seems, his mother can't remember it either.
I do at least remember his birth, which was five years ago this week. It's been an eventful five years. There have been ups and downs and lot of damaged furniture along the way. And naturally the passing of this milestone made me reflect on some big questions. The Sunday Times interview asked whether the experience of having a son had "tamed" Colin Farrell.
But what I want to know is: will the experience of having a father tame my son, eventually? You'd think that having been a boy once would prepare you for the challenges involved in raising one. On the contrary, it's a steep learning curve. Then again, my wife and I also made the common mistake of thinking that having a female child already would be some preparation for a male one. Unfortunately not. Compared with little boys, little girls are like the ancient Greeks: highly civilised, accepting of the rule of law, and amenable to enlightenment. Little boys, by contrast, are like the rest of the ancient world, and the endless battles involved in trying to impose Greek values on them can wear you out, as they did poor Alexander.
But of course there are things that make it all worth while. There are moments when I look at Patrick and I'm overwhelmed with the sort of profound feelings that famous film stars have. For some reason, many of these moments are when he's asleep. I watch him there in bed, pillowed on his hands, surrounded by his toys and by the teddy-bear wallpaper that he tore strips out of recently. And it's hard to believe he's the same boy whose current favourite song - sung in an Eddie Murphy drawl - goes: "I like big butts and I cannot lie!" Thank you to Donkey in Shrek for that. While I'm at it, thanks also to RTÉ for the weird ad promoting its November schedules. Since seeing which, my son has used the phrase "crying like little bitches" with such regularity that we're afraid to invite people around anymore.
But finally, and to show I'm not bitter, I'd like to thank RTÉ - sincerely this time - for including Patrick in the birthday section of The Den on Monday. The impending event had been so hyped in our house we had to warn him our card might not have been received in time. But sure enough it was, and there was his picture, sliding down a giraffe's neck, and his name being read out by Gerri Maye and Socky. To say Patrick was excited would be an understatement. But after missing the moment of his conception, it was the least we could do.
