Dave the Dad 23 - Musical Yooff
Being a parent means never having to say you’re sorry but it also means, unfortunately, that there are key moments when you think, ‘Bugger, I’ve really hindered him there!’My dad understood that from very early on as his first words on seeing me bundled up softly in my mother’s arms were, ‘By God, it’s ginger.’ Despite having two girls already my sex didn’t seem half as important as the fact that I was a carrot top. Now it’s my turn. You see, Tom dances like me. Well, not quite, but like an exaggerated version of me. Like a non-drunk version of me in fact. When tipsy I have a unique, free-flowing style, when sober I look like a nervous yak trying to swallow a traffic cone by using the imaginary shovels attached to my hands and feet. And now so does Tom. He jigs about, wobbling from foot to foot, spinning in tight circles and rattling his hands as though they had muttered something insulting about his dad, yaks and traffic cones. At least he has the good grace to smile. As long as he finds this stance funny he’ll be fine, it’s when he goes to a Year 9 disco and starts to think he looks cool that the problems may start.
We dance nightly as part of our bath routine. As the water’s running I choose a disc and we have a quick bop whilst we peel the matted clothes from Tom’s limbs. Just recently we’ve been revisiting some oldies and on Tuesday we tried out the debut Supergrass album. As I’d Like to Know came on I knew that Tom would kick off. The pumping guitars, the frenetic drums, the half panted words... It is definitely his style de tuesdée. He even started jumping, or at least as close as you can get to jumping without actually leaving the ground. Imagine the late Marlon Brando with a bun in his hand. He doesn’t actually have to eat it in front of you for you to believe it’ll be gone before bedtime. Same with Tom; doesn’t leave the floor but his hand, head, knee, arm and body movements give the impression that he will. Any minute.
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The great thing about the pre-bath music is that it puts us both in a place where singing and grooving are accepted and I like to carry this into our improv-bath-music-utility songs, as I now call them. Here’s one from last night.....
We’re cleaning your teeth like we clean the car
We’re cleaning your teeth like we clean the car
But you can’t eat an apple with a Corsa
And you can’t drive to Wales in your teeth.
Well, it distracts Tom from the fact that I’m rummaging around in his mouth with a plastic caterpillar topped with bristles. One of my all-time favourites revolved around a wind-up lobster bought for Tom as one of his first bath toys.
Lucy Lisa Lobster
She’s a funny looking plastic thing
You may think she’s fishlike,
But she really is a crus-ta-cean
Lucy Lisa was actually the second lobster, after Jane melted Lisa Lucy in the dishwasher.
I think the Corsa one came out of the fact that Jane had come home from a mum’s meeting after finding out that she was the only mum who couldn’t hold a small garden party in the boot of her car. Jane tootled up in a two-door Corsa only to find that most other mums had apparently decided that the safest mode of transport for any young family were tanks sold on cheaply from Lithuania after the break up of the Soviet Bloc. One friend was even quite sneery until it was pointed out that she drove what appeared to be a Fiat Merrick, a large unwieldy monster of a machine which may indeed have had a hatful of great, family-friendly features but which unfortunately looked like a bag a liver painted metallic silver.
We’re alright in our little two-door as it happens. Tom gets to ride shotgun and so what if 50% of his parents have to walk with a limp for an hour or so when they finally concertina out of the rear seat after a fifteen hour journey to Wales? He will have probably spent the entire time waving to dogs, trying to kick his shoes off or flapping at the Spiderman figure with suckers on its feet hanging from the visor. The in-built mirror on this will fill any spare moments as Tom is always pleasantly surprised to discover that there’s the other mum behind him in the back, grinning away despite the fact that she/he looks like a badly folded linen suit. And in any case Tom will soon be on the back of my Vespa, riding the bumps down Elm Grove with aplomb, tearing through Brighton’s traffic-clogged streets, nipping down back alleys, zipping past all the Fiat Merricks, the Ford Bustards and Honda Ugleez like an elf’s burp. I for one foresee no problems with that at all. And if, IF, for whatever reason Jane did see fit to break something when I returned from our first outing I’m certain that she would see sense and stop at my legs. Yes, I’m almost certain.
Dave Fouracre
Dave Fouracre aka "Dave the Dad" is a regular feature writer here at thebabywebsite.com.
Read more about his hilarious experiences as a Dad. |
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