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The seven Dadly sins

  • 04 September 2015

As Father's Day looms, I embrace zen introspection. My beloved Keeper and I have two offspring, a daughter (a sweetheart aged 12, turning 30) and a son (boisterously nine). Life changed unrecognisably with their arrival, and overwhelmingly for the better.

A preliminary hat tip: single parents have my genuine respect; it's hard enough when you can double team a cherub. So, especially for any single parents, I dips me lid. As for mothers and/or primary caregivers, well, it's confession time.

Most weekdays are comparatively easy for me as a father. I prepare the breakfast de jour and supervise the finding and donning of school uniforms before running away to work, duly leaving the Keeper to orchestrate music practices, lunches, diaries, homework books, sports clobber, permission forms, fundraisers, schoolbags etc. and get them to and from school safely.

Some days aren't easy. Sickness and the usual raft of realities intervene. I leapfrog with the Keeper re carer's days and personal leave days. But life's good; we have two happy and for the most part healthy kids. We are grateful and this father at any rate doesn't do much mid-week heavy lifting.

This Sunday I will join the ranks of sleepy paters, gingerly drinking dubious coffee, eyeing off culinary abominations and graciously acknowledging new socks.

So, with homage duly given to the Keeper, in the interest of transparency, I hereby acknowledge my seven Dadly sins. Fellow fathers, I don't suggest that these faults can also be lain at your door; pick and chew over them at your leisure…

Wrath (grrrrr)I am not (fully) a grumpy middle aged man, but like many specimens of my vintage I admit to spasmodically being a truculent bastard. Instant obedience from the kinder is expected at times, especially when I go into military mode and want them seatbelted in the car five minutes before now.

The fruit fell close to the tree. Extracting books, ipods, magazines, remote controls, toys, ipads, DSes consoles, etc. takes some doing. Patience may be its own reward but I am yet to fully embrace the whole breathing-in-and-counting-slowly mantra. (Behaviour is a learned experience; my old man could go the full Von Trapp, with added regalia and demeanour).

Sloth (zzzz)This is a big'un for me. Sleep is my meth. As the Proverbs writer/s quipped, 'As a door turns on its hinges, so does a sluggard on his bed.'

Gluttony (Mmmmmmmmmm)Every swollen belly tells a story. I'm just glad the puppy dog's still