Over the last school holidays, I had the chance to spend a week with The Boy doing…umm…boys’ stuff.
Nothing that spectacular; a visit to the National Sports Museum, a boat on the river, a hit of mini-golf, the sort of stuff you can do when it’s sunny outside.
The good thing is that The Boy is still very keen to have both his dad and his mum involved in his life, to the point where he passed up the opportunity to have dinner at a mate’s place because “he was lonely for his mum and dad”.
I know this won’t last and it shouldn’t last. They grow up and they grow away. That’s how you get the next generation of adults. But it’s nice to have these sorts of memories, something I never really had with my own dad.
Bill Murray in Lost in Translation said something like, “when your kids are born, it’s terrifying because you know nothing will ever be the same, but they learn how to walk and they learn how to talk and they become the most fascinating people you’ll ever meet”.
So far, he’s spot on the money.
I apologies for the revolting level of mawkishness in this post. The next one will be full of abuse and sarcasm, possibly involving Tony Abbott.