Today I went to my sister’s for dinner. I’m ashamed to say that I initially felt a bit put out by her kind offer to cook for me, which is surprising to say the least. Were you to ask anyone who knows me, they would vouch that I am actually rather a big fan of dinner. They’d probably even go to the point of saying I LOVE dinner. Indeed, virtually any other time, there would be no hesitancy. But tonight I felt uneasy because I’m getting so far behind in some of my work and it has long been hanging over me like the Sword of Damocles. The particular work in question was writing-related too, and everybody knows the pen is mightier than the sword. Technically, a Bic biro tenuously hovering above you is an even greater threat than a big sharp weapon with the capacity to slice your head open. I know - Sounds daft to me too. But hey – I don’t make the rules. All I care about is the fact that I’m arguably braver than a Greek God.
I am glad I made the immense effort to go round to my sisters to get fed. It was a delight to see my nephew again. He is now visibly growing up fast. The last time I saw him I’d witnessed him stomping and stumbling around on his feet for first time. His skills are developing quickly. He can now point at certain objects when say the name of them and ask where they are, or clap his hands upon a verbal and visual cue.
Today, he was taking great amusement in a silly little action I was doing. I’d suck in air through my teeth until my lungs were full, hold my breath for a couple of seconds, then breathe out whilst doing a kind of ‘Bez’ dance with his little toy shaker. He screamed with laughter at this. It was like comedy gold to the little fella. I did it again and again and rather than this repetition becoming tedious, he would be laughing out loud every single time, sometimes with such force that he would almost fall over with excitement. I must have done it a dozen times, and rather than become bored with it, the little chap would actually run up to me and start sucking in air himself to encourage me into doing my silly dance again. It was a joyous thing to see, and for one fleeting moment I felt a twinge of sadness for never having the inclination (or, let’s be honest, opportunity) to have children of my own.
But although it felt like the fun would never end, the near fall which had terrified me the last time I saw him, actually happened for real. In the blink of an eye, he’d tripped over my lumbering foot and landed head first into one of his toys. The laughter was no more. As his screams pierced the air, all I could do was sheepishly and shamefully step away, and let his mother try and quell the flood of tears. My awkwardness was a sharp reminder that I am simply not up to the responsibility of having children of my own. How can I possibly get fooled into believing otherwise? I am barely equipped look after myself!
In one move, I had fell from being a comedy genius who could invoke hysterical laughter from his audience over and over again, to feeling like the most evil man alive. The more quick-witted of might be anticipating joke along the lines about me “knowing how Michael Barrymore must have felt.” Despite the temptation, I will show restraint. That would be a cheap shot, which would only devalue the end of this entry - which is after all, about the joys of young innocence. I feel it best so simply draw this to a close. I admit it may not be the most fulfilling of conclusions, but at least you’ll appreciate a certain level of dignity has been maintained. Maybe I am becoming more responsible after all.
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