I am hoping my daughter will be more Music” virtuous than The Sound Of
The problem with kids is that everybody once was one. I have just had a baby daughter and as all the Hallmark-card clichés fade from memory, I have realised something terrible: sooner or later she is going to grow up.
And if she grows up anything like I did, it’s not going to be pretty.
The sad fact is I have disgraced, debased and humiliated myself – and that’s just the stuff on national television.
In my darkened past I have dabbled with every drink and damsel the Good Lord saw fit to test me with. Jesus withstood 40 days of temptation in the desert. I was lucky to last 40 seconds.
By contrast, like most fathers, I expect my daughter to be a paragon of virtue. Compared to her I want Maria from The Sound Of Music to look like the girl behind the shelter sheds.
So what do I tell my sweet, wide-eyed offspring when the inevitable time arises? Do I tell my daughter never to fall for guys like me, no matter how many power ballads they’ve written? Do I tell my son that I too once had liquid hips, before I settled into a marriage fuelled only by dishwasher tablets and repeat episodes of Grand Designs? These are the questions that keep me up at night. Well, that and the constant crying – often even from the baby. For this, as in all of life’s great questions, one need only look to the stars. By which, naturally, I mean rock stars. Take, for example, The Rolling Stones. How do Mick and Keith teach their kids to concentrate on their studies and aim for a nice steady job in the law? How do they explain all the sex, drugs and rock’n’roll? How do they even explain Anita Pallenberg? I mean, sure, it’s The Rolling Stones, so most of their kids are probably now experiencing their sixties firsthand, but still it makes you wonder. Then there is that other little thing that the youth of today call “the internet”. Personally I don’t see a future in it, but from what I can gather it has single-handedly wiped out all
intellectual debate and replaced it with needlessly intimate photos.
Granted, given the standard of intellectual debate in the 1990s, this was a natural progression, but we are now living in a world where it is almost certainly inevitable that all of our wobbly bits will end up on a server somewhere.
The only consolation there for my generation is the wobblier they get, the less likely anyone is to look at them. For the youth of tomorrow, there is no such Darwinian protection.
This raises the question of genetics, and of course any young person would have to be incredibly stupid, crazy or drunk to ever post a nudie pic. The only problem for my kids is their checklist would read as follows: Tick. Tick. Tick.
So maybe we should all protect our children from our sins. I’ll tell them I was a Presbyterian blacksmith from the suburbs who met their mother on a mature-age students’ Bible camp.
Either that or I’ll confess all. It did work with the cops that time…
have disgraced, debased and humiliated myself – and that’s just on TV”