It’s good for one’s HEALTH

KIDDING ABOUT MAKES COLIN’S KNEES GO WEAK AND HIS HEART FLUTTER

We have just come through a coincidence of birthdays, as we call it in the family. I don’t know what it is about our breeding patterns, but my gang seems to have seasons for babies. This latest one involved someone turning one, another five, yet another 19, not to mention the eldest daughter turning 40.

I remember my old mother mentioning some years ago that it wasn’t her own age that made her feel ancient, but the age of her children, especially the eldest, which is me. And still is, of course.

So when Summer, my eldest, recently turned 40, it made me pause for breath. For a start, she’s the reason for this column I write and why it started out in the first place all those years ago. Way back then, it was called Living with Summer and it was written from the point of view of a father with a small daughter. And now she’s 40. I can’t begin to imagine what happened to time.

We travelled to Auckland, where she lives, and we went out for dinner to celebrate. Two of my other daughters were there and four of my grandkids, including the about-to-be-one-year-old, who was particularly active that evening. It was a great night, tinged only by the tragedy of my eldest’s great age.

Also on the plus side, all the socialising and the being with kids gave me a great opportunity to get in a bit of the practise that some chaps seem to need as the age gets longer and the tolerance grows shorter. I don’t want to end up being one of those guys who’s a grouchy old git around young ones.

I remember a few from when

I was a kid. There was one,

Uncle Oliver, who looked like a walrus with his moustache – and he behaved a bit like one too. He didn’t have any kids and had no experience with them. He had a look that could turn a kid to stone and we kept our distance.

It does take practise to get with the kids, though. Little children, particularly, can be challenging.

That one-year-old one, my youngest grandchild (so far), has the attention span of Donald Trump and the guidance system of a runaway train.

He has great big eyes and when he sees me, they become even wider with wonder, leaving me worrying whether he’s going to scream in horror or delight. Often, it’s a mix of both. Then he’s off at top speed, looking for stairs to consider, cupboards to crawl into or decks to fall off.

The next one up is two and, as they are at that age, often in the grip of his emotions, which have only a few settings, all of them on maximum. He’s a delight, but an unpredictable one. Then there were the granddaughter sisters, seven and five, who are always so pleased to see me, they make my knees go weak and my heart flutter.

In which case, they might represent a health threat to me, but really I don’t care. I feel better for being around them all and

I hope they feel the same way.

Most of the indications are, so far, that they do, though I am overdue for an eye test.