THE DAD BEAT

Harry de Quetteville’s tales from the fatherhood front line

“Shall I get the boys new winter coats?” Beloved muses, wandering past.

“I…

“They really need some,” she continues. “Well…”

“I think I’ll get them.”

One of the hardest Dad jobs is working out when your input is required, and when only your presence is wanted. Sometimes that means presence in the loosest sense.

“Oh sorry darling, I didn’t see you there,” Beloved might say, bumping past.

“But you were talking to me.”

“Oh yes.”

I have no complaints about this system. I employ it all the time myself. But I am far less adept, lapsing into deep deliberations on topics that only merit a moment’s thought. The result is often system shutdown, as the mental beach ball spins around on my internal computer screen.

“You’ve stopped again,” Beloved says, as we pootle through the park.

“What?”

“We were talking about putting the cat flap in, and you stopped walking.”