Parenting brings many hairy moments – but it seems I’m the biggest
DOUBLE TROUBLE FOR A FIRST TIME DAD OF TWINS
“IT’S Big Hairy”, shouted Emma, as I walked into the kitchen.
“Am I Big Hairy?” I asked, fearing the answer was all too obvious. “Yes, Big Hairy,” Emma replied triumphantly.
It’s true the ageing process has added a hirsute quality to my frame, as well as a few pounds, something I was slowly coming to terms with. But I hadn’t expected my deep-rooted anxieties to be confirmed by my child in a loud voice, while I was making tea.
In order not to expose weakness, I laughed and calmly said, “don’t call daddy Big Hairy, it’s not very nice”.
Unfortunately, this prompted her sidekick – my son – to also start chanting, “Big Hairy”, at me, laughing excitedly.
Thankfully, Victoria heard the commotion and walked into find me at the table eating Weetabix, while my precious children stood on chairs and chanted, “Big Hairy”.
“I’m guessing that’s you”, she laughed, offering little in the way of emotional support.
Family time finished, I decided to retreat and enjoy a little downtime in work, somewhere I’d come to regard as a nice break from it all.
The episode had highlighted the lack of respect shown for the authoritative father figure in the home environment these days. When I was a child, I’d never have dreamt of subjecting my dad to
such abuse, even if he qualified for a nickname relating to heftiness.
This was not even the first such nickname. There had also been Daddy Big Tummy which, though upsetting, didn’t cut as deeply as Big Hairy. This name could be attributed to the cartoon, Peppa Pig, where there is a frequent focus on the size of father’s stomach.
Despite Daddy Pig enjoying a successful career as an archit ect, he too was subjected to abuse from his kids. In a way, we are kindred spirits in our inability to clamp down when our children show little or no respect.
Both Daddy Pig and I treated the children like friends, as if we were in a house share and they were flatmates.
Except I was a flat mate who cooked for them and took them to the toilet.
We weren’t on equal footing, they viewed me as an underling, there to serve them.
What we needed was a gentle change in direction and for me to build a power base, but this was going to take time.
For now, all I could do was revert to the time-honoured classic of singing ‘Sticks and Stones’ to myself, as chants of “Big Hairy’”continued to ring out.