You’ll be at the office minding your own business on a Monday morning and suddenly you’re hearing all about little Jack’s weekend. You haven’t asked, you didn’t bring it up. You’re just standing there waiting for the coffee machine to kick in, you’re wondering if it’s too early to eat your lunch and you don’t particularly care if he can now say meerkat or if he enjoyed the soft play ball pit but it seems you’re hearing about it anyway.
You might be on the train looking forward to a bit of a daydream and a word game on your phone. You’ve got a front-facing seat, a small table, a bag of mini caramel waffle biscuits and someone that you don’t know starts talking excessively loudly about little Tommy’s new obsession with dinosaurs. ‘We just can’t get over it! He loves them! He even knows which ones roamed the earth in the Cretaceous period. I mean, is he a genius or what? Dinosaurs? At his age! Can you believe it?’ Uh, yeah, I can believe it, all kids love them. Please turn it down.
The 0–18 phases go like this: anything brightly coloured (babies have absolutely shocking taste, don’t waste your money on anything in heather grey or lemon yellow, they want crimson and electric blue, it’s a scandal), teddies, Peppa Pig, Play-Doh, bugs, cars, dinosaurs, unicorns, football, princesses, music, slime, make-up, beer, dancing, boobs, penises. They might skip one or two or maybe they’ll swap the order but that’s pretty much it.
Parents talk about their kids 24/7 and if they’re not talking about them you should know they want to be. Even if they’re looking at you and listening to your plan to visit Costa Rica and they’re nodding while you’re talking about your mum, and their mouth goes into a perfect O while you’re gossiping about your boss, know that they’re waiting like a hawk. They’re making eye contact, they’re sympathetically cocking their head to one side, but you should be aware they’re mainly wondering how quickly they can get their phone out to show you a photo of their offspring. They’re working out how to turn ‘I’m really worried about my dad – he keeps forgetting things’ around so that they can casually mention how Lily can now ask for a drawing pin and a ticket to Lyon in perfect French.
Parents then, are all pretty ghastly. And almost without fail they fall into two categories. Those who push their children. And those who don’t.
The Pushers are always in a rush. ‘I’m just taking him to judo, got to make sure I’ve got his belt. Did I say it’s a black one? Oh I did mention it? Ha! Just the three times? Sorry about that, thing is, he simply has an aptitude for it – he doesn’t get it from me! Then there’s a swimming gala on Friday. I’ve told him not to worry about coming first in the butterfly but does he listen? It helps that his dad is the coach, of course.
‘He’d love to have a play date but we’ve got to fit in some time for extra maths, you see. Pythagoras really can be an uphill struggle, can’t it? We did show him the basic rules of pi when he was two, rather miraculously some of it went in! That whole flashcard game can’t have been a total waste of time, could it? Gosh, timing everything can be so tricky. If I didn’t have my home-laminated extra-curricular timetable I don’t know what we’d do. We’re giving him at least fifteen minutes to meditate on Saturdays but otherwise it’s go, go, go.
‘He has to write thank-you notes to his teacher, learn how to eat with a fish knife and he needs to make his bed with military precision. Do we inspect it? Course we do. Got to run, he’s about to take part in an online chess competition and hasn’t quite grasped the full potential of a bishop. Chat another time!’
That’s the extreme. We’ve met those parents and we’ve avoided them but then again we’ve completely relied on them for the ‘When’s prize day again?’ and ‘Look, I promised to bake a cake for the tombola but I’ve got a crashing hangover, so while you’re making your Fabulous and Fancy Fruitcake do you mind bunging some brownies in the oven as I’ve got to fry some bread in butter and then get back into bed?’ moments. But that’s about it. We don’t make eye contact if we don’t need to.
The Non-Pushers are much more relaxed, almost horizontal. When it comes to their kids they’re completely allergic to using the word no. ‘My cherub can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. Is he learning an instrument? Hell, no. I just don’t want the hassle of the practice, to be honest. He needs to be able to unwind. I want him to come back from school and just slump in front of the TV. Sports? Well, we’re hardly Olympians. I think it’s good if he doesn’t get too competitive. He doesn’t need us taking him to the park to play catch. He’s only eleven and I don’t want him to fail. We always tell him he’s our perfect baby and we give him a secret medal for whatever he does, so it’s win-win really.
‘We don’t tend to have a timetable for anything, life’s too short! We don’t have strict bedtimes or reading times or any of that nonsense. Plus, I don’t want to have to police him, do I? Do this, do that, practise your spellings. Who cares what he gets in Spanish, seriously, we’re not moving to Barcelona! No, our little fellow can go on his iPad and play games and just be. Why should he keep his room tidy or tie his own laces when he has me? I love doing everything for him, he really is an angel.’
So the question is, which group are you in? Or, if you don’t have kids, which do you think is right? Correct, bang on. Minus the madness of course, your kids need to be pushed. I just want them to be happy? I’ll tell you when they’ll be happy. When they get As, when they get a good job, when they try. They’ll be happy if they have enough sleep, if they can add up and if they’re taught manners.
Mine don’t play musical instruments and I’m not a big believer in clubs (Dungeons and Dragons might be fun but, though I don’t like to think about it, at some point they’re going to have to lose their virginity) but I think a push is helpful. I think a nudge is sensible. I haven’t birthed friends, I’ve birthed small people that should be able to read a newspaper and talk about it afterwards, do long division, put a wash on, carry out their chores and say please and thank you. I have no interest in grumpy, phone-playing, grunting kids who get everything they want. I want them to work hard, to listen and understand, and to follow certain rules. And yes, you’re right, I’m extremely unpopular at home.
I love them, I kiss them, I cuddle them and they’re the loves of my life but do I simply want them to think they’re fabulous all the time? No. I’ve met those kids and I don’t want to live in a house with them. I don’t expect mine to do every afterschool activity going, but I do want them to be interested, to ask questions, always ask to leave the table, make their beds and deal with it when they lose. Go to sleep early, get a book from the shelf, put some toast in for everyone if you’re making some for yourself and write thank-you cards even if you hated the present.
Parents – you have my permission to push. Their partners and friends will thank you for it later.