Being a single dad, I am frequently asked if I have met myself a nice young lady yet. The answer is no. One could point the finger and assume that I am too picky, that I am an acquired taste, or that nobody wants me. They even blame me for not trying. There is a blame for my misfortune in meeting said nice young lady and the blame points to a smaller, half version of myself.
I have discovered that my son is quite the comedian. “Dad, Knock Knock?” “Who’s there, son?” “kunf” “kunf who” “hiiii ya!” followed by a back hand power slap to the face. This is the ultimate test in a public display. At home, he would have suffered the same consequences as if someone had struck Hornblower himself. These public displays of affection can catch you off guard; the only time that you lose your cool is usually followed by noticing that a pretty lady had witnessed your entire episode.
Please note, trumps, dinkles and boobies are hilarious. I have had many Supermarket, Toddler Tourette’s moments, where it has been noted and announced that an innocent bystander has a big bottom, big boobies or a fat head! Nothing can be remotely compared on the comedic scale for a five year old boy, who finds a man who also has big or floppy boobies and saggy pants! These outbursts drive through a crowd and cause a barrier with a radius that stretches as far as the sound waves can reach from his mouth.
Let’s not forget to mention when you’re in a cubicle in a busy restaurant when your son shouts out at the top of his lungs, audibly available for everyone in the premises to hear, “Dad, you’ve got a big dinkle!” There’s only one way to respond to that like an ultimate dude! Similarly, audibly available for everyone in the premises to hear, “Yes, son, I have.” Your moment is soon ruined and your libido is deflated as you exit the rest room and are greeted with a volume of looks, that one would assume spelt, “whatever.”
I understand the misconception that many guys have, that having children with you is a magnet to meet girls. It undoubtedly is, but the truth hasn’t been fully revealed, it’s just like connecting the two north sides together. We were picking up some camping gear for a trip this year. A young lady in the store approached and the conversation I was having with her was taking a flirtatious turn from para chord and hunting knives, soon to be interrupted with, “Dad, have you farted? Cause I didn’t feel it come from me... Oh… wait…” He then looks to the store assistant and asks, “Where is the toilet?” If you are looking for something small and cute to meet a girl, get a pug!
I once tried the Tesco dating thing, crashing into passers-by, however, overturned trolleys, cabbage and asparagus rolling down aisle six does not resemble how it is in the movies. On a particular occasion, a toddler was caught in the middle of such RTI and was taken out by a lettuce. That was just the tip of the iceberg. It seemed that my son was the only one who found it funny.
An old colleague of mine took it upon himself to find me a suitable match. He soon realised that he was going to be out of his depth. He signed me up to an online dating site. That was interesting. I still to this day do not understand the duck face and eyebrows that can only be removed with Acetone. It was like scrolling through a seemingly, endless sord of mallards, fashioning Max Factor war paint, quoting Marilyn Monroe clichés that headline a bedroom mirror selfie. If anyone fancies taking a selfie in their best frock, accompanied with a classy headline, at least tidy up first. Nobody wants to see an entire Primarny wardrobe, blanketed on the carpet, like a pride of leopard carcasses, where one would assume was where the carpet once lay.
Needless to say, my friend soon closed the account.
So it would seem that being a single dad is a destiny of mine. Over the last few years, on my conquest, I have learnt to be content with being a single dad. This contentment has turned into pure joy and a blessing. Much time has been invested in my son and we have built a solid, uninterrupted relationship that is unbreakable.
It turns out, that my smaller, half version of myself, was not hindering me from finding a relationship, he was saving me. Being a single dad, the only relationship that you need in your life, is with your children. Nothing could ever compare to that. Here’s to all the dads who love their kids beyond measure!
Shaking with laughter at that account - please post more 😀
Thanks for your reply actd 🙂 Unfortunately, this is how my life goes. I should come with a hashtag #noteasyisit. Fortunately, my son is accepting of the fact that his dad maybe a few sandwiches short of a hamper. This happened a few days ago...
Today was a rather testing day to say the least. It began at 8:30am, which was quite a dramatic entry to the new dawn as it should have started at 7:00am. It would be apparent that sleep walking has evolved into a state that enables you to switch off your alarm and call your dad from your quick dial list. Much to his excitement of receiving a two minute voicemail of me snoring into his earpiece, he called back, after showering and eating his breakfast of course. I'm not sure which he had done first, neither of us would of been overly enthused with that conversation anyway. I'm just thankful that my impromptu call wasn't on the account of an emergency. By this time, it was! He had taken another ten minutes of my day by putting the world to rest, expressing his annoyance at how the neighbours car was parked just over the grass at the front of his house. That land is clearly marked in his deeds! I'm just thankful that my day didn't start like his.
I was late. Very late. I ran into my son's room, waving my arms in the form of a gorilla war dance. I'm not sure exactly how this assists in the process of making people move faster. It just makes him laugh. In any normal circumstance, we would both laugh, but this wasn't funny. It was about as funny as the time that Fred the rabbit died, but that's for another day.
"Eat, eat, eat, go to your room and dress for school and at the same time brush your teeth and put your shoes on!" Somehow, I turn from pleasant, happy dad to, don't you dare mess with me drill sergeant, when we are in a time critical state. This was definitely one of those times, and I was definitely not in the mood to be reckoned with. This drill sergeant was happy to give anyone a beasting who wasn't prepared to follow a direct order, regardless of the achievability of what was being ordered.
I called my boss to let him know I was running late but there was no answer. I left a quick, jumbled voicemail, like the ones you hear at the end of a salesy advert announcing something along the lines of subject to status. I was definitely going to be subject to something when I arrive at work an hour late. There was no time to waste. I called the school. It rang... and rang... I was pretty irate by this time. I was hoping the young lady on reception wasn't going to pick up. She was too innocent to receive the full wrath of angry sergeant dad! It was still ringing. By this time my son was fully dressed and entered the lounge. I was still pacing around, shamefully, in my birthday suit. I hadn't achieved anything apart from consoling my dad over his neighbour from [censored]. The phone still rang, a text message came though on my phone. I switched to speaker phone in the hope that someone would pick up. I opened my inbox. It was my boss. Panic! I'm fired, I know it! The message opened... "We don't work weekends!"
I looked at my son, his shirt all creased, with his jumper inside out and back to front and clutching his book bag. It was still open, with his phonics cards, new words and his new book, Erica and the red kite, all glaring at me with disappointment. My son stood in anticipation.
"What's wrong dad?"
"It's Saturday, son"
We took a few moments to register what on earth had happened in the twenty minutes we had been awake. I flicked the kettle on and perched on the arm of the sofa. Oh, I sure needed a coffee! My son dropped his book bag and the contents spilled into the floor. He walked over to me slowly, with his head down, like those kids do in the horror movies. That's it! This was a bad dream! He is a bad child coming to get me! He rested his hand on my shoulder, moved closer so his lips were inches from my ear. "Please don't eat me, son!" Maybe I was overly sleep deprived!! He opened his mouth and a gentle whisper came from within. "Dad... You're so not cool."
This time last year, I had taken it upon myself to open an email account for my five year old son. He is completely unaware of this account, which is where the fun begins. It is a surprise for his eighteenth birthday from me. Being a blogger, writer and a truckin' awesome dad (if I may say so myself!) I'm hoping that I'm going to to brim the inbox with some amazing blogs and hilarious pictures from my favourite, and most of all, his embarrassing moments over the years. He will then receive his email address and password in a card for his birthday.
Fun times!
I had a quick sweep through the inbox today, looking through some of the posts over the last year. One email, titled 'the tennis ball launcher' caught my attention and I wanted to share it.
It was August 2nd 2014. A Saturday morning. We were considering the options of either taking a bike ride, hiking or making something awesome. We opted for the something awesome. I remembered making some smoke grenades to use as emergency signals for a kayaking trip a few years before, which lead my imagination from one home made invention to another, where I finally rested on the option of a home made soft play mortar of a sort.
Raiding the shed, we gathered a few tennis [censored], drainpipe tubes and a can of left over petrol from the lawn mower. After a short lecture of E=MC2 and basic weapon engineering, our needhams guttering left overs were transformed into a two foot, plastic, child friendly anti-tank missile masterpiece.
It was too powerful to launch in the garden, which meant a five minute walk to the field. We packed our launcher into my rucksack and were on our way. To say that we were excited was an understatement. We were frickin' ecstatic!
Almost at our launching area, I was woken, lying in the floor with my son stood over me. The launcher had detonated in my backpack. I had shot myself in the back of the head and my nervous system decided upon a time out. Much to my sons amusement of seeing me fall on my face, whiplashed with the possibility of concussion, he contained himself for a moment to announce how silly his dad is. I brought myself to my feet, shook off the dust and used my fingers to check out my new hair cut. My son looked at me, laughed again and asked "can we go for a bike ride instead?"
OK, instead of writing a book - publish the emails 😀