parenting

Re-calibrating success / copping out?

~ monkeywithgun ~ Leave a comment

Maturing or selling out? I’m not sure. It feels like a bit of both. But here I am at 41 and it’s finally dawning on me that I’m probably not going to be the groupie-shagging, multi-platinum selling rock star (especially as I don’t play an instrument or sing…minor details.), and I’m unlikely to be a famous actor (can’t act) or a captain of industry (stuck in a middle management’ish role in a small’ish company)…these have been the lofty “ambitions” that I’ve pegged my measure of personal success to. You’ll see ‘ambitions’ in parentheses as if they’d been ambitions (without parentheses) I would have at least taken the relevant lessons at a minimum, but regardless fortune and fame are what I’ve wanted…and failed to find…and it’s been like a fat retarded monkey on my back poking me with a blunt knife for years, until recently. You see recently, and I mean in the last 12 months, the weight of that fat retarded monkey and the vigour with which he’s been poking me has gradually reduced and it’s an awesome feeling, but an ‘awesome feeling’ that comes with it’s own nagging demon – the ‘you’re selling out’ demon.

What’s deflating the monkey? I think it’s the pleasure that I’m learning to get out of the little things in life (largely because I’ve now got two amazing kids that force me to wonder at things like worms, flowers, clouds and muddy puddles). But I think it’s also because I finally have this growing realisation that I’m not immortal and that each day spent brings me a day closer to the end of the line, so it may as well be spent feeling grateful for what I’ve got and not feeding an already obese baboon with a desire to inflict maximum pain on my soul (that’s where he poke me with his knife).

That’s nice and fluffy I hear you say, but what does success look like to you now – now that you’ve finally pulled your head out of your rectum and taken a sniff of the reality finger? What does it look like now then? Well since you ask so nicely I’ll tell you. Success is now about being the best parent I can be to my girls. It’s about refusing to give in to what is threatening to become an ‘ever so slightly more than recreational use of cocaine’. It’s about choosing kindness over being right all the time, and it’s about trying hard to fix my relationship with my wife…oh, and making a comfortable living in the background.

The pressure of this re-calibrated view on success is quite daunting, but it’s all within my control. I’m not reliant of ‘right time, right place’, elusive ideas and even more elusive capital, record contracts and break out films…I’ve got everything I need to make this new success a reality and that’s a cool feeling….but it still feels like a cop out some days.

I guess there’s nothing to say that I can’t be a great father who happens to be a rock star, oscar winning captain of industry, but I can, for now, be totally happy just being the first bit.

 

Fathers’ day stuff

~ monkeywithgun ~ Leave a comment

It was the day before fathers’ day and daughter 1 came and found me in the study. She had something tucked behind her back and was biting her lower lip, her little cheeks puffed out. She does that when she’s proud of something. Thank God I was paying attention and didn’t brush her off with an ‘I’m busy’.

It was amazing, the little hand scribbled card that she thrust in front of my face. ‘For you Daddy. Happy Daddies’ day. I did it myself. Look inside it’s a heart and says I love my Daddy (wobbly lines over dotted letters my wife had drawn out). Crayon and felt pen spirals and lines all over.

‘Sweet heart, it’s awesome. I love it.’ Her little chest swelled and we hugged. ‘It’s from me Daddy…Just me.’ The point being made and the one taken was that her little sister had nothing to do with it.

‘Thanks. I’ll stick it in the special place where I keep all the things you give to me.’ We hugged and inside I chuckled at her making the point that it was HER gift to me and that it was NOT from daughter 2. Angling for bonus points so early in her little life.

Fast forward to the day after Fathers’ Day. I’m lying with a bottle of red by the fire and Daughter 2 waddles up to me, with the tripping gate of a 1 and a half year old with a full nappy. She has a big plastic bag which she drops on my face. Daughter 1: ‘What’s that?’ Me: ‘No idea Peanut. Let’s open it.’ Daughter 2 is pulling the cat’s tail and no longer interested.

Turns out the bag is laden with Fathers’ Day arts and crafts and cards and an ‘I love Daddy T-shirt. It’s just been dropped off by Duaghter 2’s nursery school teacher as I missed the Daddies’ Day morning they had.

I hug Daughter 2, who’s oblivious and look across to Daughter 1 who’s now busy making sure I know that all this stuff is from her too and that she told her little sister how to do it and my heart breaks for her. The little chest swollen with pride is now panting with the effort of jostling for a bit of this delayed Fathers’ Day action and all I want to do is to hug her and tell it’s not about how big things are  or how many things there are, and that nothing can take away from the incredible card she made for me a couple of days ago…but it falls on deaf ears.

It’s bed time and I’m popping Daughter 1 into her pyjamas and we’re getting ready for a story…’Daddy.’ ‘Yes Honey?’ ‘I didn’t help her with any of her cards. She did them all.’

My turn for a little chest swell and throat lump ‘I know. Now come here.’

It’s late and I’m turning in and my head’s full of thoughts about how much goes on in little, really little kids’ minds and how it’s so easy to unwittingly tread on their pride and what’s so important to them…too damn easy and to not even know…