Our Kids

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‘Have you brushed your teeth?’ I asked her.

All I got for an answer was a big grin with clenched teeth. She then returned to the homework she had been pretending to do for a half hour.

After a while she said, with her puzzled, but, I am trying to be intelligent pushing my spectacles up look, ‘Dad, what does freeloader mean?’

Now, picture yourself at work, or in the pub, and someone asked you the same question; you would be perfectly entitled to counter-ask why they asked such a subjective question.

Ha, the thing is, I’m too experienced at this Father hood stuff to be so naive, and I know, if she asks a question, any question, the last thing I want to know is why she asked it.

Questioning questions is a poisoned chalice; believe you me … I know, and I've got the T-shirt.

‘Why don’t you ask your brother? He knows,’ I said.

I did not tell any lies, he does know, in fact the skinny git is freeloading aficionado. If we had bunk beds, he would be the one sleeping on the bottom bed. He is so languid, that climbing the ladders would be too much like effort. Mind you, his Mother would lift him up, so maybe he would sleep on the top bunk.

I’m convinced he is the unfortunate result of an administrative error, and we brought home the wrong baby from the maternity hospital. There is no way anyone - without winning the lottery - can exude such a picture of happiness, and, and, to be as lazy as he is, there is no way on earth can he come from any genes belonging to me!

Her Mother returned from where ever she had been, and I was excused from any involvement in further conversations. I just slinked back into the shadows, and watched the football.