Beware of Dave

Recently some friends of mine told me that they expecting a baby.

A regular occurrence, once you hit 30 plus, or over 13 in Brixham.
This is usually met with congratulations and advice.

But regardless, whenever I am told the 'happy news', it makes me think of a day in my past.

Before I had kids..

...it was July, the heat of the midday sun was smoothed away by a cool blossom scented easterly breeze.
A lady friend and myself lay on our backs in the grass, shape spotting in the clouds.
Stoned on Moroccan Gold and Thunderbird wine.

A fluffy Abraham Lincoln slowly floated across the azure blue skies. We laughed.
We played noughts and crosses in the jet trails that cut white paths through the air.
We wondered if the pizza delivery man would find us in a field.

The day was a cotton wool wrapped bubble.

The bubble was promptly popped as a fully pumped leather football dropped from the same azure blue skies and bounced off my face.

Sitting bolt upright I could make out the perpetrator through my blurred vision.

A grubby looking 5 year old kid, whose Father was now mumbling,
'sorry mate!'
in amongst obscenity, somewhere in my direction as his son laughed at my misfortune, highlighting the fact by yelling..

'Ball go Boooom on Man'

'yeah right in my face you little shit, Man not happy'

Kids..
I hated them.

Not just this one, all of them.
Didn't understand them.
Didn't like them.
They didn't like me
That was the deal
I had no comprehension why someone would have one.
They were an unnecessary life choice of which I had opted out of.

To entertain the idea of sharing my life with one was paramount to suicide.
Despite the repugnant little creatures appalling character traits, there was so much I hadn't seen, there was to much to do, women to meet.

The party basically wasn't over, and kids weren't invited.

Rubbing my sore nose I watched, as the balding, paunchy middle aged man lumbered behind the kid, throwing apologies out like birthday invitations to the wacky warehouse.

A trail of mayhem and upset lay behind them as they zigzagged across the fields.
Idle threats and warnings were blatantly ignored as it ran riot around the previously serene and tranquil surroundings, until finally giving in before his heart did, sitting down, lighting a fag and scratching his balls pretending the boy wasn't his.

The mother sat in the distance also pretending not be related, a sad a pale version of a woman, all sick stains and baby weight.

Their lack of control and self esteem, defined them.

It wasn't that they were being especially bad parents, at least they were outside. But something about this family unit chilled me to the bone.
It was what they symbolised.

So final.

I decided the man was probably called Dave, and the kid maybe Reece or Jake or Kyle as they seemed to be the only names called out when kids were around.

Poor, poor Dave.. And smug, smug me as I got up to go home and screw my girlfriend who wasn't too tired or baby wrecked, in my baron, childless home.

So it may surprise you to hear that I have 2 children.
Less surprising that neither were planned.
Surprises, not mistakes as I have learnt to call them.
Surprise One & Surprise Two as they are known.

How did I get round my irrational hatred for kids?
I realised that it wasn't kids that were the problem.

Dave was.

Yes kids are annoying, exhausting, expensive, they smell, they cost money and are prone to break stuff, material and physical. They will teach you that tiredness is an illusion to the childless.

They have no purpose, and they aren't aware of any.
Their only agenda is self .
You have to clean their arses.
And you have to look after them for ages, properly, or else people come to arrest you.

But to my constant amazement kids are consistently funny, inventive, inspiring and capable of pure unconditional love that can melt the most leathery of hearts.
Little rocket fuelled bundles of entertainment.

As I mentioned, my problem was Dave, or the fear of becoming him.
It wasn't having children that bothered me, it was seeing what happened to some individuals after having them.

Certain habits have to change, as they must in life.
Adjust to circumstance, or else you are buggered.

You see in my mind to fully embrace kids, you must follow their lead.

Wake up every morning and greet it as new, forget the troubles of yesterday.
If an emotion takes hold of you, express it to your full capability.
Hold nothing back.
Be spontaneous at all costs.
Have as much fun as you can cram in whilst trying to stay awake for as long as possible.
Run, dance, sing, shout cry, if you feel like it.
Never get embarrassed.
Be as stupid as you want to be.
Ride or climb anything that's not bolted down.
Drink lots of water.
Eat only when your hungry.
Never trust tomatoes or BBC 2.

But if you treat them as a chore or an irritation, you are destined to fail.
Much as I would've if I had carried on with the negative mindset that all kids are evil.

And as much as I want to punch myself in the face for uttering such a sickly cliche....

Having kids isn't the end of life it's the start.

there i said it.

Years on now im driving a handmade go kart with both kids in the back, whistling down a hillside, as we all scream at the top of our lungs.
I hope that the ghost of my former self whose picnic weve just ruined wont look and think shit I hope I don't become that.

And if he would listen, id say,
'Don't worry, kids are fine, just watch out for Dave.'