THE DEPTFORD TRILOGY
Robertson Davies
Why do people cross the road? — I swear he said this as we walked across the road one day!
I have three separate degrees. I own my own business. I've travelled the world. I'm cute, smart and funny. And yet I'm reduced to playing bit-part roles as “friendly lion”, “angry shark” and “Pete the policeman” in my 3 year old son's games. How did it all start? Let's go back a little while …
I blame “The Three Little Pigs”. His grandad took him to a children's play of the three little pigs, and it seems they had a friendly wolf as one of the characters. He was quite taken with friendly wolf and it wasn't too long before we were playing the three little pigs game.
“You be the wolf Daddy, and this couch is my house”
Knock. Knock. Knock. “Let me in little pig”
“Are you a friendly wolf or a bad wolf?”
You get the picture. Dad pretends to be friendly wolf, gets in door, casts aside his assumed character and reveals “bad wolf” who promptly tickles and wrestles little pig. Now, one of my party tricks is being able to roar in a very lion-like manner (I can also do a wonderful sheep baaaaa) and it was only a matter of time until I was being asked, “Are you a friendly lion or a bad lion?”
So, I've become friendly lion. I've had to modify my roar into a softer, half mewing, half purring sound that Matthew now instantly recognises. His puts on his voice (nice and friendly) and says, “Friendly lion?”
“MewPurr, MewPurr”
“What shall we do today friendly lion?”
And we just carry on with whatever game he wants. Except I'm a friendly lion as we go put out fires, or sail a boat, or whatever. But, the worst and most humiliating, thing is when I'll see him and bound up, stretching out my lion paws, smiling and mewing and purring frantically, and he'll just look at me, and say in a very grownup, yet exasperated voice, “Daddy, we're not playing that game now!” And I'll mew and purr forlornly. “Daddy!”
But, I've expanded my roles. Yesterday I took him to the swimming pool and I spent a full 30 minutes lying in the shallow toddlers pool on my stomach and growling out, “I'm a shark and I'm coming to get you”, and then reaching out and trying to grab Matthew and his friend Savita as they squealed and tried to get away. I was good at what I did. Other kids soon took note. One boy in particular taunted me from the other side of the pool, “You can't get me, you can't get me.” Then he jumped on my back. I ducked him under the water. I was angry shark — terror of the toddlers pool.
It was his bloody grandparents again, and Debbie, who went halves and bought him a plastic put-together policestation for Christmas, complete with assorted plastic policemen and accessories. He loves it. He lines the policemen up and then rounds up all his roadworker plastic figures and puts them all in jail. He calls over to me, “Daddy, come play policemen!”
“Do I have to Matthew? I'm trying to read the newspaper.”
“Just play Daddy!!”
So I find myself lying on the floor holding a plastic policeman. Matthew has a deep voice when he's playing policemen. “Hi”, he'll say, “what's your name?”
“Pete. What's your name?”
“Billy.”
“Oh … What shall we do today Billy?”
“Let's go check the criminals in the jail.”
“Ok.”
Shakespeare this isn't. More like Beckett.
And we'll carry our men over to the jail. Except I'll forget to keep hold of mine. “Keep holding him Dad!” He's very insistent that I keep giving the game full attention.
“Ok, Jeff, let's go upstairs and do some work.”
“My name's Pete!”
“Ok, Pete, let's go upstairs and do some work.”
And the game go on in similar vein until Pete the policeman becomes Mike the very bored Dad and I try and pass him over to his mother. And hear as I walk out the door …
“Hi, what's your name?”
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Journals and blogs that I read regularly
Raising Hell
Feral Living
Hippycritical
Udder
My Life in 12 Point Font
Journal of a Writing Man
Some Jingle Jangle Morning
The Last Girl Scout
Potatoe.com
Journallife.com
Window to my Soul
Chickybabe
Sorabji.com
Yesterday's Makeup
Fifteen Milliliters
Fly Away
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Photo of tunnel copyright Bernd Klumpp, available from istockphoto.com