Another attempt

 Here I am again, another attempt at making sense of it all. Wondering what it's all about. 
I have to be the man of the house. I have to be the strong one. At least in the eyes of my children. My son, who has recently started secondary school, looks up to me. I am constantly at war with myself in an attempt to meet the expectations he has of me as his father. The same has to be said about being the father my daughter needs me to be. Through her five year old eyes, and in her five year old mind, I can do anything. I can fix anything, make things right in this scary sphere we call life. It's at times like that, when she looks up at me with her beautiful big eyes, and skin, silky smooth, unblemished by the ravages of existence, that I wish I had a disclaimer, ready to hand. Something tangible I could give her, to let her know, I don't know it all, I can't fix everything, or always make things right.
This, however, I suggest, to me at least, would be the cowards way out. A way of passing the blame to the inanimate object, in this case, the piece of paper, the disclaimer. At least then, I wouldn't have to say it out loud. She could read for herself. Or as much as her five year old brain would let her read. 
You see, I have realised, I know quite a lot about nothing. I listen in awe to others, who have studied something, or become so interested in something that it consumes them. It matters not what it is. I have an admiration for those who have the aptitude and understanding to be able to make these things happen. My brother for instance, he is 18months my senior. So not a lot in numerical difference between us. I don't think he would mind me telling you this, although if he does per chance, please accept my apologies "bruv" When we were at school, neither myself nor my brother were what you call, academically gifted. I do know, that my brother came out the other end of the educational production line better off than me. We both went to the same sixth form college. My brother took his A levels, so was still at college when I rocked up to commence my course. This course as it became affectionately known by my brother was the "special needs" course! To be fair to him, the course was full of people, who, like me, had struggled with the educational ideal. These people, again along with me, didn't want to go straight into work, did not, nor could not attain the grades needed to proceed to an A level course, so got herded like hormone fuelled cattle into one class. Heck, even the physical classroom was separate to the main building of the college. Make of this what you will! 

I look on in awe at my brother of what he has achieved since those crazy days at college. He secured a good job in the city of London, in various departments for the Civil Service. Following many years with the Civil Service, he moved to a role within the church. He became the youth pastor for the church he attended, and still attends to this day. Throughout this time, he has amazed me with his commitment and passion for his role. He then went on whilst still working, to study for a degree. He attained a 2.1 in some sort of theological study, to be honest, way over my head. To enlighten you to exactly how far over my head it is, imagine, when you gaze up on a summers day to the blue abyss above you. On these types of days, miles and miles above you, there are thin layers of clouds skimming the stratosphere like a lace table cloth stretching for as far as the eye can see. As you have no doubt realised, a considerable distance over my head. 
I also have a very close friend, who I have known since I was 17 or 18. We are still friends to this day some 26 years later, for which I am extremely grateful. We have been through a lot together. We've laughed together, there have been a lot of laughs. We have cried together. There have been some times when less well founded friendships would have crumbled. Ours, I am happy to say, still endures. This chap despite life throwing him some spectacular swerve balls, has turned out a thoroughly decent geezer. I remember being, and may I add, still, in awe of his musical abilities. This became more apparent back in the summer of 1995. This was the year that my brother got married. By this point I had been playing drums for about 5 years. My brother wanted a band for his wedding reception, so asked me to get a band sorted. I duly did, and my good friend joined with his saxophone. Another chap who I worked with at the time, and had lots of band experience stated that we needed another guitar player  I guess due to time constraints in finding a guitar player. So with no real second thought at the time it seemed, my good friend decided to go and learn to play the guitar. In a very short space of time. Now my memory is a bit hazy, as this recollection is being dragged up from the store room in my mind by a well weathered, limping elderly gentleman, with a very poor sense of his own environment, and of course, was 1995, so these memories are right at the back of the storeroom. I seem to recollect, we only had about 5 or 6 weeks to get a set list together, learn it, and then perform on one of the most important days of my older brothers life! This good friend of mine, turned up at rehearsals sporting his axe, and played. Subsequently, he nailed it at the gig too.
Please know, that I do not write this to attain any form of sympathy. I think I write this as I feel it is time for change. Change of my thought patterns, change how I see my own self worth. Know that it is OK to fail. Know that it is OK to lack confidence, and know that it is normal to doubt.  Change how I live my life. Change how to use what I have been gifted with for something worthy. 
I believe change is at the forefront of my mind due to my son starting secondary school. During the weeks and days preceding this momentous occasion within our household, I experienced an unsettled feeling, foreboding, almost melancholy. I have likened it to grieving. The loss of my primary school age child, to the gaping foul breathed jaws of secondary school uncertainty. As I write this entry, he is now in the middle of his second week. Even to look at him, he somehow seems older, more assured. I find myself worrying about how his day is going, and how he is coping. I think, in part, the reason for the concern is down to my own memories of secondary school. I hated it with a deep intense passion. I had no real academic prowess, little understanding of what teachers were telling me, and certainly no confidence to speak up. There were very few teachers who engaged me whilst I was trapped in school like a battery hen, and as a consequence, I rolled through school like a marble thrown down a never ending hill.
My son, however, seems to be coping admirably at present. Of course, it is exceptionally early days, and things could change. I will do my utmost to ensure he remains engaged with his schooling, though, hopefully without the pressure I felt when I was trapped, oh, sorry, when I was there. 
I guess, I must be doing something akin to navigating the correct course, which, in his eyes at least resembles his understanding of what a father should be. This evening, I picked my children up from school, cooked them a very unimaginative meal consisting of hot dogs and fries. I took him to ballet, and then onto his football training. When I picked him up, and casually mentioned that I was looking forward to my evening meal, he jokingly said, ha ha Dad, I've already had my dinner. To which I replied, I know son, I cooked it for you. He then said, that's because you're a proper dad. 
Not so bad I guess for someone who knows a lot about nothing....

(©) Dom Giddy 2017

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