Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Babies, Empathy, Family, Fatherhood, Jill, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
So this is going to be a weird post, but it’s an important one.
You see a few weeks ago, my wife wrote this …
“As I nursed my baby into toddlerhood I noticed a shift in the messages from outside voices. From supportive and encouraging in the newborn days to surprised, questioning or doubtful once he was a walking, talking toddler.
I like to think that most people want to help with their comments or advice, maybe they worry that our ‘extended’ nursing could somehow impact negatively on my son, after all, it’s not what most people do… Dependence seems to be something a lot of them are concerned about.
I want to show them how my beautiful, sweet, spirited, glorious little boy greets the world (and taxi drivers) with a wide smile or a cheeky ‘Ni Hao!’… how he chants ‘run, run!’ as his still chubby legs stride ever faster down little hills … how he bops and boogies to every kind of music, at every opportunity, in every environment … how he sometimes forgets to even look back to find me because he’s exploring his amazing, ever expanding world … but I guess they’re not completely wrong about him being dependent on me.
He depends on me for comfort, safety, security & connection when he’s sad or tired or hurt or frustrated or overwhelmed. As long as nursing provides this place of refuge for my precious boy I’m ecstatic I can be there for him. So I want those out there who question or doubt or suspect to know, we’re doing great thanks, our version of dependence is exactly as it should be …”
OK … OK … so she writes much better than me, but the fact is, I have been shocked how many people feel they have a right to be a judge on my sons upbringing just because they have their own child.
I accept most of them do it in a well-intentioned way [and fortunately, most of our friends have said, “the best rule to parenting is to only follow your rules and ignore everyone else”] but there has been more than a few – often relative strangers – who have used a judgemental tone or look when they’ve discovered we don’t agree with letting our son ‘cry himself to sleep’, let alone play with dolls or dance whenever music is on.
But here’s the big thing …
Given 50% of Otis is from me, the fact he is turning out to be such an amazing, wonderful little boy means it is 100% down to how Jill.
What she wrote is not an attempt to say ‘our way is the right way’, the purpose of it is to remind people that we have the right to decide what is the right way for us.
But what I find even more amazing is that given how well Otis is turning out, those who challenge our approach are trying to find fault in perfection … so I’d just like them to do me a favour and be an expert on their children, rather than other people’s, though this ‘know when to talk and know when to shut up’ could apply to far more than just raising children as I am sure many of you can appreciate.
Filed under: Comment, Jill, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
So yesterday went pretty well.
No one quit [yet] and everyone seemed to get along.
In some respects, that might be the most successful thing I’ll have achieved with The Kennedys.
Today we’re going to talk about emotion and the power it has over us.
I bring this up because on my holiday, I went to see some of my Italian family and I have to say that the whole thing was very emotional for me.
Part of this was because I stayed in the house, in the small town, in the small province where my Mum lived.
It was a place my Mum always regarded as incredibly special and important to her and to be there – with my family for the first time – was incredibly emotional for me.
Seeing my son run around a home that my Mum had run around as a child was both wonderful to see and hard to take.
Without doubt she would have been so very, very happy we were there, I just wish she was there to see it.
I looked at everything differently while I was there.
Everywhere I went I tried to imagine Mum as a child playing in the streets, visiting the park that she eventually took me to as a child [and that I took Otis too], laughing with her friends.
When I stood on one of the old houses balcony’s, I kept thinking Mum had done the same thing at one time.
In some ways, it made me feel I was near her again … that I had ‘brought her home’ and I loved that, though it also meant the rawness of her loss came to the surface again.
While I was there I met some of Mum’s school friends.
Some I had met before, some I hadn’t.
To hear them talk so wonderfully about my Mum really got to me.
It’s not that those words hadn’t been said by others before, it was just that these people knew my Mum in a way few did – certainly not me – and somehow that meant their words had even more power.
It was a privilege to be there and I am so glad I was able to bring my new family together with my old, but I don’t mind telling you I was emotionally exhausted when I left.
But there’s one story I want to talk about, because it’s a story I’m going to be telling The Kennedys students about today.
While I was in Italy, one of my relations showed me a bunch of old photographs.
One was of my family home in Nottingham and when I turned the photo over to see if had been dated, I saw this …
That’s my Dad’s writing.
Writing I had not seen for a long, long time.
And I have to say, it knocked me sideways.
I couldn’t stop looking at it.
Running my finger across it.
Like standing on that balcony in Mum’s family home, this writing suddenly made me feel close to my Dad again.
Not just emotionally, but physically.
It didn’t matter it was just an address.
It didn’t matter it was so old, I’m guessing it was when Mum & Dad had just moved into the area given he had spelt ‘Bridgford’ incorrectly.
It was my Dad and this had moved him from my past into my present.
And that was an amazing feeling. A precious, amazing feeling.
Now that’s what I call a real family holiday.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Experience, Family, Fatherhood, Holiday, Jill, Love, Otis
So by the time you read this post, I’ll be in Paris.
And yes, it’s for work.
It’s potentially the best work assignment of my life because not only do I have the pleasure of presenting to a bunch of global NIKE guys, I’m doing a presentation about Boatie McBoatface.
No really, I am.
Mind you, having written that down, I’m starting to realise the idea was better when it was in my head.
Oh well, too late now …
But if you think that’s showing off, wait till you hear this.
Tomorrow I fly home …
But it’s not to go back to work, oh no, it’s to pick up my wife and son and then get on another plane and spend a month on holiday.
I can’t wait … we will be catching up with old friends, seeing members of family and doing a bunch of new things in new places.
But most of all, we will be together … and while I’d love Rosie the cat to be with us, it will still be very special for me.
Being together is precious.
Of course that is to be expected, however when you have a young child, it takes on another dimension.
You don’t just do things together … you get to experience new things together.
Normally with a young child, life falls into 2 parts:
1. You bring them into your life. [Where they experience things you’ve done before]
2. You let them explore their life. [Where they experience things designed just for them]
But on a holiday – especially a holiday where you will be spending time in a place none of you have been before – you get to experience things for the first time together, literally share an experience where everyone is [kind-of] equal.
Now while I know it is exceedingly unlikely my 18 month old baby will ever remember anything from it, the fact is I will and I can tell you it will automatically be something important in my life and that makes me extra excited to be going away.
I’m back on the 17th July, so enjoy your holiday from me while I enjoy my holiday from you.
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Family, Food, Jill, Otis, Parents
I’ve written previously about the privilege it is to see my son experience things for the very first time in his life.
His first word.
His first food.
His first crawl.
His first plane trip.
His first time in the sea.
I cannot put into words how magical and amazing it feels.
The only downside being it is a constant reminder he is growing up in the blink of an eye.
Before I was a Dad, I used to listen to parents say that about their children and think ..
“It takes 18 years for your kid to grow up. 18 years is a bloody long time. Get over it”
… but now I am a father, I totally get what they mean.
Every day something new happens.
A new word.
A new experience.
A new interaction.
And you both relish it and hate it because it means they’re growing up. Developing. Moving towards a time where they will no longer be reliant on you … a time where you will no longer be the most important people in their World.
The best thing about technology is I can capture these things in perfect clarity.
Not just so I can embarrass Otis when he’s older – though that is pretty good too – but so I can remember the feeling or love and wonder I have every time I am given the honour of witnessing my son grow up right in front of my eyes.
Which leads to the point of this post.
Recently we gave Otis his first taste of ice cream.
A product he could neither quite grasp in terms of taste or how to eat it.
But he liked it … or at least the concept of it.
I won’t say anymore – I’ll let you see it for yourself – though wouldn’t it be great if we were all this happy about such simple pleasures.
God, I love that kid so, so much.
Have a great weekend.
So as many of you know, I lost my wonderful Mum in 2015.
It was – and still is – a hugely traumatic incident, but as I wrote [and wrote and wrote] at various times over that dark period, there were moments of relief.
Some of that came from the outpouring of compassion and care I received from so many wonderful people, some of it was through the inappropriate – and yet utterly perfect – actions of my son, but there was one other that I haven’t talked about.
When we were organising Mum’s funeral, I was asked about what music we wanted.
While there were so many possibilities, I thought the best thing to do was choose songs that Mum loved and the easiest way to do that was to look at her iPad and review the ’25 most played songs’.
It was quite an eclectic list but that also was testimony to my Mum’s openness to music, regardless of era.
So after talking it through with Jill, we got it down to 3 pieces …
Nat King Cole’s Wonderful World
Emeli Sande’s Clown
Christina Perri’s Jar of Hearts
So far so good.
So we come to the day of the funeral – a day I was dreading – and the ceremony was beautiful.
The church was full of people wanting to pay their respects from far and wide, little Otis slept through the whole thing – ensuring we didn’t have to worry about him crying through a very emotional moment in our lives – the celebrant was utterly wonderful and I even managed to make it through my eulogy without breaking down too much.
As funerals go, it had been beautiful.
And then it happened.
You see, when we were choosing the songs for the funeral, I didn’t really listen to more than 5 seconds of them.
Part of this was because I knew the songs already and the other part was I had been too emotionally raw to hear all the songs all the way through given what they were going to be associated with.
Now before I go on, I should point out I’ve never been good with lyrics.
Even when I was in a band and wrote some of the songs, I could never remember what were the words. I am much more a melody person than a lyrical one … which is my way of explaining what happened as the funeral drew to a close.
The ceremony was over and people were invited to leave the church.
As we sat there, waiting to depart, Christina Perri’s song started to play.
Maybe it was because I had nothing to do as I waited to be able to leave my seat … maybe it’s because I was in deep reflection of what I had just experienced … but I started to listen to the lyrics a bit more intently.
This is what I heard:
I know I can’t take one more step towards you
‘Cause all that’s waiting is regret
Don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore
You lost the love I loved the most
I learned to live half alive
And now you want me one more time
And who do you think you are?
Runnin’ ’round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
And tearing love apart
You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
So don’t come back for me
Who do you think you are?
While the sentiment of the song is what I assumed it was – the sadness of the people you have left behind – the context of it was ENTIRELY different.
Instead of it being a heartfelt message of goodbye, it was a middle finger to a cold, selfish bastard of a player.
In other words, the most utterly inappropriate song to play at a funeral … especially at my wonderful Mum’s funeral.
On hearing this, I literally grabbed Jill’s hand and said, “Let’s go. Now”.
Fortunately, I found the whole thing a bit amusing – which stopped me from falling too deep in the darkness that I was feeling – plus there’s the fact it was one of her favourite songs so it was not an entirely random choice.
Later that night, I told Shelly – my best friend Paul’s wife – about the incident and she admitted that when she heard it, she had thought it was rather “an unusual choice of song”.
The thing is, I think my Mum would have found it amusing too.
I can imagine her laughing about it … like she is in the photo above.
Which is why if people were to ask me how my Mum’s funeral was, I would reply – as funny as it may seem to say – it was absolutely perfect.