Being Dad #2

When I was a kid my father would, very occasionally, play football with my brother and I in the back garden. This would last ten minutes tops and be terminated by my Dad heaving the ball into next door's garden at which point he'd disappear back into the house while Stu scrambled through the narrow gap in the hedge to retrieve it. I remember feeling delighted that Dad played football with us but deflated when he ended it so soon. He gave himself to us, but, not wholeheartedly, we'd just get scraps of his time here and there, never for long.

I'm a father of young boys now and it's my turn to be harangued into the garden to deliver tame shots to gleeful goalkeepers but I commit to staying out there. I remember my Dad's approach too well, his eagerness for the final whistle, his impatient desperation to return to the hutch, so I try to be different. Your kids want your time, as much of it as possible, so while taking limp pot shots at a four year old goalkeeper might not get your sporting juices flowing, it's an invaluable period to the little man in between the sticks who simply wants to be with you.

The three of us (me, Freddie 9, Ernie 4) ambled up to the school playing fields on Saturday for a more expansive game than the titchy back garden would allow. Know the best part? It was the walk from the house to the fields, we held hands all the way, these moments will disappear before you know it, you've got to cherish them. Once at the pitch we managed to play two games of 'three and in' simultaneously. Using the tall wire mesh fence, we marked out two goals side by side, Fred protecting a standard sized goal while Ernie guarded a goal no more than eight feet wide. I had two footballs to shoot with; a proper caser for Freddie and a plastic Superman motiffed floaty thing for Ernie. I soon got confused. The idea was to strike firm shots at Fred and chip floaters at Ernie, unfortunately I got mixed up and drilled a pile driver at Ernie narrowly missing his head, it was at that moment he decided it was my turn to go in goal.

We stayed at the pitch for as long as the boys wanted us to. Yes I glanced at my watch and okay I was getting hungry but we stayed together on that pitch until they decided we'd move on. We walked slowly to the shop, no hurry, we talked about this, that and the next thing, all things inconsequential, but revelled in each other's company. We drifted slowly back home, again no hurry, stopping to hurl stones into the river and to smell the roses. It was blissful, I loved it and they did too. Why? Time, that's why, we shared unhurried, aimless time. This is what I'm learning in fatherhood, the value and importance simply of time! Time gentleman please, no not for last orders, for your children.