Hi everyone, my name is L. I am The Jogging Dad’s 6 year-old elder son. He left this thing called WordPress/Joggingdad.com logged on (he’s becoming a little forgetful at his age) because he’s attending to my little 4 year-old brother who is chucking a hissy fit. My brother always chucks a hissy fit when jigsaw puzzles don’t look like a Picasso, if you know what I mean!
Anyhow, I thought I take this opportunity, while he’s not looking, to write some gibberish on this blog thing that my daddy spends an unhealthy amount of time on.
I rarely hear him talk about his work except that he stares at these numbers on computer screens everyday. He tells me that when these numbers go up, he sells some things, when they are go down, he buys some things. I usually roll my eyes and switch off at that point, and I think he does too. I also rarely hear him talk about his hobbies except that he runs around the park every now and then, comes home all sweaty without a shirt on, and then stares into the distance while sitting in the backyard guzzling down a Coke. However, I do see him quite often typing away on his laptop or scribbling away on his little notebook. I’m thinking that that has something to do with this blog thing that I’m currently mucking about with.
Now, what should I write? I know, how about I write about some gripes that I have with that dear daddy of mine? Yeah, let’s do that!
Firstly, don’t get me wrong, I think my daddy tries so hard to be a new-age father, spending time with me, involving himself with my school activities and generally showing real genuine interest in everything that I do. But, I must say, he can be a real pain in the ear sometimes.
For instance, I hate the way he tells me what to do all the time. My daddy is always looking at his watch and suddenly ordering me to do my homework, have a snack, turn off the TV, have a bath, eat my dinner, brush my teeth etc. Heck, he even tells me I can’t play on the iPad until he’s satisfied with what he sees on his watch! I can understand the old man’s got some sort of a routine that he must keep. But, boy, he’s gotta loosen up a bit! I mean how would he like it if, in the middle of blog-writing, I suddenly ordered him to stop right away and clean up the tools in his garage? My father has got to get it through the thick skull of his that, if he wants me to switch from one task to another, he’s gotta give me some advance warning, instead of treating me like a robot designed to respond to abrupt commands.
Also, what’s with this obsession that he has about me and my brother forever Driving-Missy-Daisy playing nicely with each other? We are brothers, 2 years apart. We are supposed to fight each other all time, wanting the one toy that the other one’s playing with, despite the availability of gazillion other toys. We are supposed to needle and tease each other, make each other cry and wrestle one another on the floor, no holds barred. My daddy may see this as fighting but my brother and I see this as mere “hanging out” or brotherly bonding. I’m sure, in time, he will recognise it as such also. For now, the old man just needs to understand that he doesn’t always need to step in to arbitrate. Let us brothers sort it out mano-a-mano sometimes. It will not only save his sanity but may even teach us how to solve conflicts in our own way. In any case, my father never seems to compliment us the times when we’re enjoying each other’s company, giggling together (often at daddy’s expense) or collaborating on some mischievous plans (often at mummy’s expense).
Another thing – when my daddy takes us out on holidays, I really wish he doesn’t expect us to suddenly be angels at all times. I’m sure whenever he plans these things, my father is looking forward to some kind of idyllic, stress-free, Brady-Bunch happy family with non-stop Kodak moments. But, seriously, just because he wants us to be happy so as to justify the expenses of these getaways, we can’t guarantee that we will follow his script. After all, we are only 6 and 4. We have a license to be emotionally volatile, physically fragile and generally imbecile. He shouldn’t think that we are not grateful. By the same token, he should also accept the inevitable (though only occasional) temper tantrums and sulky moods from us during these travels, especially since any overseas holiday from Australia (the butt-end of the world) requires mind-boggling long hours stuck in flying metal tubes!
I could go on and on. But I also want to say this about my father. He can be so cute, trying his best to fumble through this thing called parenting. He fails at it miserably everyday, yet gets up the very next day, greets us always with a smile and enthusiastically has a go at it again. I also like the way, even though I pretend otherwise, how my daddy always looks at me with such lovingly proud expression and often can’t stop himself but cradle me like a little baby and plant kisses all over my face!
Oh no, I think he’s coming back now. Boy, is he gonna chuck a hissy fit when he sees what I’ve done here with his blog. But before I quickly run away, let me just type the 3 words that my daddy always seem to end his blogs with.
Keep on pounding (what the hell does this mean anyway?).