The joys of beached parenthood

When my boys were still young, a friend of mine told me that she pitied them.

“Why?” I asked.

“You’ll always be imposing experiences on them.”

Well, I’ve been accused of many reprehensible deeds, but I was taken aback by that charge, because the behaviour in question didn’t seem reprehensible at all. I mean, as far as my own life was concerned, I’d found any experiences that weren’t downright unpleasant, all the more satisfying for being many and varied. So how was that an imposition?

In any case, it seems to my possibly not entirely impartial view, that the kids imposed a great many more experiences on me than I ever did on them. Not all of them uplifting. I remember clearly, with a smile, if a wry one, the moment when having placed my son Michael in the bath which we were about to share, I was shocked to see him stand quietly in the water and pee comfortably into it. I let the water out, and filled the bath again. He waited patiently for the task to be finished and then did exactly the same thing again.  

At that point, I decided that it was time to overcome my squeamishness and we had a perfectly satisfactory bath together. After all, the dilution factor must have been 400:1 or more, suggesting it was unlikely to do either of us much harm. And, since neither of us emerged any the worse for the experience, it clearly didn’t.

They inflicted plenty of other experiences on me too, many of them still more challenging. For instance, we had some interesting visits to the seaside. And I had a reminder of those fascinating moments today. Another of my sons, Nicky, now a mature and occasionally sane father of children himself, is visiting us with his charming wife Sheena and their delightful and frequently, though not always, angelic children, Matilda and Elliott. 

Each year, when we reach January, I’m reminded of the words of Tsar Nicholas I of Russia when faced with Napoleon, the apparently unbeatable general, leading a colossal army into the Russian homeland. 

“Russia has two generals in whom she can confide,” he announced, “Generals Janvier and Février.”

He was right. Those two months destroyed Napoleon’s army, on its lamentably famous retreat from Moscow.

Well, where we live in Valencia, Janvier and Février have learned some manners, some gentleness. It may be the paella. Or possibly the fine local wines. Just days after New Year’s, the temperature today is 23 degrees (OK, OK, 73 in the antiquated system the oh-so-more-modern-than-thou United States persist in using). 

To an Englishman like me, that feels like a spring day. To be honest, like a perfectly satisfactory summer day. Not at all like the depths of winter.

Danielle took Nicky, Sheena and the kids down to the beach to sample that aspect of the local delights. 

Elliott delighting in the beach
In a thoroughly angelic manner

Sample it they did. They played in the sand. They watched crazy people swimming in the sea (the temperature may be fine outside, but it takes a special temperament to enjoy the water). They went for a delicious meal with their parents and grandmother.

Matilda playing with her mother
Just as angelic

Basically, they behaved themselves well.

What a contrast to their father. We once spent an hour searching for him on the beach at Slapton Sands in England, when he wasn’t yet five. We kept asking people whether they’d seen a little boy in red shorts and a yellow top, but none of them had seen anyone like that. Which wasn’t surprising. When we finally found him, he was stark naked. 

We never did see those red shorts or that yellow top again.

The worst of it, though, is that the stripping off was an exceptional occurrence with him. Usually when he saw the sea, he didn’t waste any time on anything so dull as taking his clothes off. He plunged straight into the sea, clothes and all, without pausing long enough even to remove his shoes. 

Who’s got time to get undressed when the sea’s in sight?
33 years ago, the father of those kids also enjoying a beach
Not quite so angelically

Fortunately, we had learned always to take a full change of clothes with us whenever we went anywhere near any large body of water. It was an expensive undertaking, though, in terms of purchases of clothes. No clothes, and in particular no shoes, take kindly to being soaked in sea water.

It wasn’t just Nicky...
Michael and Nicky in the sea at Hastings, Autumn 1987

As, well. I blame the parents, personally. Clearly Nicky and Sheena are getting something right with with Matilda and Elliott that we (or at least I) got wrong  with Nicky (and Michael) rather over three decades ago.

Still, when it comes to anyone imposing experiences on anyone else, can you see why I wonder who was really doing the imposing?