They’re growing up in a house where it’s normal to go down into the cellar, squeeze into a tiny, darkened room, and talk to yourself, sometimes for hours at a time.
How can this end well? Yesterday our eldest Theo said, maybe he’d be a voice over when he’s older. Katie and I looked at each other as though he’d just told us he’d found Jesus, and by the way had killed someone, and was pregnant. We fell over each other trying to put him off. It only occurred to me later what an odd reaction that was. Why did we bring out lines like, “Well… it’s not an easy option you know!” or “But I thought you liked science?” or “have you thought about plumbing. You can never find a decent plumber!”
(I should probably mention he’s 11 years old, by the way.)
But then I think… maybe it’s inevitable.
When the kids belt out spontaneous songs in the back of the car, or memorise entire ‘Amazing World of Gumball’ episodes and perform them in the lounge, or film themselves acting out comic kung fu movies, I shake my head and wonder why they’re not out playing football, or climbing trees.
But then moments later Katie and I are talking to each other in scouse accents throughout dinner, or reciting Shakespeare spontaneously in theatrical voices to amuse ourselves, or performing karaoke late into the night, with full Beyonce strutting and camp hand gestures.