Hello.
I was confused and sore headed.
Uhm – Hi
You look good today.
I was quite proud of myself for moving to London, it seemed
like the place to make something of myself even if that something was a
confused Himmler lookalike with alcoholic pretensions and a fried chicken bloodlust.
So when she said I looked good my first thought was
Well damn, maybe I do.So I said simply Thanks.
She smiled at me, a slightly wan smile that pushed the dark smudges under her eyes up a little.
So, you want to go somewhere?
I frowned.
McDonalds?
She smiled again but it was fading now.
Somewhere - just you and I.
Reality came into view and my mouth lost its self control.
Wait a minute, you’re
a prostitute.
She hushed me.
So - do you want to go
somewhere or not?
I shook my head but said thank you very politely and wished
her a nice day. Before I had finished she had already turned away and slipped her
hand into another chaps arm.
I met more in Cambodia. One lady was working in Cambodia to
send money back to raise her son in Thailand. She cut hair, bedded English
backpackers and in between time she chatted with my wife and I at the bar. She also told us when we’d been there too
long, waving us off and pointing out it was 2am and we were due to leave the
next day. She had a huge smile and lovely eyes.
Last Friday night Toes wouldn’t go to sleep. She decided to
change out of her pyjamas and into a purple dress she had for ballet. She found
some make up and plastered her cheeks and lips in rouge and scarlet. She found
some high heels that an aunt had given her and she strutted into the lounge and
struck a pose.
Darlin?
Daddy
What are you doing?
I need someone to
pretend to be the customer.
What?
She stuck one leg out again and pouted at me.
I need someone to
pretend to be the customer.
What does the
customer do?
She smiled
Knock at the door and
I answer it. Will you be the customer Dad?
I stood, not knowing how to play this game.
C’mon Dad, knock
on the door and be the customer.
Uhm – bed time darling.
C’mon off to bed now.
She shouted in protest but it seemed easier than finding out
what my 4 year old thought the customer
did. I have since figured that she was emulating a neighbour of ours who wears
bright lip stick, dresses in the style listed only as fabulous and works at the markets selling vintage clothes but on
Friday night that explanation hadn’t occurred to me.
I don’t mind what the kids grow up to be though Toes Friday night career path was a shock. There
are things I’d rather they weren’t of course – religious, working in real estate,
loveless, addicted, bored, but beyond that? In my ideal world Bear would be a fireman (who
owns a restaurant). Currently he is determined to grow up to be Thor, Iron
Man and Hulk (Thors head and hammer, Hulks arms and legs and Iron Mans
rocket feet and weapons). Toes would become a talented
guitar playing Goth (who also owns a restaurant). The Goth side of it is to
combat the deluge of pink she wears at the moment. Currently she wants to be
either a mother with 2 babies, 3 on Sunday and she has a list of potential
boyfriends.
Neither the fireman or the guitar Goth are likely to happen, so here’s hoping on the restaurant. I saw an older couple in a restaurant
once. The waitress asked if they had a reservation and the chap said My son owns the restaurant.
He asked us to come down.
Damn I thought, that would be cool. A table was cleared and a parade of food bought out along
with wine. With this image in mind I hope. Every day I hope.
Wouldn’t you be
disappointed if Bear grew up gay?
The question came up with some folk over dinner not long ago
and our answer was immediate.
Of course not.
But it’s such a hard
life. Don’t you want them to be – well - normal?
We just want them to
be happy. Anywhere, anyhow. Just happy.
Normal? An IT worker I used to know liked to
be peed on by married women. Finn, a
woman I despaired working with, judged potential partners on how much they knew
about Harry Potter – if you knew enough you might get to bed with her. I never got my head around the Q&A session
she must hold in the lounge – What was
the name of Harry’s school? If the chap says Hogwarts he gets a flash of
thigh, a kiss on the cheek. What shape scar
does Harry have? If he answers a
Triangle then the buttons are fastened and he’s shown the door.
It must be so hard to
not be normal.
It must be harder to spend time worrying about what’s not
normal. Bear and Toes have no idea about normal. There is not a whisper of racism
in them (though Toes is fascinated with darker skin), there is not a hint of
homophobia (though Toes and Bear both agree that adults kissing is gross be it men
and men or men and women – amusingly Bear, when considering the idea of girls
kissing girls said That would be cool Dad)
and the only violence they have is towards beetles – Toes loves them to death,
stroking the legs off of them and Bear, if you’re not watching him, likes to
stamp on them. They've not been told anything is abnormal so nothing is.
My daughter is a 4 year old in heels and make up looking for
a customer. Bear made a Thors Hammer out of a tissue box and tin foil at the
weekend and then sat down and watched a Barbie movie with his sister.
A fireman (with a restaurant) and a Goth indie singer with a
guitar (and a restaurant). That’s my ideal. It won’t happen, I know that. But the
less normal they turn out the more delighted I think I’ll be – well, as long as
they don’t become real estate agents.
(written while listening to the new Sigur Ros album - damn
it's beautiful. Like, love, share the blog, reassuring man hugs for all)
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