Daunted Dad to Be

It’s been a week since discovering Jo is pregnant. A week since finding out I am going to be a Father. A Dad. Daddy, Pop, Pa. It doesn’t matter which way I phrase it; it’s still stark sounding.

It’s not that the pregnancy was not planned. And it’s not that I’m worried about giving up my lad status; at thirty-nine years old I’m more than ready for a little bit of sensibility in my life. In fact whilst most men my age are carefully plotting, planning and scheduling in their mid-life crisis, it could be argued that I have been actively enjoying mine since I was seventeen years old. Converting my games room into a nursery and trading my sports car in for something a little more child-friendly, would therefore seem quite a fitting way of marking my forthcoming fortieth; the proceeds from the sale of my pool table should keep Junior in nappies for quite some time.

I’m excited. Thrilled. Made up. I’m walking around with the biggest grin on my face like some thirty-nine year old virgin that’s just been tasked with finding out which of the Minogue sisters performs best in the sack.

I’m scared too, for many, many reasons. But mostly I’m daunted.

Along with Jo it will be my responsibility to teach our child life skills, to guide him and show him right from wrong, even when there is no clear right or wrong: What’s my opinion on computer games versus outdoor activities? Should I let him play with guns and toy soldiers? What age should I buy him a mobile ‘phone? My position on scouting, in particular scout masters is very much undecided.

“Is any of this really worth worrying about right now?” Jo asks, as I price up the cost of buying and owning a pony.

Yes. It is.

The problem is that I can’t help but look at the bigger picture, even if it has yet to be drawn.

I’m already considering important birthdays, whether he should play an instrument and if so which one, sporting interests, driving lessons, first car, girlfriends and/or boyfriends, career choices (Legal Aid Solicitor – own practise specialising in helping the helpless), marriage and grandchildren.

But what do I know about children today? Nothing really; it’s been far too long since I was one and things have changed somewhat; Nintendo Wii’s, DVDs, IPods, a million and one channels on TV, Internet chat rooms; I had none of these things, rather I would keep myself happily occupied from early morning until the streetlights came on, engaging in some strange, now long forgotten activity we cutely referred to as ‘playing outside’.

But is childhood still a safe and acceptable activity? Not according to the daily news. They suggest that a diseased, violent and blame-ridden society awaits my child; and that’s a daunting thought.

“You’re going to make a great dad!” Jo reassures me.

But why? What do I know about being a Dad? The only point of reference I have thus far is taking care of Lily, my dog, which surely has to be discounted on so many grounds, and of course my own Father. I reckon he did a pretty fine job, exceptional in fact. As I enjoyed a carefree childhood, I now know he contended with sickness, unemployment and severe money shortages; these were the days before benefits and assurances, but of course I was blissfully unaware that we were in anyway deprived. It’s only now as an adult looking back do I realise just how hard things were and how I was protected from that fact. I could have easily grown up to be an undesirable thug and blamed it all on a deprived childhood, but my Dad’s love, hard graft, determination and example ensured that I didn’t turn out that bad.

And now it’s my time to live up to, emulate and pass on that example. It’s my turn to be him. My turn to be Dad. And I guess that’s what I’m finding really daunting.