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I Would Have Liked To Have Known My Kids When I Was Younger
My eldest child was born when I was 31. When the next two; 33 and 36 respectively. All three have grown into intelligent, fair-minded adults and all three are good company. None of them are like me when I was 31, 33, and 36.
A friend of mine fathered his first child when he was just eighteen so by the time he was 30, he had an almost teenage rebel on his hands. He told me one day after a battle with his son: “He really pisses me off with his arguing. He is at that stage where he thinks he knows everything and what is so annoying, I just got out of that stage with my father myself.”
So much for growing up with your kids. Like most people, I have just snatches of memories of when I was a child. I can remember fights with my brother, bits and pieces of family vacations and interludes with my father before he died at the age of 62 when I was 17. A couple of my siblings have always complained that we had a tough life as our mother and father fought a great deal. However, most of the memories I have are pleasant enough.
My daughter was very precocious. She was very outgoing and made friends with everyone. She lost the plot somewhat when she reached her teenage years and I think I would have handled her ups and downs a lot better had I been around her age. Perhaps a confidante? That’s sort of what I…
