Dont Panic!!!

It’s been a quiet time lateley. Days go by and we continue to exist with the very present threat of the the deadly Corona Virus, Covid-19, for those close to it. Quiet, despite the pandemonium in the media. Quiet, despite the lack of toilet paper, which just goes to show how scared people really are!

However, last Sunday, I wanted a quiet afternoon with my daughter away from the panic mongering. I wanted to chill. I wanted to enjoy the sun and get some vitamin D. I wanted to just forget the world around me and have a break. With my daughter. It would also give my wife some home alone time, but not in a Macauley Culkin, burgularies, and a smart ass kid using physical assault to defend his home while his emotionally abusive family buggered off, kind of way… No, I had committed the gravest of faults that anyone can make in a mariage, I had had enough and was totally honest. I said what was on my mind. I repeated myself when she asked what the f*ck I was on about. If you’re going to be up the creek, you might as well go for it. What I had forgotten was that my wife is going through the menopause. I remembered something about my mother being somewhat cranky, so thought, go for it. Ooops! Well I’ve had the bed to myself for this last week, and have actually slept quite well. Silver linings and all that.

Anyway. It was Sunday, and I thought it might be a good idea to get my daughter out of the house and let the psychotic beast that had replaced my wife, alone.

Kate knew that I was in the dog house and was quite sweet. I assured her that Mummy and Daddy weren’t going to divorce and that it would be over soon. We drove off to Nantes.

Now my daughter can be described as many things, but high maintenance? Nah… But always to avoid going when the shops are open. She seems to have the philosophy of, well, asking can’t hurt, you never know. And then she accuses me of always saying no. Is this new wave feminism, or am I just being sexist and accusing the two ladies in my life wanting to bleed me for every penny that I’m not worth? I mean every “centime d’euro,” as we’re in France after all.

Anyway. I made sure she was well fed before we left. She had stuffed herself with Weetabix. A few hours later she would be deadly at a thousand paces. I was playing with my life. But I laugh in the face of danger, and then go, Ouch… She used to hate Pizza, but as become a new convert, and now Thursday is Pizza night. I knew of a place where you get a huge slice of pizza for just €2.50, and thought I cannot fail. She loved it. YESSSSSSS!

She wanted to go to the Passage Pommeraye. Oh no, all the shops were closed. All we could do was to look in the windows, and yes Darling, that’s where I got your birthday presents. The only shop that was open was one that sold chocolate, cakes and macarons. This day is going far too well!

We came down the rue Crébillon towards the Place Royale, where her favourite fountain is. However, the day before was the Journée de la Femme, and the day after the sqaure was full of ladies that weren’t happy at all, and were getting all shouty about it. My PTSD kicked in and we ran towards the Place de Commerce.

She had decided that we were going to the cinema to see a film of her choice, and since she had just been fed, we just floated by the sweets and popcorn without the slightest, Papa, on peut avoir… I was on my game. The film was actually quite good, and I didn’t even snore. A feat in itself.

I, of course, had to feed her before mass, because it meant that I would be able to get to the pub earlier and have a couple of pints and get home to bed earlier. Again everything went swimmingly. Maybe I’m getting to understand this child after ten years. Lets hope she stays as sweet. Oh bugger, puberty is just around the corner. I’ll just enjoy it before it starts.

Letter to my daughter

I have a daughter.  Those of you who have followed this blog for a while will have seen pictures of her.  She is a thousand things to me, and more.  A muse, an inspiration, a little mother, my child, a force of nature, an enigma, a reminder of her mother, a little person turning into a young lady.

I think, like most ten year olds, she puts up with me but allows me to take her photo, but I didn’t expect these two photos.  They sum her up quite well.  She has that look that can kill at a thousand paces.  She has that look that says, that’s enough!  Stop please.  But she’s not just a killer.

When you were born, I was going through depression. I was still doing shift work. My constant companion was Insomnia, and was leaving me in a dreadful state. I wasn’t much of a father during that first year. I had moments of lucidity and of course loved you deeply. You changed my view on women. I’m not saying I was a Trump who wants to grab small cats or anything, but I think the moment you become the father of a daughter you change your perspective so quickly. I mean I’ve always tried to give my son a good example to follow, and to teach him that just because a person can’t write their name in the snow without their hands, it makes them no less of a person and must be respected as such. Any woman must be treated as a lady, even if she is not one. We have a duty to protect women. It might a little old school of me and possibly even patriarchal, but that’s the way I roll.

You reminded me what the word tenderness meant. At the time Killian was 11 and I felt that I had to harden him up to affront this world, where not everything is rosy, and I had forgotten. Any small child has the ability to melt your heart, especially when they belong to you. I remembrer laying next to you when you were on your play mat, and looking at you in wonderment. I remember you being a toddler and always trying to give me your bottle and make me drink. Obviously afraid that I wasn’t eating enough. I remember making biscuits with you and seeing your little face light up when you would eat the still warm biscuits with milk. I remember you coming in to see me when I was hiding in my room, hiding from the world when I couldn’t affront it. Depression is a bitch. You would give me the best cuddles ever and reminded me how much you needed your Papa d’amour chéri.

You always were a strong willed child, and this has not changed. You love spending time with me and having days out in Nantes, or elsewhere. We get in the car and you tell me exactly where I am to drive. Everything is planned in your mind ahead of time. Now and again I am allowed to bring my camera, but as soon as I get the look I know it’s time.

The look!

At the end of the day you allow me to go to the pub. I’m allowed to have a pint of Guinness, and you have a coke and a packet of crisps.

Despite being a force of nature my protective nature has surfaced. I want to defend you against all agression, especially as you become a teenager. Luckily you are the little sister of a big brother and knows how to fight. But every time you get hurt, my whole being hurts. Thank heavens there are no “boys” yet. You dare to be different and already are learning to pay the price at school. I worry about the Collège years. That awkward age… I know you will come out of it on the other side, and that any suffering will form you, and help you to become the woman you are destined to be.

I hear tales of women being cat called in the street, and being harassed. I have known victims of rape. I have known women who have been given grief for wearing the “wrong clothes” and “asking for it!” What kind of world do we live in? To all men out there, remember to act as gentlemen. Try and be more than an animal. A woman in the street is somebody’s daughter, sister, mother, and has as much a right to dignity as you do!

Kate, you have been my daughter for ten and a half years, and I have grown as a person. You have taught me to be gentle again. You have taught me to love. You have given me a reason to keep going despite the hard days.

I love you.

Ton petit Papa d’amour chéri.