Andrew just turned seven. We have a seven-year-old. Wow.
He’s a great big brother, sensitive, oh, and a quality number NINE, a ruthless finisher one-on-one.
He’s also reading at a very advanced level for his age. Now, don’t worry, this isn’t going to be a “my son, the over-achiever” job. This is more of a warning!
One of the things that we think has led to him reading so well is our insistence that he try to read anything, anywhere. Signs, ads, instructions on games, you name it, he’s reading it.
This has its drawbacks.
One of his recent favourite things to do is sit on my back and read my phone over my shoulder. This is fine because I can moderate what I want him to see.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
“Just tweeting this thing.”
“Can anyone recommend a… what’s a shim-nay?”
“Chimney.”
“…a chimney cleaner on the north side of Dublin? Thanks.”
Pretty innocuous stuff. Also, I’m @davetodayfm on Twitter and, if you know a good chimney cleaner, let me know!
Anyway, the other day, he strolled in and asked me this:
“Dad, what’s sexy?”
I just stopped. Where had he heard this? What’s he been exposed to? How do I answer?
“Um…really, very, really, like, beautiful”, I stumbled.
“Oh. So, you think Mammy is sexy?”
“What? I mean, yes. Your mammy is very sexy.”
Oh, God, this feels all wrong. Totes awks. Sad face. SAD FACE.
He dropped it then but my brain was in overdrive. Where did he encounter “sexy”?!? Then, I realised. My name for Tracy in my phone is “Tracy You’re Sexy”. It’s a long story about a Bluetooth phone system in my car and it constantly calling an old friend in the US when I wanted to know if Tracy (not Stacy) needed milk.
Tracy You’re Sexy.
*wipes brow*
But, then, it got worse.
We have a couple of family WhatsApp groups, one on each side of the family to keep in touch and, let’s face it, see who can pretend to be the best parents, with our constant pictures of us out doing family things: Look at us hiking! Look at us doing pottery! Look at, oh, forget it. I just Photoshop our heads into stock photos of active families and we sit in squalor, watching Peppa Pig on an endless loop.
These WhatsApp groups have a few older nieces and nephews in them so we keep them clean. Other WhatsApp groups, not so much. The one with the lads about football, 18s and older please.
The one with the lads from the band, Not Safe For Work. The one with the lads who are still single, Not Safe For Anyone!!!
So, the issue arose the other day during screen time. Andrew is allowed a few minutes to play Minion Run or Pokémon Go or watch Kids YouTube or whatever.
We’ve never supervised it because that is literally all he’s wanted to do. One day, I couldn’t hear the Pokémon music. Or the Minion music. Or some hyper-annoying other kid or weird adult opening Match Attax boxes or Kinder Surprise Eggs. What was he doing? He was reading aloud to himself:
“Jose doesn’t know his arse from his elbow. Pogba is a waste of money. And don’t get me started on that bulls hitter, Rooney.”
I did a super hero dive across the kitchen, into the dining room, along the length of the sofa and ripped the phone from his hand.
“Okay, what are you reading there?”
“Just a teskt (he can’t pronounce text yet. It’s quite cute) from Johnny about football. What’s a bulls hitter?
“What? Never mind. Eat your carrots.”
So, no longer satisfied with Temple Run 2, he had just seen a notification pop up, tapped it and headed off into a world of unmoderated, adult conversation in WhatsApp!
I just keep muttering to myself, “could have been worse…could have been waaaaay worse.”
It got way worse.
I’m currently planning a surprise for my wife. Don’t worry, she doesn’t read any of these articles. Or my social media. She’s far too busy to concern herself with my trite musings.
Anyway, there he was over my shoulder, reading aloud as I typed a message to someone helping me organise the surprise:
Andrew: “I will call you when Tracy is asleep so that she won’t hear…”
Tracy: “Excuse me? Won’t hear what?”
Me, in a flopsweat: “Oh, what? Andrew! What are you making up there, you silly billy? Ha Ha! I have to go now…over there…and then outside and… see ya!”
Great. I’m trying to plan a romantic surprise and now she thinks I’m planning an affair! Thanks, Andrew, you brainbox!
I am David Zachary John Moore. I am married to Tracy (who used to be Velcro Girl on 2Phat). We have four kids: Andrew is seven, Samuel is four, Nina and Anna, the twins, are two. We have a dog called Lorna, a lurcher we rescued in 2005. She can leap a nine-foot wall in one go. I am tired.
