As the father of three boys aged twenty, eighteen, and thirteen, I have spent the last seven years, and will spend the next seven years, in a parallel universe known as parenting hell. Nobody teaches you how to be the parent of a teenager, and nobody knows what to expect until it hits them.
I was a well adjusted, intelligent, and respected thirty-nine year old man seven years ago. I felt good about myself, and I knew that I was somebody in the world. I had three lovely children who were a pleasure to be with and of whom I was immensely proud.
Now, just those few years later I have lost my hair, and what is left has gone grey. I have huge bags under my eyes, I feel clinically depressed most of the time, and I have lost any semblance of self esteem.
It all started on the night of 8th April 1999. It was the night before my eldest son's thirteenth birthday. “Night, night, daddy,” he said, “I love you.”
The next morning he woke up and I greeted him “happy birthday, son,” I said. “What time is it? Tired. Want more sleep,” he replied. With that he turned away from me and went back into his bedroom.
Apart from meal times, and when he wanted a lift somewhere, or to borrow some money, that was the last I saw of him until his twentieth birthday, when, miraculously he became a nice person again.
With my middle son the same thing happened. I'm sure I remember a polite, talkative, loving and happy child, but that memory is fading. I must cling on to the hope that it is only two years until he becomes a decent human being again.
I hoped and prayed that things would be different with my youngest son. I had learned the lessons with my two older children and I wouldn't let it happen again. I did everything in my power to keep him as he was when he was twelve, but lo and behold, I now have another child who finds it far too much of an effort to smile at me or speak to me.
Seven more years until he comes out of this period of his life. I will be fifty-three and am likely to be on a fairly high dose of Prosaic.
Of course, I love my boys and I'm still very proud of them. I just yearn for those days when they thought daddy was the strongest, nicest, cleverest, and funniest man in the world, instead of being a bank and a taxi driver and, at best, an annoyance.
Would I change anything? No of course I wouldn't. I have done everything I can for my boys, and one day they will appreciate it. They will turn into fine men, and maybe, just maybe, I'll get my reward, and revenge, when I get old!
