I realise I live in a quasi-youthful state these days, torn between the childhood to which I wish to regress and the ongoing, irrepressible surge onwards into adulthood, its trappings of responsibility - financial, emotional, familial - looming ever larger in the rear-view mirror of my conscience.
I would hazard to guess that men suffer from this plight more acutely than their female counterparts. As boys, we are often raised in a manner that fosters irresponsibility and neglects the need to address life's real issues. I have to say that sport, the still predominantly male obsession, is somewhat to blame.
We are rightly encouraged to take an interest and participate in sport, yet we're not necessarily encouraged to take responsibility for doing so. When on-field competition spills over into conflict or injury, we often hear that well weathered adage - "Oh well. Boys will be boys" - the impression that our actions are beyond our control re-enforced in the process.
As an avid child spectator I've often heard, from mothers and grandmothers no less, the sympathetic tones of "Let him watch the football", offered in response to my desperate need to see a particular match on TV, as if it was an accepted right of my gender to be afforded access to this other world.
Now I'm not denying that as an adult I wouldn't still be disgruntled at having my Soccer Saturday viewing interrupted by, say, having to attend a Christening - after all, I still believe in the worth of sport to lift me into a magical realm - it's just that it doesn't set me up for the delicate and subtle responsibilities of adult/fatherhood.
As a case in point, I find it difficult to deal with the oedipal Bermuda triangle that is my son/wife/mother relationship. For example, all too often I struggle to put my own mother to rights on the smallest of seemingly trivial babysitting issues. Rather than putting my wife and son's needs unequivocally first, like Ronnie Corbett, I'm always looking for the next opportunity to say "sorry".
It's a weakness of character I know. If I employ avoidance tactics even for mundane tasks such as fixing a loose floorboard, it's no surprise I do so in the face of real confrontation and all the consequences that its adult incarnation brings.
Of course I know it's not my fault I'm this way, obviously. If fault lies anywhere, it's with how boys are raised in compliance with societies expectations; it's with the prevalence of culture's glamorous anti-heroes ('The Wire's' Jimmy McNulty or 'Mad Men's' Donald Draper for instance)....Oh and with Rupert Murdoch.
I would hazard to guess that men suffer from this plight more acutely than their female counterparts. As boys, we are often raised in a manner that fosters irresponsibility and neglects the need to address life's real issues. I have to say that sport, the still predominantly male obsession, is somewhat to blame.
We are rightly encouraged to take an interest and participate in sport, yet we're not necessarily encouraged to take responsibility for doing so. When on-field competition spills over into conflict or injury, we often hear that well weathered adage - "Oh well. Boys will be boys" - the impression that our actions are beyond our control re-enforced in the process.
As an avid child spectator I've often heard, from mothers and grandmothers no less, the sympathetic tones of "Let him watch the football", offered in response to my desperate need to see a particular match on TV, as if it was an accepted right of my gender to be afforded access to this other world.
Now I'm not denying that as an adult I wouldn't still be disgruntled at having my Soccer Saturday viewing interrupted by, say, having to attend a Christening - after all, I still believe in the worth of sport to lift me into a magical realm - it's just that it doesn't set me up for the delicate and subtle responsibilities of adult/fatherhood.
As a case in point, I find it difficult to deal with the oedipal Bermuda triangle that is my son/wife/mother relationship. For example, all too often I struggle to put my own mother to rights on the smallest of seemingly trivial babysitting issues. Rather than putting my wife and son's needs unequivocally first, like Ronnie Corbett, I'm always looking for the next opportunity to say "sorry".
It's a weakness of character I know. If I employ avoidance tactics even for mundane tasks such as fixing a loose floorboard, it's no surprise I do so in the face of real confrontation and all the consequences that its adult incarnation brings.
Of course I know it's not my fault I'm this way, obviously. If fault lies anywhere, it's with how boys are raised in compliance with societies expectations; it's with the prevalence of culture's glamorous anti-heroes ('The Wire's' Jimmy McNulty or 'Mad Men's' Donald Draper for instance)....Oh and with Rupert Murdoch.
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