Songs For Your Mother Gordon MacMillan (good books for 7th graders .txt) 📖

agreed to write it along with some other pieces about how I suddenly became a father. Susan persuaded me that writing about it, and working out my feelings, would help me come to terms with and deal with my own situation better. She’s right; it’s a good idea. What I’ve said I won’t do is any kind of diary or column. Luke has already gone through so much.

It was something my mother said on one of her visits: ‘Childhood isn’t something to exploit. Be careful with Luke, as he is a lot more fragile than he seems.’

Besides, once word got out, any missteps I wrote about would become public. As one thing I have learnt is that the school gate does not miss anything.

TSP has been amazing, although I worry that I am too reliant on her. I did what any man does in this situation I bought a lot of books online with titles like Parenting the shit out of life and How to talk so little kids will listen. These are now bedtime reading. I then had another idea. It turned out not to be a brilliant idea, and really something of a mistake, but at least one that I could fully own.

I posted a message on the online message board Mumsnet asking for some general advice about unexpectedly becoming a parent. I thought I had cracked it. This was something I had done myself and was turning out perfectly fine. There was some genuinely useful and kind advice when part of me had expected something more hostile.

I didn’t put many details. However, it turns out that I put just enough because two days after my post went up, I got an evening phone call.

Luke was in bed, and my mobile buzzed. It was TSP. She had to be calling me about school in the morning.

‘Hello, is this NewDad89zz,’ was how TSP began.

‘Funny, have you been on Mumsnet? I thought you hated that site.’

‘I do, it’s a nest of vipers that will take down anyone who they deem not to meet unspecified standards of motherhood,’ TSP said.

This seemed a bit rich considering TSP had discovered my post on the site, which I pointed out to her.

‘Yet you’re still going on it: you found my post.’

‘It wasn’t me. It was Jessica, you ninny. She read it, put two and two together to successfully make four, possibly for only one of a few times in her adult life,’ TSP said.

‘And you say Mumsnet is a vipers’ nest,’ I said.

‘Jessica has told everyone; you were the school-gate gossip this morning,’ TSP said.

Bloody Jessica (whose child is indeed called Albert), I couldn’t believe she would do that. What was I talking about? Of course, I could. It was Jessica who expressed surprise, with an insinuation of possible parental neglect, that I hadn’t already enrolled Luke in Mandarin classes. I’m not sure what I expected from being a North London parent, only that maybe it wouldn’t be a competitive sport.

‘Damn it, all I was trying to do was something on my own that didn’t involve me running to you for advice every ten minutes,’ I said.

That was my only goal, as I worry that I ask too much of TSP.

‘You know I don’t mind, more than that I want you to come to me. I don’t mind when it is. Day or night, just call me. That’s what I’m here for. You don’t need to post on Mumsnet, or be a talking point in the WhatsApp group.’

The WhatsApp group as well? I quickly checked my phone as I am in the school WhatsApp group, and I could find no mention of me or my Mumsnet post.

‘I’m in that group, and I haven’t seen anything,’ I shot back.

There was an informative pause on the other end of the line, the kind that says you are about to be enlightened.

‘You’re in the general group, the sort of entry-level North Islington Primary WhatsApp group. That one is sort of like a bulletin board. I mean the other one, that’s more gossip,’ TSP said.

‘You never told me about this group,’ I said.

‘It’s really just for women. I thought best not to share. Besides, it can get a little racy and feminist. But mostly gossipy, with occasional Mumsnet levels of invective,’ TSP said.

‘I feel disenfranchised,’ I replied.

‘As a man that is probably a first. Besides, there is probably a dads’ one where they talk about football,’ TSP said.

‘True, and I’ve been trying to keep up with the team,’ I said.

When I said ‘the team’, TSP knew what I was talking about: it was Will’s love of Arsenal. That was part of my reason. The other part was Luke. He loves football, and has declared himself an Arsenal fan. My mother and I bought him a shirt from the stadium shop, which is down the road. I’ve said I will take him to a game, and Georgia wants to come too (‘Because I am very good at football’). That’s something else, before Luke, that I would never have imagined myself doing.

‘I have too,’ TSP admitted. ‘Although I’m not sure this is our year.’

We laughed in unison at this, at our second-hand love of football, which we have both secretly adopted in our own ways since we lost Will. I thought I knew so much about TSP, and I never knew that.

‘In future, I will call you, but you have to be honest with me and push back if you ever feel it’s too much,’ I said.

‘I am never going to push back. I love Luke and have felt from the start that we’re in this together. I owe this to you, and to Will, and I want to help. Just promise you’ll call?’

‘I promise.’

I read over my notes again from the telephone interviews I’ve done with four young fathers. They are all in their twenties, and I’ve been asking them what it is like to be a father at a relatively young age.

It is the age I would have