The trouble with parents is - they just don't listen. They think they know it
all. You can't tell them anything.
Take my dad. You can't tell him anything.
He's keen on rugby. He's a big fan of the local team. Last weekend he couldn't go to the match. He had to work overtime. He was really upset.
'This is a vital match,' he kept saying. 'Vital.'
'And you're vital at work, dad,' said my brother, Sam.
Sam knows when to be a creep.
Dad looked at Sam. 'I am vital,' he said. 'That's right.'
No one argued.
'It's a cup-tie,' I said. 'It'll be on the telly. You can record it. I'll show you how to set the video.' This was in the days of our old recorder. Even Sam thought it was a bit tricky.
'Set the video?' he yelled. 'I can set the video! Do you think I'm stupid or something?'
No one answered. Even Sam kept quiet.
That night I came downstairs quite late. I wanted a glass of water but mum was in the bathroom. I had my eye on a packet of crisps too. So I moved very quietly. If Sam knew what I was after, he would complain.
The living room door was open. I walked past and saw dad lying on the floor. I looked again. There he was next to the video. He was peering at the manual. He was muttering.
I got my glass of water and the crisps. The muttering got louder as I went past the living room again.
'Blasted things! People who write these should be shot!'
I didn't offer to help.
Saturday came, the day of the big match. Dad was about to go off to work. He bent over the video player and pressed some buttons. I sat and watched.
'Timer,' he said to himself. 'Channel... hmmm.' 'It's the button on the right,' I said.
'I can do it!'
'Okay. Just trying to help.'
He carried on. At last he stood up and looked at the machine. He looked at me. He was daring me to say something.
Sam came in and looked at dad. He looked at me and went out. 'Good luck, dad!' he called.
'Good luck?' said dad. 'What does he mean? I'm only going to work.'
I kept quiet. 'He'll have to learn the hard way,' I thought. I wasn't going to help him now.
He came back that night, had something to eat, and sat down in front of the
telly. He picked up the remote and flashed through some channels.
'Where is it?' he asked. He got up and walked over to the video player.
He pressed some buttons. The picture changed to a black and white storm. He pressed some more buttons. The picture went fuzzy and made a loud hiss.
'Have you touched this?' he asked.
'I haven't been near it. I've been in my room watching football.'
'That's right,' said Sam. 'We both have.'
'I can't understand it. I set it up right. I know I did.'
He tried again. He got Channel 5 and then he got a grey mist.
'Shall I tell him?' I thought. 'I suppose I should. He might have a heart attack. Mind you, he might have a heart attack if I do tell him.'
'Dad,' I said.
'What is it?' he said, staring at the screen.
'Can I tell you something? Promise you won't get mad?'
'All right. What?'
'You have to put a tape in the video, if you want to record.'
Dad just glared at me. He glared at the video player. He glared at the telly. I thought he was going to hit me. Then I thought he was going to cry.
You see, that's the trouble with parents. They just won't take advice. Dad did take the tape of the rugby that I gave him later. It's just as well I'd asked my mate, Jacko, to record it for him.
Take my dad. You can't tell him anything.
He's keen on rugby. He's a big fan of the local team. Last weekend he couldn't go to the match. He had to work overtime. He was really upset.
'This is a vital match,' he kept saying. 'Vital.'
'And you're vital at work, dad,' said my brother, Sam.
Sam knows when to be a creep.
Dad looked at Sam. 'I am vital,' he said. 'That's right.'
No one argued.
'It's a cup-tie,' I said. 'It'll be on the telly. You can record it. I'll show you how to set the video.' This was in the days of our old recorder. Even Sam thought it was a bit tricky.
'Set the video?' he yelled. 'I can set the video! Do you think I'm stupid or something?'
No one answered. Even Sam kept quiet.
That night I came downstairs quite late. I wanted a glass of water but mum was in the bathroom. I had my eye on a packet of crisps too. So I moved very quietly. If Sam knew what I was after, he would complain.
The living room door was open. I walked past and saw dad lying on the floor. I looked again. There he was next to the video. He was peering at the manual. He was muttering.
I got my glass of water and the crisps. The muttering got louder as I went past the living room again.
'Blasted things! People who write these should be shot!'
I didn't offer to help.
Saturday came, the day of the big match. Dad was about to go off to work. He bent over the video player and pressed some buttons. I sat and watched.
'Timer,' he said to himself. 'Channel... hmmm.' 'It's the button on the right,' I said.
'I can do it!'
'Okay. Just trying to help.'
He carried on. At last he stood up and looked at the machine. He looked at me. He was daring me to say something.
Sam came in and looked at dad. He looked at me and went out. 'Good luck, dad!' he called.
'Good luck?' said dad. 'What does he mean? I'm only going to work.'
I kept quiet. 'He'll have to learn the hard way,' I thought. I wasn't going to help him now.
'Where is it?' he asked. He got up and walked over to the video player.
He pressed some buttons. The picture changed to a black and white storm. He pressed some more buttons. The picture went fuzzy and made a loud hiss.
'Have you touched this?' he asked.
'I haven't been near it. I've been in my room watching football.'
'That's right,' said Sam. 'We both have.'
'I can't understand it. I set it up right. I know I did.'
He tried again. He got Channel 5 and then he got a grey mist.
'Shall I tell him?' I thought. 'I suppose I should. He might have a heart attack. Mind you, he might have a heart attack if I do tell him.'
'Dad,' I said.
'What is it?' he said, staring at the screen.
'Can I tell you something? Promise you won't get mad?'
'All right. What?'
'You have to put a tape in the video, if you want to record.'
Dad just glared at me. He glared at the video player. He glared at the telly. I thought he was going to hit me. Then I thought he was going to cry.
You see, that's the trouble with parents. They just won't take advice. Dad did take the tape of the rugby that I gave him later. It's just as well I'd asked my mate, Jacko, to record it for him.