The Duck
“Dad, what is that?”
I stared at the orange
beak, I checked for feathers, I traced back through my tele-visual history and
within literal seconds I replied. “That is a Duck”. The Goose looked at me with
the kind of disdain that suggested if this was the sixties and he was my wife I
would not be getting my dinner tonight. That was fine by me. Ever since the
break up I’d become pretty attuned to preparing my own dinners. To my good
fortune my favourite meal was cheese. Nothing says “I’m a successful
independent being” than placing a brick of cheese on a plate, a knife and fork
only exaggerates the point.
Risks
“Look Dad! Rowing
boats! Let’s get one?” It was clear to me my child had no respect for life. In
my thirty four years I had not died once.
A small part of that I would credit to avoiding paying eight pounds to
spend half an hour in a plastic tank balancing on top of a world which did not
accommodate my preferred means of breathing. Where had we gone wrong in raising
him that at five he would be so keen to risk throwing it all away? “Me, mum and
Jim got one of these last week, it was epic” he said.
I paid the boat man
the eight pounds.
Failing
“I’m a good father”, I thought to
myself. Well, I thought I thought it to myself, it turned out I thought it out
loud for the boat man replied with a defensive “ok”. As if I thought he thought
I thought I was underachieving as a parent and trying to convince myself I
wasn’t. By getting on a boat I didn’t want to get on for the sake of my child
so that he would think I was just as good as Jim. Perhaps this was all true
except for the bit where I thought I was failing. I’m not failing. Though in
the near distance I could see that Duck behind a shrub giving me evils, I don’t
know what it’s problem is with me but I bet he thinks I’m failing…
Idiot.
I’m not.
Beards
This is what it’s all
about, making memories, doing things we don’t want to do together. The boy’s
going to remember this in years gone by. I’m doing well I thought, this time in
my head as I ran my fingers through my beard. I had a pretty good beard. I put
it down to my mum having taught me to shave. I also have pretty smooth legs. I
put this down to the same reason. It’s not that my dad was unattentive, it’s
just that he was never around. And when he was he needed his private time.
However if we passed in the corridors he always made a point of saying “hello” and I respected him for that.
Boat
sticks
I picked up the two
Boat sticks that help the boat move. Arthur told me that Jim told him they were
called Oars. It’s a humbling experience when you realise your child will know
things that you don’t. It’s worse when you realise your five year old already knows things you
don’t. Although I’d got this far not knowing that these sticks were called oars
and I still managed to get a Fine Arts Degree. I congratulated Arthur on his knowledge, but told him it’s ultimately
not the kind of information that will be of any consequence in the real world.
Why clog the brain with Trivia?
Like riding a bicycle
I understood the motions required to move us, but like riding a bicycle gravity
got in the way. The boat sticks had a life of their own, and the water seemed
like mud. Once I’d force them out of it, it would come as such a surprise there
was no composure to do anything other than throw them back in. We didn’t move
much. A bit to the left, a little to the right. If you looked in the direction
of that contemptuous duck and the clear expanse of water we could pretend we
were gliding slowly to a new world. A very small turn of the head and the Boat
man’s shoe in the corner of my eye would rudely remind us, we were on shore.
Arthur who was sat
opposite on his own sighed. I shall treasure these moments, disappointing this
cute button nosed child. It won’t get better than this. One day he will be a
stubbly youth to disappoint,
asking to borrow money, and my reply will be “I was hoping I could
borrow some from you”. These were good times. I took comfort in some words a
drunk man had once said to me “however bad you think things are, they are only
ever going to get worse”. He was a smart drunk guy. I pretended my phone was
ringing and answered it. How could I move a boat when there was a business call
to take?
The Phone Call
“Yes it’s me”
…
“This is a really bad
time, I’m rowing a boat”
…
“What do you mean they
want a new draft of the manuscript”
I liked the fact that
I used the word manuscript, Arthur may only be five, but I could tell he perked
up when he heard the word too. Neither of us really know what it means. His
smile collided with what must have been a passing cloud as a darkness came over
us. Still there was a smile on the boys face so I continued with the show.
“They want to publish
it as a novel?...But I’m not writing a novel”…
The boat began to
gently rock as somebody seemed to clamber on. Arthur seemed happy. I turned
around. Bloody hell it’s Jim. What is he doing on the boat? I thought with the
phone strapped to my face. Jim gave a gentle smile and nod.
“They’re talking Movie
rights, that’s crazy!”
I moved over to
Arthur’s side of the boat. I was going to stay on the phone to my agent for as
long as it took for me to work out what to do next. I made an I’m listening
noise.
“uh hmmm”
Jim picked up the boat
sticks and started moving them in a cyclical flowing motion. That’s how you do
it I noted to myself. We were off. Gently gliding towards that obnoxious Duck.
I bet Jim is taking me to him on purpose. I realised I’d not been talking to my
agent who wasn’t on the phone for a while.
“Listen I have to go,
I’m rowing a boat, this all sounds good, let’s do lunch”.
I knew I had done my
stint on the phone but I had not thought of how I was to address the situation
I was in. Should I ask Jim to split the eight pound hire charge of the boat.
Technically he has both the sticks so he owes the full amount. We’re just
sitting here, bored. I should be the bigger man and let him have his fun.
Reflections
Arthur leaned his head
out the side of the boat, he skimmed his fingers on the top of the water so
lightly it barely made an impression. I wished he didn’t find it so interesting
as it just left me staring at Jim. I had nothing to say to Jim. Well I had so much
to say it all cancelled itself out. We just sat there facing each other, like
two of the shittest mirrors in the business. All my failings were projected
onto his face and as he rode I’m sure all my failings were projected on my face
too . I looked at Arthur and hoped he’d do something that would require
parenting but he was fine skimming the water with his fingertips. I considered
pushing him in, just to save him, then I remembered swimming isn’t my strong
point. Again Jim would probably come out of this the hero.
“Look dad I can see us
all in the water” our three distorted reflections gently gliding together and
in the corner the beak of a duck who refused to butt out of this sensitive
situation. “It’s like we are all in a giant bath together” Arthur remarked. The
last place I wanted to be was in a bath with Jim. I did not want to think about
that scenario.
“It could be a soup” I
replied. I don’t know why this was better. I guess as ingredients we would
become individuals. Sure maybe we would still be working together for the same
cause, but at least that wouldn’t be getting clean together.
“But if it would be a
soup, it would be hot and it we would all be burning and our skin would slowly
come off”
“it’s a Gazpacho”
Jim nodded.
The duck quacked.
