Keir Royale

For the first time yesterday, my son (8) asked me to teach him something. He then retained interest in that thing until I’d finished teaching it to him, learned it willingly and was pleased with the result.

“So what?” you may think. Perhaps you have eager, biddable children who love to ape your every accomplishment.

At our house, this is not The Way.

Chez Beta Mum, The Way is more like this:-

“Time to do your homework, Ben.”
“Mummeeeeeee, no-ooooooo!” said with a blood-freezing shriek that would have the neighbours vaulting over the garden wall if they weren’t already hardened to the sound of children being tortured with hair-washing, coat-hanging-up and putting their dirty clothes in the laundry basket.

“‘l’ll help you. Look, this one’s easy. Just add three to six and then you can…”
“No, that’s not how you do it.”

And he proceeds to do it His Way, which is not quicker, not more efficient, and often not correct. But try telling him and the neighbours really will be vaulting the wall.

Last night though, not only was he voluntarily practising his guitar, but when I demonstrated the first section of the “Tales of the Riverbank” theme tune (taught to me twenty-five years ago in a squat in North London, but that’s another story) he asked me to teach it to him.

I managed to remain cool, not show how pleased I was, (essential when he’s showing an interest in something I want to encourage) and he picked it up as quickly as was possible for a boy with two dirt-encrusted plasters incapacitating his guitar-playing thumb.

Perhaps now he’ll let me teach him how to wash up, eat with his mouth closed, tidy his room and how to use a knife and fork without catapulting his food across the kitchen.

Perhaps not.

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