Daughter 3 is hoping, in the future, to pursue her dream of going to an American university on a football scholarship. But you don’t like flying, I say to her. Have you thought about that?
Partner and I are talking about it. I hope that it’s not my fault that she doesn’t like flying, I tell him. (Because I am of the opinion that every plane I go on is going to fall out of the sky). I have been really careful to hide my fear from her, I continue. She says she doesn’t like the confined space. Partner looks at me. You don’t think that’s got something to do with that time you left her locked in the car went inside, cooked the dinner and only when you were serving it up did you notice she wasn’t there, he questions. Or that other time when you left her in the car and only realised she hadn’t come in when she poked her head through the cat flap. Or it could be that time…ok, ok, I say crossly. Isn’t it just the parents’ role to feel constantly guilty for psychologically scarring their kids for life, I say, in an attempt to vindicate myself, but they then have to find their own path through? Yes, he replies, but isn’t it also the parents’ job to help them through the obstacles and not to put them there in the first place.