Tales To The Guardian: Parenting

My usual harassment of my least favourite form of journalism

Author’s Note: Satire. Saying that now before I’m told off for being the actual worst.

As I spoon-fed my son, Oscar a healthy avocado and butternut pulp before his morning hempseed gruel, I found myself blinking back tears of rage. This might surprise you, as I am a wonderfully calm person who very rarely experiences the peasant-like emotions of regret, or distress. But looking into Oscar’s eyes, I realised I had raised a brilliant child, and every other parent had and would always fail to be as good as I am.

Oscar is in many ways, god-like, and that is of course all down to my excellent and profound wisdom and patience. Unlike you, no doubt a poor person who is overweight and no doubt miserably eating sodium-filled crisps over your nylon hoodie, I have invested in my child. I am a gentle parent. When Oscar experiences an emotion, I permit it. Some may say ‘Please stop your child from beating me with his fists!’ but to that, I answer coldly, ‘Have you tried empathy?’. No doubt, they are moved by my intelligence and profound parenting. I also indulge him in his deafening creativity: he plays the kazoo beautifully, even having the kindness to perform an impromptu 9 hour premiere of his work on the flight to Abu Dhabi. But again, I am met…