Monday, January 09, 2012
Scaryduck, The Boy, and the Rite of Passage
The day after Boxing Day, I am with The Boy in Reading town centre, a large wedge of Christmas cash burning a hole in his pocket.
We pop into Game, where - with a chinful of bum-fluff - he is not asked his age as he buys Battlefield 3. Then, he drops the bombshell:
"Dad, I need to buy some shoes."
"Wait... you have to buy WHAT?"
"Shoes. Is there a sports shop near here?"
Thank fuckery for that - I thought he wanted to buy sensible shoes.
"And another thing dad. Can you wait outside? This is one Test of Actual Manhood I want to take alone."
I wait outside, whilst inside the dread portal of Sports Direct, my boy is becoming a man as he searches out a pair of velcro trainers that can also pass for shoes. My boy. Doing man shopping. I am so proud.
But I wait.
And I wait.
And he returns.
There are no shoes.
"Son, I am disappoint."
"Yeah, I saw a pair I liked. But mum can buy them for me tomorrow."
We went to Sainsbury's and bought a pint of milk and a potato.