The opposite of helicopter parenting.
I'm reading some of this stuff and thinking that there are some pretty bizarre parents out there. I've been lucky enough not to experience any of this potential social life-destroying behaviour in my adulthood, mainly because (a) my mum popped her clogs when I was twenty one; and (b) because my dad spent most of my early years working abroad and when he eventually came back to the UK just after mum died I'd already flown the family nest and settled down a good few miles away.

Bliss. No interference in my life, no embarrassing parental defence of my honour. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Bliss.

Or maybe not. I'd quite like my dad to take some interest in the path my life is taking. I'm not saying he isn't interested, it's just he's a bit of a self absorbed fuckwit who doesn't listen and sometimes I wonder why I bother telling him anything if he's not going to listen to the detail.

Two examples: I did a degree over four years, whilst holding down a full time job. This was right at the time my first marriage went toiletwards, and, being a bit of a stubborn sod at times, I determined to finish the course and prove to myself that I could do it without any support from anyone - including my new missus, who was forever offering to do laundry, ironing etc for me. After four years, graduation day came and I could invite four other people. And so I invited my dad, whom I'd kept updated on my progress in my degree over the four years.

I was bit surprised to learn that whilst I'd been lining up to accept my certificate, my dad had remarked that he hadn't realised I was doing a degree and thought I'd just been doing some night class for kicks.

The second instance was more recent and concerned my marriage in April. I'd been putting off telling him I was getting married again for starters, not because I didn't want to, but because I spend so much time doing the running and calling and visiting in our family I had got to the point where I had thought I honestly couldn't be arsed to pick up the phone. And also because partly none of my family were invited to the ceremony; we were buggering off, doing it quietly and then having a big party for everyone the week after. So there was some nervousness about mentioning that bit.

When I did eventually speak to him, I told him the arrangements and he seemed quite OK with it all - I don't know what I'd been worrying about. Come the day of the party, he was one of the first guests to arrive and I was chatting away and catching up as you do, when he asks, "Have you had a good day then?"

"Quiet, really. Just been preparing for the party, making sure everything's in place, you know".

"What about the ceremony?"

"Dad, that was last week.

"Oh. I thought it was today."

"..."

So sometimes, just sometimes, I think it would be quite nice for him to offer advice on sexual technique, or ring my boss to tell her that I can't come to work because I've got hopelessly wrecked the night before and shit myself into a stupor.

But it soon passes.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 14 Sep 2009, 21:23, Reply)