It has taken the best part of seven years but my son’s belief that his dad could do no wrong has finally ended.
I still get a welcoming hug as soon as I walk in the door. I am still expected to be able to fix any toy he breaks. But singing in the car is now most definitely frowned upon.
I can’t say I’m surprised – and it least it shows he has some taste when it comes to music – but I have to admit my heart sank when my accompaniment to a song playing on the radio was met with: ‘‘Dad, you CAN’T sing. Please stop singing.’’
It’s not the first time I’ve been told this. Since been singled out as the one out-of-tune member of our class in primary six, I’ve tended to mime when some sort of public singing is required.
And whenever I’ve burst into song – my wedding springs to mind – such has been the laughter at my expense that I’ve promptly shut my mouth again.
But ever since he was a tiny baby, Calum seemed to appreciate my slightly odd ditties and I’ve even sung him to sleep on occasion.
Alas, no longer.
Let’s just hope my status as a ‘‘hero’’ when he comes to mending things lasts a bit longer.