I hate laser tag. It’s a stupid waste of energy.
But before I get into the pointlessness of shooting strangers with a beam of light, let me tell you about my first Father’s Day spent as the partner of a Father.
Once again, woken up at stupid crack of dawn, but this time the boys attempted to make breakfast by cooking. Luckily we heard them before they burnt the flat down, and Fife took over and cooked us a full breakfast. (It was quite sweet, because BigOne nipped down to the shops when he woke up and used his own pocket money to buy sausages, bacon and eggs.)
After breakfast they boys presented Fife with cards they’d made in school and a present which was clearly bought by Helen – a small but expensive looking little gadget that dries and then grinds herbs. I know that Fife’s all into that found food thing (which is a difficult hobby for him to continue with now that he’s living in Dundee and not the woods), but I bet that gadget is predominately used by potheads.
Fife thanked the boys, and we all lied about and watched telly until it was time to get read and go to laser tag.
So, here’s why I hate laser tag, I’m absolutely shit at it. I don’t run well, I have no coordination, and I just got hit like a thousand times until I gave up and sat on a box and just let people shoot me. I don’t have the patience or the testosterone filled adrenalin to care enough to be good at pretend war games.
There were other people there as well, all sons who thought that it would be a good present for Father’s Day; men who were a bit too keen and ‘pumped’. They divided us into teams, and we had to play against families we didn’t know. I was worried about LittleOne, until BigOne suggested that we could use his little brother as strategy. ‘Put on those stupid sweet eyes,’ he told LittleOne, ‘and no one will shoot you. Then you blast them.’ LittleOne nodded.
Well, BigOne was wrong. Those psychopathic bastards shot everything and everyone in their path.
As for Fife and BigOne, they forgot all about me and LittleOne and ran around like lunatics. Well, they did until they saw me sitting down having given up. Then I got right bollocked. And poor LittleOne just trailed behind them barely able to keep up. It was generally shit.
But Fife seemed to enjoy it, BigOne certainly enjoyed it, and LittleOne didn’t even notice that no one was paying attention to him. As I sat on that block getting zapped, I texted HarryPotter. It had dawned on me that today was his first Father’s Day without his dad, and with his mum in Italy visiting family HP was all alone. I just texted, ‘Hey, what are you up to?’
His response was ‘At the pub with [Roger]. He’s drowning his sorrows. He just found out his girlfriend is pregnant.’
I responded with, ‘Is it his?’
‘Of course it’s his. She’s pregnant not him,’ was HP’s response.
Holy shit. Roger as a dad. I can’t think of a person with more potential for being the world’s shittiest dad. Or even, the world’s shittiest partner.
HP sent me texts with play-by-plays of Roger’s dissent into drunkenness, and I replied with a play-by-play of me sitting on a cube while people shot at me.
After laser tag, we went to Pizza Hut which was packed with what appeared to be single Dads celebrating Father’s Day with their kids. And, to be honest, most of them looked like they would have preferred the gift of being left alone, rather than dragged to Pizza Hut for family fun time. Pizza Hut on Father’s Day is the most depressing day on Earth.
As we left HP texted, and he was carrying Roger home. I texted back, ‘Just think. This time next year, he’ll actually be celebrating Father’s Day as a father.’
‘I don’t think Roger would find that funny,’ he texted back.
Once home I rang my Dad, and we talked for a bit. I he asked about the job, but I didn’t tell him there were problems. I don’t want him to worry, and he’d probably think I was asking him for money. So I let it drop. He asked what I’d gotten up to all day, and I said that we took Fife’s kids to laser tag.
As soon as I said it I realised that I hadn’t told Dad that Fife’s got kids, and I wish I could have taken it back.
‘What the hell is the matter with you? Why can’t you date people your own age? Unless he is your age, and he had children young? What kind of people are you getting yourself involved with?’
God he’s such a pain. Why do I even bother calling him? I told Dad that Fife’s a good guy, and that he is age appropriate for having children, and age appropriate for dating me. He needs to get over it. And I decided that now was not the time to tell him that Fife was living with me and going through a divorce.
Fife has taken the boys back to Helen’s, and I’ve pleaded that I need to stay home so I can do some work for this film rights mess I’ve gotten myself into. But I can’t face doing work. It just reminds me how woefully ignorant I am of all these things. So, I’ve wasted quite a bit of time by blogging, but I can’t keep procrastinating. Right, that’s me off to try and get my head around film rights. Wish me luck.