The other day my eldest son overheard someone saying that people who choose not to have children are selfish, so he wanted me to explain why. I can remember my own parents having the same opinion, as if people are supposed to shackle themselves with the responsibility of parenthood as a necessary rite of passage. Passage to what I am still unclear. I explained to my son that it is “because some people with children resent those who get to enjoy their lives a bit too much by freeing up their time and money by opting out of the parent game and focusing on themselves instead”.

Have you ever noticed that most parents seem to hope their children will be gifted, talented, bright sparks? They mistake unexpected spikes in performance with genius as if having a savant in the family will bring reflected glory. It’s one thing to be proud of your kids, but quite another to expect, desire, NO, need to achieve things through your kids. In any case, it seems to me that those with exceptional ability at one thing always lack profoundly in other ways. What parents should really wish for is children who are reasonably good at many things: i.e. balanced, well adjusted, all-rounders.

I’m sure all parents will have noticed that all children want to be older. They eke out the quarter years, the third years, the half years and the nearly years in an ever present impatience to rack up the score, as if being young is something to be ashamed of. Along with remarks like "I’m not a baby, I’m a boy" or "I’m not a little boy, I’m a big boy" it makes parents realize that age is power to the child. So, how come all that changes in the adult world?

I am one of those people who often assumes that other people are older than me, only to be astounded to find that they are in fact younger. Naturally I wonder whether the reason has to do with them or with me ... or both. In other words, are they mature for their age, or am I immature? Or could it be that they take life more seriously than I do? Or could it be that they are just squares, bores, measured, safe?

One of the things we instil in our children, as a duty to society, is respect for their environment. The dropping of litter has come to symbolize the frontline between those who care and those who couldn’t care less. The other day I saw a man casually discard a cigarette box as he walked along a pavement. I was following behind and I found myself compelled to pick the box up and reproach him about littering the streets. So I said “Excuse me, I think this is yours,’ holding the box up for all to see.

I was somewhat concerned the other day to discover that my eldest son was confused about the difference between astronomy and astrology. It always makes me chuckle when people reveal their belief in astrology as if it were an indication of their intelligence and learning, without realising that it is actually an admission of the exact opposite. For one thing, you only need to believe in something if it doesn’t exist in reality. Nothing truly scientific needs to be believed in for it to exist. If there were no humans left on the planet, science would have no problem carrying on running the show, because it doesn’t exist in the human imagination.

Here in chattering-class England, the subject of head-lice, or nits, is an ongoing saga. You see, it is considered de rigueur for boys to wear their hair middle-length, in contrast with girls who have it long. In point of fact, it is considered rather ‘low rent’ for boys to have very short hair and the reason is snobbery. That is “what the working-class do” according to those in the know, because “boys is boys, and girls is girls.”

All three of our children wake up too early. We consider 6:30 a lie-in, and it makes no difference what time we put them to bed either. During the week we have to rise early anyway, but at weekends and holidays it can be a bit much being woken to the dawn chorus of “mummy, daddy, I want my breakfast…. now”. It is especially galling though, when we come across those smug types who comment that they “have to go and wake their children”.

Our eldest son has reached the age where he is curious about how babies are created. Enter the perennial problem; how to explain sex to a child. I chose the straightforward approach, reasoning that if I explained sex in a matter-of-fact way then he would quickly grow bored and move on to another topic of discussion. It went something like this: “Well, it’s just like the animals you see mating on nature programs. The male puts some sperm inside the female to fertilize her egg and that makes a seed which grows into a baby. How was school today? Which classes do you like the best? What would you like for supper?” He replied with a question I wasn’t expecting: “How come you still do it when you don’t want any more babies?”

Isn't it amusing what people call their children and why! It took me and my wife quite some time to decide the names of our children. There were criteria that had to be satisfied before we were able to commit. It wasn’t as simple as liking a name. In addition we found that they had to be unique, well, unique within our social group and families, so that we felt we were being original. Also, they had to have some kind of ancestral relevance, as opposed to being arbitrary. Then there was the correct and appropriate spelling of each name and how the name might become abbreviated or twisted into a nickname. Additionally, were the names fashionable? Finally, there was the ‘shouting the name across the supermarket or play park without being embarrassed’ factor.

What is it with those signs that new parents hang in the back window of their cars saying “baby on board” or something similar? That sort of thing just deserves ridicule because it is, well, ridiculous. I mean what does it say to the driver following behind? “Please excuse me for driving dangerously slowly” or “please don’t crash into the back of me like you normally would.” Either way, to me it is entirely unnecessary and annoying as; firstly there is no excuse for bad driving and secondly I always drive carefully. In fact, I have never had so much as a bump.