Family Walk

The highlight of my week is a nice walk with the family. I don’t know why it is, because, although it’s better now, I remember the teenage years, and the shadow it cast.

That was some time travel special effect from the 70s, to show I’ve gone back 10 years.

‘Did you remember about the walk today, my little Sweeties?’ I say in the cheeriest, fatherly voice I can muster.

Teenagers shouted from the landing: ‘A WALK? WHERE? NOT UP A STUPID MOUNTAIN?’

Sorry mountain. Predicting agitation at the prospect of a walk, I always gave them plenty of notice. At least an hour before departure, I started lacing up my boots by the front door. That’s what those extra long boot laces are for, to soak up the time.

From upstairs, the teenagers sensed my presence at the door and became immediately enraged.

‘HOW LONG’S IT GOING TO TAKE?’ They shouted.
Lie: ‘An hour or so.’
‘AN HOUR … SERIOUSLY.’

You have to stay strong at this point, because I’m not torturing them and I don’t remember saying ‘You’re walking through broken glass until your legs are worn to bloody stumps.’

Lie: ‘It’ll be nice, we’ll take it easy, get some fresh air.’
‘WILL THERE BE A PHONE SIGNAL?’
Lie: ‘Full coverage’

After this, there was a period of time where I stand alone at the front door.

At a random moment, only she knows when this might be (I no longer ask) my wife joins me.