Dad Stuff

Sitting there a few nights ago I asked my Dad if he fancied a quick game of Carrom. He agreed, and minutes later we were setting up the pieces.

As we played the first game it looked like he was going to win, something that surprised both of us. He'd pocketed and covered the Queen and had one seed left on the board compared to my four. I think the excitement must have got to him though, for I managed to pocket all four and snatch the game by 1-0. We decided to play on to 29.

I continued my winning form, getting higher scores in each game. In one game, when the score was 18 -0 and things were looking quite one sided I said:

"Dad, it's about now that you start to complain about the board normally isn't it?"

The board in particular is my high tech "air hockey" type that is as smooth as Jennifer Aniston's facial hair. My Dad's reply was one of those scoffs, the type that I'm now quite the expert at when dealing with my kids. It's a word, but it's a cross between a word and an exhalation, it sounds like a mix of "pfft" and "pah" and it's only ever used by Fathers on their kids.

Two or three shots later the old man, displaying memory strength that many a goldfish would think was a bit crap, said:

"See, the disk always sticks there, on that bit."

I laughed, both outwardly and inwardly, which is hard to do without choking, and muttered something about both of us having to play on the same board anyhow. We carried on and I continued to morph into the Carrom playing equivalent of Dev Patel answering the questions on Who Want to Be A Millun Air".

At 28 - 0 things became a formality, the last game gave me 11 points and it finished at 39 - 0. I was pleased with the result and he was petulant. I strolled downstairs to my living quarters, for a pre dinner poo.

Just as I hit the last stair I heard my Mum ask him.

"Well, who won?"

"Rhythmic did, he thrashed me actually."

That was unusually gallant of him. Normally there'd be some line about him being injured, the board being bad or about how he thought I'd cheated. Then he added:

"But he was very lucky you know."

I continued to the bathroom and did my pre dinner poo, though it wasn't a particularly good one.

When I went up for dinner I tackled him on it. He hadn't realised that I'd overheard their exchange.

"Oi Dad, what do you mean I was very lucky?" I asked.

"If I'd beaten you by one or two points that might have been lucky. I thrashed you, it was 39 - 0."

I added.

He considered his answer carefully for a second or two, then said all he needed.

"Well, you know."

I had to laugh.

Have a good Monday all.