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Bernie & Son


By Bernie Bostik



'Up at 8, you can't be late, for Bernie & Son, he won't wait'

My daily routine of lying in till eleven has been somewhat disrupted over the last week or so. The cause  of this disruption has been my two year old son. He has come on bundles since last time I seen him and I am warming to the cut of his ever increasing jib. His morning ritual consists of waking me up by chirping out....
" Dad.....Dad....Dad......Dad....".
Then I respond and we have a thirty second dual of ....
"Dad"...."what"....."Dad"...."what"......"Dad"....."what".
It then finishes with him leading me by the hand to where the "spider phone" is resting and I have to play the 10 second clip of him dressed up as Spiderman that I have taking on my Motorola. He finds it very entertaining even after a hundred shows.

'There's a five minute break, and that's all you take, for a cup of cold coffee and a piece of cake' 

Then it's ..
"Dad camera...Dad camera....Dad camera" and I get bullied into getting the digital camera out and showing  him  the small screen on the back so he can look at himself yet again. Isn't it any wonder that the kids of today grow up with that celebrity itch, when they are confronted by their daft parents on a daily basis trying to  catch every magical moment of their child-stars routine on the ever increasing gadgetry of today!!??

He will only go to sleep when his Lighting McQueen go-kart is placed next to him under his Lighting McQueen bedspread. Then it is safe for me to turn out the Lighting McQueen bed-side lamp, as we settle down to watch that Lighting McQueen film for the 34th time. I love taking him for the papers of a morning but it's costing me a fortune. As you enter the Supermarket-come-newsagents you are confronted by a tower of Lighting McQueen merchandise, placed within easy reach for small children, just as you enter the doors. He always grabs at something and wont let go, so I succumb to buying him yet another car. I know I shouldn't, I don't want to spoil him and I can see signs of it already appearing in his character. He storms off to a corner and starts to bang his head against the wall when Cebebes is turned off or when Lighting is put in his garage (Ok so we let Lighting sleep in the bed to stop the screeching). I know exactly what's wrong with him, he needs the influence of his father 24/7. I know I spoil him with toys and shit but that's because I only see him every so often and he is starting to run his mother ragged. He wouldn't get in a bath until he came to see me, his bath time consisted of jumping in, screaming, then jumping out into the arms of his distraught mother. Within one day of him being with me he was ducking and diving in the shower with his Dad and Nemo and Bruce the Shark and Dori and the Turtle one - whose name escapes me at the moment - and just to make sure Lighting was parked off outside. He didn't like going in the swimming pool because he was frightened of his head going under the water. Ten minutes after him being thrown in head first by his Dad (you got to toughen them up a little), he was diving in & out and wrestling with his blow up crocodile like a Jnr Johnny Wisemuller on a set for Tarzan.

For everyone of his tantrums there's  thousands of other little nuggets that make you go..... "THATS MY BOY". Like when he's strapped up in his car seat and Dad puts his 'Flat Foot Dub' to the floor and keeps it  'Under Tight Raps'  with the Observers on the stereo and I ask him "Are you a head nodder or a chin stroker?" he starts to do both simultaneously all the way through the track. Thanks to his red family at home, everytime he sees a Liverpool player/kit/poster/football/mug/bedspread he starts shouting "Fowler" , or he used to, he shouts "Caraghger" now. He mimics me, pointing and shouting at the screen when we are sat watching the football together and he gets very jealous when mum and dad are having a cuddle on the couch - it sends me & the bird into raptures. And boy is he clever, (doesn't everyone say that about their kids though?) I've got him counting to 10, he knows his shapes, colours and I've just started him on the 1977 European Cup winning team. I reckon he's that clever he's even been logging on to the inter-web and has been taking a sneaky peek at swine. You don't believe me? Why else then, would he of pointed at my dick when I undressed for the shower and shouted "Ha Ha stinky banana".




 

 


 

 

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