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Olympians Must Begin at Home

After Team GBs fantastic showing at the Olympics, and as we gear up for the Paralympics, there has been a lot of talk about getting more sport on the curriculum. Hooray! I say – but with a caveat. I think we can’t only rely on the schools: Olympians must begin at home.
As a PE teacher (and now as a supply teacher) I see countless notes excusing pupils from PE. Now while some of these are genuine, I’ve been in situations where nearly half of the pupils in the class have been excused from my lesson. My personal low was a pupil that handed me a note explaining he couldn’t do PE as he had lost his trainers. He was wearing them. But without the rest of his kit, and without the jurisdiction to override a note from home, nothing could be done.
We need to address this issue now, or it really won’t matter how many more lessons in the curriculum are devoted to PE. Hopefully, pupils – and parents – will have been inspired by the Olympics and PE teachers up and down the land can get on with the business of teaching their subject and helping every pupil reach their potential in sport – not juggling a depleted class and non-participants.
And of course, participation in sport is not just about creating Olympians. Sport can give you so many benefits in both the short, and long, term. Not only will it make troopers physically fit, but also give them a sense of belonging, teach them how to work well in a group and individually and hopefully also be a lot of fun. And the lessons that sport teaches you can help you in whatever career you troopers decide upon. Ray Winstone, a former boxer, said in a recent article in Men’s Fitness: “Boxing helped me mentally. I’ve bought that discipline and determination to acting.”
With so many potential benefits, should we as parents be writing notes to excuse our troopers from PE for anything other than medical reasons? I, for one, don’t think so.

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Why the Sidelines are No Place for Dads

In 1970, on a warm summers evening in July, my dad dropped my mum, who was in labour with me and my twin brother, off at the hospital and asked her to call him when she felt ready to cope with visitors. There didn’t seem anything unusual in that to either mum or dad, that was just how things were done. When their wives were in labour, men went off to work, or sat in the waiting room with flowers like in a Carry On film. Oh how times have changed.
I couldn’t wait for the birth of my children. I read the books, attended the ante-natal classes and got to know the midwife. I was convinced that if my wife went into labour unexpectedly I would be able to deliver my son (tying off the placenta with a clean shoelace – I looked it up). Luckily, my emergency delivery plans never saw the light of day as we made it to the hospital in plenty of time.
I was right by my wife’s side throughout, offering what comfort and support I could. And words cannot explain the feeling of finally holding my brand new baby trooper in my arms. It is an amazing experience, as any dad will tell you.
But then something really strange happened after the birth. Without any warning, I disappeared. I became completely invisible to doctors, nurses and the midwife. I think my wife could see me, but I was finding it hard to get to the side of her bed to double check.
So perhaps I didn’t physically disappear (although that would make a good story) but it certainly felt like it. And that’s when I first realised that it’s very, very easy to become sidelined as a new dad. And not only in the delivery room, but beyond it too. The vast majority of advice, support and care is geared towards mum. Don’t get me wrong, parents need all the advice, support and care that it is possible to give them, but dads are parents too. And we have a crucial role to play, right from the minute we welcome our trooper into the world.
We need to provide physical support, such as taking on night feeds, keeping the house squared away, buying supplies, getting meals on the table, washing clothes and generally keeping on top of everything. But most importantly, we need to make sure that our partner has everything she physically needs, from time to take a bath to healthy food.
We also need to provide emotional support, essential to keeping morale high. Sometimes, our partners can feel as if life has become all about the baby trooper. Reassure her and let her know you’re in this together. Having a new baby is tiring for everyone, but your wife and trooper have been through labour too. Tempers can get frayed in the beginning when you’re both adjusting to a completely new lifestyle on limited sleep. Keep calm.
And our trooper needs us too. Don’t believe that we aren’t biologically programmed to be good carers. We may not have the ‘maternal instinct’ but I can assure you that the minute my troopers were born, my wife and I both had a huge instinct to love, protect and care for them. We got the ‘parental instinct’. And in terms of physically caring for a baby, we can do everything but breastfeed. It might not seem like it at the time (well it certainly didn’t for me) but with practical experience, you will easily master the basics.
But of course it doesn’t end there. Even after ten years as a stay at home dad, I still consider myself a Commando Dad in training. It is worth the effort. To a trooper, their dad has many roles, often falling somewhere between Hero, Role Model and Protector. When you become a dad you step into those shoes and you owe it to yourself – and your troopers – to be the best dad you can be. So don’t let yourself get sidelined, dads. You are simply too important.
I wrote this blog for The Baba Blog, a great blog full of practical advice and tips for new mums…..and hopefully some new dads too.

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The days are long but the years are short

It may not seem like it now, but you have a really short time with your little troopers. There’s not much more than 1800 days between birth and age five.
When you’re in the thick of parenting, multi-tasking, running here there and everywhere it is easy to forget how quickly the time slips by.
It sounds like a cliche but it really does seem like only yesterday that this picture of Samuel was taken.
Seize the day.

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What kind of parent am I?

Something caught my eye on Twitter last night: “When you really want to know what kind of parent you are, ask your child. Your child’s perception of your parenting matters”.
So this morning I decided to put that theory to the test. I asked my eldest trooper, Samuel, what he thought of me as a parent. I should preface this by telling you that Samuel is 9 going on 19, and that he has somehow managed to acquire the vocabulary – and temperament – of Noel Coward.
He paused for a few seconds to weigh up the possibility that this could be a trick that would impact his Christmas present haul (we told him, in the strictest confidence, that Father Christmas has covert surveillance in the kitchen, which is where we were standing at the time).
“I think you could possibly be a better parent if you let me have a paint ball party for my birthday,” was his opening shot. “No, Sam I mean what am I like as a parent? Am I loving? Am I kind? Do I do a good job?” Silence. “I think you would definitely do a better job if you let me have a paint ball party for my birthday. Am I allowed to say that?”
So I tried out the question on my middle trooper, Jude. I am convinced that he is going to be a politician, and you’ll shortly find out why. “Dad – what a question. You’re the best dad in the world!” was his immediate reply, delivered with a beaming smile. “Really? How do you know I’m the best in the world?” “Because when I was in heaven looking for a dad, I checked out every one in the world before I picked you.” I should point out that this follows on from an earlier conversation: ‘where do babies come from?’ but is still very impressive for a boy of 8. And it certainly put a spring in my step.
Finally, I asked my daughter, Liberty. “Yes” she said with all the conviction of a five year old. Before I had time to congratulate myself that two out of three wasn’t bad, she immediately followed it up with, “so can I have some Jawbreakers now?” Jawbreakers are gobstoppers with chewing gum in the middle. “No Lib, you still can’t have any Jawbreakers.” Her thoughtful response? “Fine! You’re a rubbish daddy then!”
So according to the troopers, I am somewhere between rubbish and the best dad in the world. I know I’m not perfect, but I also know that I try to be the best dad that I can be. Unfortunately, ‘right’ isn’t always popular. For example, I know my boys love me but think that their friends who get to play violent video games have won the best parent lottery. But I’m not parenting them for what they want now – I am parenting them for the adults they’ll become.
I told my wife that I am going to ask each of them of the same question on their 18th birthday. She told me not to get my hopes up.