Do I carry on?

I’m in a dilemma. No, not some 80’s synth based ‘New Romantic’ band, (although ‘A Dilemma’ is a name bad enough to be worthy of this) but I’m getting to the stage where I know I am going to break my daughters heart. Let me explain.

For the past 2 years (or is it twenty – seems like it), Marley and I have been slowly working our way through the Harry Potter books. We are now about 150 pages away from the end of the 6th book (Half-Blood Prince) and as you may know, the great bearded wizard takes a burton off the Astronomy Tower. Now, I don’t think this will be a great shock to Marley as she has already mentioned to me that someone has told her of Dumbledore’s demise.

My concern is regarding the final book ‘Harry Potter And The Bloodbath Of Secondary Yet Well Loved Characters’ of which we are only a week or so away from reading. It’s not even the human characters I fear. We managed to get through Sirius fairly undamaged in the last book. It’s going to be the bird and the house elf that’s going to rip us both up. This isn’t just guesswork, we both have previous on this.

I’m not sure if it’s an age thing, but me crying about things has got worse as I’ve got older. I’ve never been great at controlling the old tears; something I lay the blame firmly at my Aunt Teresa’s feet as the first public outing of ‘Tiny Tear’s O’Connor’ was at her house. I couldn’t have been more that 9 at the time and my Auntie & Uncle’s house were the first time I had come across a video recorder.

My word, what cutting edge technology this was. The freedom to watch what film you wanted rather than wait 10 years for it to be on television. To be able to pause it when you needed a wee. You could even own your own copy of a film (if you were happy to pay around £150 for a copy as yes, if nothing else, we were as happy then as we are now to be ripped off in the name of entertainment – iTunes anyone?) So, all the neighbours and family were gathered round the giant 24-inch television, about to embark on this shared experience of movie-watching heaven and what 2 films did she choose? What 2 films would help a poor young 9 year old who felt as clumsy and self-conscious in a group of strangers as he does today? ‘ET’ and ‘The Champ’ – I shit you not.

You do that kind of thing to a child today and Operation Yewtree are knocking on your door. Worst thing was not only was I trapped as to get to the door to run to the toilet would have meant walking right through the crowd of cousins and their friends, all of whom I was a little in awe of, but I had Mum, pointing out to anyone who had happened to miss my breakdown ‘oh look he’s crying, you alright? You want a tissue to wipe your eyes? Don’t worry it’s only a film……”

Still at least there was some love and care there, unlike the abuse Karen and I heaped on our daughter.

When Marley was around 3 years old, we thought it would be nice for her as it was in the holidays if we put a film on for her in our bedroom and she could lie in our bed to watch it whilst Karen and I was downstairs watching something else. She, like her Mother loves Disney, so I put on the 2nd best Disney film ever made and went downstairs. It was the first time Marley had seen The Lion King and she loved it, as we didn’t hear a peep from her until about an hour in. Then from over the monitor came a sound that would be impossible to describe. A cry so gut wrenchingly anguished and broken it could well be Satan’s doorbell. I flew up 2 flights of stairs 6 at a time; Karen went straight for the phone to call all the emergency services. I crashed through the door to see Marley looking at the telly, tears flowing down her patchy face and bright red eyes. She turned to me with a look in her eyes that will haunt my sub-conscious until the day I die and finally managed through the short breaths and sniffling “Simba’s Daddy died’

Finally, and this lays heavy in my decision-making also, I remember something else that happened for which I am only glad Marley is too young to remember. One of the first ‘proper’ books I read to her was both the Winnie-The-Pooh books. Now those of you that know me well will know the reverence and esteem I hold these 2 books in. This is a bit of a crude measurement but it has served me well in life. If someone tells me they don’t like Winnie-The-Pooh and I should be clear here; I’m talking about the original Pooh, not that Disney nonsense. Anyway, if they tell me they don’t like Pooh then it's a fairly safe bet that we’re not going to get on and my life will be better without their sad arses in it. Where’s the police operation weeding out these dangers to society?

I was reading these books to Marley every evening, more as an excuse to read them again as I had last read them cover to cover when I was a kid. We got to the final chapter in ‘House At Pooh Corner’, that heart wrenching last chapter. For those of you that don’t know how this ends, firstly a pox on your house, you should be ashamed. Christopher Robin takes Pooh and Piglet on a walk deep in the forest and tells them that he has outgrown them and will be leaving them there whilst he carries on with his adult life. In fairness, Milne writes this a lot more eloquently than I’ve described here, but you get the gist.

Now I either didn’t get this when I was younger, or more likely I pushed it deep, deep into the back of my mind with those other dark memories (being chucked by…I was actually going to use her name there and realised there was a small off chance that this might be read by her or a friend of hers..I’ll push this back in the box, wetting the bed at… I was actually going to use their name there and realised there was a small off chance that this might be read by them). So I’m deep in my Pooh, Piglet, Christopher Robin method acting and BANG – Robin drops the bomb. From nowhere I was in floods of tears, screaming at the book ‘YOU BASTARD ROBIN, YOU COLD HEARTED LEFT SIDE OF THE BRAIN FUCKWIT’. Marley had that look on her face that I have grown to recognise on such a frequent basis, that mixture of surprise, embarrassment, shame and pity. I really wasn’t one of my prouder moments as a father.

And so, Marley and I are racing headfirst to the wizarding slaughter fest. Will it be her that cracks first, will I beat her to a snot shower or will we both be some pathetic mess, door closed to the outside world, both lying in the foetal position agreeing that it may just be safer next time to reread the Mr Men books.