A Good Day For Bananafish...
2002-11-30 . 2:37 p.m.

For those of you who don't recognise the title of this entry it is from JD Salinger's book of collected short stories "For Esme With Love and Squalor" which is actually superior to "The Catcher In The Rye" (in my humble opinion).

This weekend is "party weekend" for me and Dylan. Today he is going to a party for one of his friends from the playgroup he attends (Mary Poppins Playgroup - which I shall have to write about at some time). Tomorrow he and I are going to another party at a "Wacky Warehouse".

A Wacky Warehouse, for those not in the know, is basically an adventure playground type thing for kiddies. It's got climbing stuff, a ball pool and all the other great things that I am no longer allowed to play on (damn). I get the added benefit of cadging a lift off my dad so whilst Dyl is playing with all the other kids I can sit down and lift a pint with my Pa.

What the hell are we going to talk about? I have never mentioned my parents on here before because they play as little a part in my life as is possible. Sure they love me and all but we don't go out of our way to communicate really. I'll give a little bit of history on my domestic background -

When I was 8 my parents "swopped". My mum and dad met another couple (Keith and Diane) and they traded partners and kids. My dad and Diane and my mum and Keith. I lived with my mother still. My dad went 300 miles away and I saw him once every 6 months or so. Keith was an ex Royal Marine (very, very, very hard soldiers) and a strict disclipinarian. I dont think much about my childhood but it wasn't sad or anything. I recall saying when my sister and I were told about the impending swop "okay. when?"

So from 8 until 17 this carried on and then I went and got a job whilst at college and moved out. Not six months after this my mum split up with Keith and married some guy from work called Steve (also my dad's name - oh the irony). She called me up sometime after my 18th birthday and said "Hi Paul, I'm married and my name has changed".

I was somewhat confused by this - does my name have to change or something?

So fasttrack a year (stuff has happened in my life - I'm saving all of the good bits for future entries) and I move up north because of certain things happening down south. I lived with my dad for a couple of years and went to Uni and then moved out again.

tum-te-tum. drum roll. more stuff. Screen wobbles and fades from "flashback mode"

So now I am at home one night with Fletch. The phone rings. It's my dad. We've not spoken in about six months.

"Hello son. I've been drinking quite a bit to get the courage up to speak to you. I've split up with Diane because she is mental (or words to those effect)"

So now he is living with this woman from his work called Lisa who has three or four kids (I'm not sure exactly how many - they are at the age when they move around so fast there could always be more than you are 100% certain of).

So I have had three dads and three mums (sort of). It makes it kind of hard to talk to your family when they are not the most stable people in the world. I'm sort of worried in case my dad runs off with one of the mums from this party tomorrow...

Anyway. I'll probably get all melancholy watching Dylan play with the other kids. Is there anything in this whole world more satisfying than watching kids who are still in that wonderful age of innocence playing together? It reminds me of a little story somebody told me once.

A little girl and a little boy are playing together. The girl is white, the boy is black. One of the parents of the girl decides to ask a question of the girl "Do you notice anything about that little boy you are playing with?"

The little girl looks closely, scrutinising the boy.

"Yes, he needs a hair cut."

Isn't that great? There must be some point at which hatred is inculcated in children. I'm going to try and identify that point in Dyl's life and make sure he knows that hatred is just plain wrong.

Well that was a good one. Started with a party and moved through familial ties into racial hatred. Never let it be said that logic or planning leads the hands I type with...