Awakening

Last Thursday night  - 11pm

I am sitting in our lounge with my feet up watching "Questiontime". The chairwoman, Fiona Bruce, is refereeing the discussion that follows a question from a member of the audience about the end of the world and America's 47th president. I am sorry but I cannot remember his name.

Anyway, I am suddenly conscious of movement on our staircase and then the closed living room door is slowly pushed open. A moment later and there's our Phoebe in her Bluey pyjamas, holding her cuddlesome friend, Monty the sloth.

We had put Phoebe to bed at 8pm following her bath. I had had to read her two stories though one was the real life tale of the American gymnast - Simone Biles.

"Hello Phoebe!" I say warmly, with my arms open as if to say - come and join me on the sofa!

But Phoebe just stands there in the doorway. I ask if she is all right and then I notice that she is visibly upset. She isn't smiling and her eyes are filling up as though ready to cry.

"Is something wrong?" I ask.

"I want Mummy and Daddy," she manages to communicate with difficulty.

"But you'll see them tomorrow. Grandma and Grandpa love you too you know. You are safe with us darling." 

With my arms open again, I invite her over to the sofa. With hesitation, she crosses the divide and comes over to sit with me. I give her a one-armed hug. She asks what it is that I am watching and I tell her that it is just grown-ups talking.

"I'll turn it off if you want. Do you want to watch something else? You can have whatever you want."

"I want Peppa Pig please Grandpa."

And so I find Peppa Pig on YouTube. Then I ask Phoebe if she wants some warm milk which means a two minute trip to the kitchen and a ping of the microwave.

Back in the living room, Peppa and her family are visiting the local swimming pool. They are all in their swimming costumes - her brother George and her parents - Mummy Pig and Daddy Pig. Strangely, in all the Peppa Pig cartoons I have watched, Peppa's parents have never been blessed with first names. 

Phoebe has calmed down now, not threatening to cry. She has been such a happy strong-willed girl thus far in life, not liable to tears. We are close together on the sofa now and she is under the fleece throw. We agree that she will only watch one more Peppa Pig episode before going back to bed.

She - Phoebe not Peppa - finishes her warm milk and without complaint she remounts the stairs. 

I want to just make up a story when I put her back to bed but she insists that I should read one. With the subdued light in her room, it is hard to follow the writing but I struggle through, give her a kiss and say "Night - night Phoebe".

To me it has seemed like a step in her progress to adulthood. At three years old she would never have sobbed for her parents and it reminds me of a night when I was a child - probably two or three years older than Phoebe. Lying there in my bed, I suddenly wondered what my life would be like if my parents died. I would feel so bereft, so empty and I started to weep so that my pillow became wet with tears. I still remember that moment as if it was yesterday.

The journey from the innocence of childhood to full-blown adulthood is a long one and to be truthful, I think we are all still on it.

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Ballad of the Sad Young Men

Here's another song from Roberta Flack. She partly wrote it herself. It was inspired by the times she played piano and sang in late night bars. When interviewed about it, she said she was thinking of the young, homosexual men she encountered at those venues. Roberta was often thought of as a significant supporter of LGBTQ rights, long before such support became fashionable...

Sing a song of sad young men, glasses full of rye

All the news is bad again, kiss your dreams goodbye