Happy Birthday Jakey! (or Seven Years Gone)

I have hazy memories of the day Jake was born. Most of it centers around me, in the afternoon, walking out of the hospital to a nearby KFC to get something to eat. Bizarrely, I can’t remember whether he was born at that point or not, just that the darkening skies chose that point to open. As I returned to the hospital, lightning flashed across the sky above the building, and heavy, warm rain started to descend on me.

I think I was wearing a white shirt, which implies that I’d gone to work that morning. Had I? I can’t recall. It’s shockiing how quickly the details start to get blurry.

It reminded me at the time of that episode of Only Fools and Horses where Del’s first son was born and Rodney was convinced that he was the devil. Especially when they called him Damien.

In the maternity ward, a photographer often comes around to take pictures of the newborns for their parents. In Jake’s first picture he looks like a little tough guy, eyes seemingly squinting up at the lens. Funny, that’s not how he turned out at all – he’s a sweet kid who’s battling what used to be a crippling shyness. He’s smart, funny, affectionate and handsome as hell. He’s absorbed with arts and crafts and every single day last year he returned from school with some paper invention he’d created in his breaktimes.

He’s just gone to bed, but he’s had a great birthday. On his second birthday, Jake actually hid under the dining room table and cried when his cake came out and friends and family sang Happy Birthday. That’s the kind of shyness that’s been typical of him up to now. But he’s becoming more confident, finding ways to make in-roads with new people and not being frozen in fear when he encounters new people.

This year, he was happy to be the center of attention and relished it whenever I bounced downstairs this morning and sang Happy Birthday to him. He even asked Lisa for an encore performance later in the day. And why not, it’s your day Jakey, you’re a wee sweetheart! Happy birthday, son.

The Fightfort

We went out for Lisa’s birthday on Saturday night and had a nice, boisterous, drunken time. Lisa’s mum stayed in our house with the kids while we stayed overnight in her house. A brilliant arrangement and we didn’t have to be home too early.

The end of the night is actually the most memorable. We initially wanted to get kebabs from a South Belfast kebaberie, but our taxi arrived and offered to take us to a chippie in Andersonstown. We all hopped into the cab and Wooftie and I went in to order.

Big mistake. We unwittingly had walked into a chip shop where a fight was in the process of breaking out. In the blue corner, we had a rather thick and heavily pished individual. Somehow he’d managed to insult somebody, and the ginger guy in the red corner wanted to throw a few punches at him. Now, despite the fact that he could barely talk, the guy in the blue corner had remarkable bravado. If mouth doesn’t work, don’t even attempt to engage fists, you moron!

The ginger kid is clearly far less drunk. He’s wiry, focussed and unwilling to be talked out of fighting. The other contender has a friend trying to mediate on his behalf. However, at the same time, he is phoning some friends for backup. Wooftie and I look at each other incredulously – “phone the police, you pillock!”

But this is West Belfast, and phoning the police is totally off the agenda, even if you’re in mortal peril. And the guy was in mortal peril. We heard a glass bottle being smashed outside by one of gingerboy’s friends. No doubt about it, if he stepped outside the shop, he was going to get a serious beating.

Behind the counter, the staff are panicking. This altercation is scaring trade away, and we – as customers – are getting jostled by the two prizefighters’ attempts to get at each other. Likewise, the establishment are reluctant to phone the police. Disturbingly, we are so hungry at this point that we refuse to leave without food, despite the danger of getting injured ourselves!

Somewhere along the line – it felt like forever at the time – both contenders stripped their tops off, opting to go barechested. You’d think there’d be something macho or animal about this display, but no. It was actually rather pathetic and annoying. One girl in the shop looked terrified as the staff allowed her and her boyfriend to sneak out the back door. We held on, stoically waiting for our kebabs.

However, before the food arrived, the stupid guy got dragged outside and was being kicked and punched by four other guys as the shop staff lowered the shutters to prevent any more damage to the place. When they eventually raised it again, we expected to see a bleeding mess on the ground. But the fighters had disappeared, and the blue corner guy and his friend were limping off down the road.

Horrible scenes, full of bad dialogue – as Wooftie pointed out: “It’ll be a fair fight, only fair digs” and the classic from the red corner “I’ll rip the hairs out of your chest.” All eyes went to the ginger guy saying this, who didn’t appear to have any hairs on his chest.

Anyway, the punchline of this whole episode was the following day, telling my father-in-law about the fighting. He mentioned the pub across the street – commonly known as the Whitefort – is unofficially known as The Fightfort for the number of drunken scraps that happen there at the weekends. Cool, thanks for the warning Felix!

Almost Jakey’s 5th Birthday

Jake’s about to turn 5 in a few days. I’ve noticed over the last few weeks that he’s getting a cheeky wit about him. He likes to spar and joke with us, but because it’s the holidays, he’s easily bored and frustrated. Sometimes he gets grumpy when he doesn’t get an answer he likes.

He’s a huge fan of science fiction stuff. Sitting in front of the TV right now, he’s rewound the same scene in Doctor Who loads of times now, just to hear him say “Are you my mummy?” referrencing one of Jake’s favourite episodes, The Empty Child. He’s obsessed with Iron Man at the moment – not because of the movie, but because of the old cartoon series running on the satellite channels. You know, the one where Tony Stark looks like a big sleazy pimp on steroids? What a hero…

Still, Jake’s one of the most pliant children. Ask him to do anything for you and he does it without hesitation. I’m not joking. I asked him this evening to pick up some cushions from the living room floor, and he did it immediately. No grumbling, no wasting time.

I just wanted to record a few thoughts about Jake as he approaches his 5th birthday. A sweet, intelligent boy. Still quite shy around new people, and withdrawn when he wants to be. I can see little signs of him maturing and developing his wit.

We’re working at the moment on getting him used to more reading and we definitely need to spend more time with him writing and drawing to prepare him for pre-school in September, but we’ll get there.

Happy 4th Birthday Baby Boy

I got a little weepy tonight as my wee 4 year old blew out the candles on his chocolate caterpillar birthday cake.

In honesty, he won’t be four until tomorrow, but we had a party tonight in his granny’s so his cousins could join him.

He is such a massive wee boy, he actually looks like he is about five or six years old, but it seems like yesterday when we brought him home from hospital all fresh and new.

His birthday has turned out to be quite power ranger themed. It doesn’t matter what other gifts he gets….he has a green mystic force ranger, so all is right with the world.