1-0 for Dad despite Mätschli massacre

Father's Day was earlier this year. The occasion still has room for improvement. In any case, it has not yet become customary for children to surprise us with cigars, wine and car accessories on this day. My son's nursery had an original idea for this: a football match.    

«I'm leaving immediately,» I said to my wife, but then decided against flying to Kathmandu because I wanted to spare my son the traumatic experience of his father chickening out of the football match. However, given my playing abilities, the question arises as to whether my absence would not have been even less traumatic.

What I had feared had happened. I had made a fool of myself.

And then it happened...

The sky on Father's Day was that deceptive blue that tends to camouflage ominous events. When I entered the sports field, I saw fathers everywhere stretching in full gear. They were between thirty and forty years old, an age when the body has already become a stranger and such innocent «jokes» can end in carnage.

The audience, consisting of our children and partners, sat down at the edge of the pitch and off we went. After just a few minutes, I got close to the ball. And then it happened. While attempting to play a so-called sugar pass, I lost my balance and fell flat on my face.

Laughter from the audience. What I had feared had happened. I had made a fool of myself. I didn't dare look at my son, who was sitting there among his friends, who had all witnessed my slapstick performance.    

Wipe away the shame

As a result, I did everything I could to redeem myself. In fact, I got better and better as the game went on, helped by the fact that more and more fathers had to drop out with slipped discs and hernias. Shortly before the end, I even managed to score a goal; a magnificent lob over the screaming goalkeeper. Goal! I looked over to the edge of the pitch.

There stood my son, completely beside himself, proclaiming: «My father scored a goal!» Mission accomplished. The traditional image of fatherhood had been restored. Now I could confidently undermine it with Pippi Longstocking books and Playmobil Princess Magic.

I cannot prevent someone from hurting my child by making fun of me.

target of ridicule

Then I heard one of his friends say to my son, «Yeah, but your dad fell flat on his face first. Haha.» I could have strangled him, but I didn't because there were too many witnesses. Instead, I looked at my son. He was inconsolable. All the joy about my goal had disappeared; all that remained was the pain that his father had become the target of ridicule.

At that moment, I realised that it would always be like this. I could score as many goals as I wanted (theoretically speaking), but I couldn't stop someone from hurting my child by making fun of me. I didn't even need to fall flat on my face for that to happen.

It was enough that my son loved me. Because children are most vulnerable when it comes to their love for their parents. Maybe things will get better when he hits puberty and his father is no longer a hero to him, but just an annoying bloke with a receding hairline. But right now, he is completely defenceless in his love. Completely? Really? Was there nothing that could be done?    

The game was over. I made my way through the field hospital to my son and took him in my arms. «Come on,» I said, «let's go home. Pippi Longstocking is waiting for us.»