Then I look at Ali, just 11 years old, and he seems so completely his own chap: a product of his own endeavours, fears, excitements and stubbornness. I can’t even get him to sit up straight, so there’s not much hope of imparting the collective id and wisdom of a hundred generations of Gillness.
He’s a thoughtful, sideways-looking boy, and I’m aware that I don’t know the half of him. Fathers and sons are a generically sentimentalised relationship. Mothers and sons, fathers and daughters, come with baggage and connotations. But dads and their lads are as simple as beer and skittles, a lump in the throat, viciously exploited by the advertisers of watches and life insurance.
When you become a parent, the one thing you realise all children have over their fathers is that only fathers remember a time before children. Their arrival is so joyously cataclysmic, comes with such a helium-filled weight of responsibility that you never quite get over the awe and the shock. But for Ali, I’m just part of the landscape. There was never a time before dad.
It’s difficult to know what to give an 11-year-old for his confirmation. I got him lead soldiers. It’s something the three of us share: my father gave me his, and they’ve been passed on to Ali. It’s our one small acquiescence to primogeniture and ancestral property. I gave him a little model of a wartime RAF officer. It could have been his grandfather. The three of us looked at the little blue man, and I realised it was the family equivalent of the Schleswig-Holstein question. Ali didn’t know who it was, daddy had forgotten who it was; it meant something only to me.
But what does he think about having me as his dad? He was at his grandparents. I rang to ask him.
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Hello, Ali.
Hi, dad.
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If you had a choice between half a dad and three dads, which would it be?
Three dads. I don’t want half a dad.
What’s the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever done?
Once you took me out for a walk. You were wearing some kilt thing. Pretty embarrassing.
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What do you think of the car [a bright yellow Bentley with blacked-out pimp’s windows that I bought specifically to embarrass the children]? Don’t you mind being dropped off at school in it?
It’s a weird colour, but it’s funky. I like being taken to school in it.
If you could have any car, what would it be?
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A Lotus or Ferrari.
What’s your earliest memory of me?
You lifting me up and throwing me towards the ceiling. It was really, really frightening.
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Oh, I’m sorry.
No, it’s a nice memory; that nice scariness.
What’s the capital of Argentina?
A.
A what?
A. Just A.
No, Ali. A what?
A is the capital of Argentina.
(Pause for laughter)
Which bit of sex education didn’t you understand and have been too embarrassed to ask about?
I’m not embarrassed by any of it. I understand it all. Well, perhaps it’s a little bit embarrassing.
Why do you think they make flavoured condoms?
What?! You’re having a laugh. They don’t do that, do they?
They do.
We haven’t got to that bit yet. Teacher hasn’t said, “Here’s a Coca-Cola-flavoured one.” Why do they make them?
To be quite frank, Ali, I’ve no idea. Do you have names for them? Do you call them rubber johnnies?
(Hoots with laughter) Rubber johnny — what’s that?
Who’s the prime minister?
Tony Blair.
... of India?
(Quick as a heartbeat) Chief.
Oh, like an Indian chief. How’s the dyslexia going? [We’re both dyslexic.]
Fine.
No, really, how are you coping?
Fine. Fine, dad. It’s okay.
No, come on, Ali, tell me.
It’s fine. I get to miss French.
You haven’t really read all the Harry Potter books, have you?
Really, I have, but not the fifth one. I’m reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time now.
What are the 20 best things about your father?
He’s funny, he has rubbish comebacks and, er, um, 18 weeks’ pocket money.
And the one bad thing?
Your style, dad. It’s crap. You may be the eighth-best dressed man in Britain, but Robbie Williams beat you.
Isn’t there one thing in my wardrobe that you want me to leave you?
Er, the velvet smoking jacket.
You big poof.
Da-ad!
Do you think you’d like to be a father?
Yeah, I suppose so.
If you could only have one child, would it be a boy, a girl or a jack russell?
Jack russell.
What’s the worst row we’ve ever had?
About cutting off my mullet [cost me £20 in bribes].
What would you change about your life?
My sister.
What are you most looking forward to about growing up?
A driving licence.
What, more than testicles?
Da-ad!
Okay, which is better: popular or famous?
Famous. I’d buy some friends.
Handsome or clever?
Handsome.
Good dancer, good footballer?
Good footballer.
Smelly breath, smelly feet?
Feet.
You manage to do both.
Da-ad!
Snails or frog’s legs?
Frog’s legs.
What’s more frightening: geography exam or sleeping with the lights off?
Geography exam. I’m totally over having to have the lights on any more.
If you could change one thing about you and me, what would it be?
Nothing.
Really?
Nothing, dad.
And if you could keep one thing the same forever?
My family.
That’s disgustingly sentimental, Ali.
Okay — the dog.
So how’s it going so far?
Good, I like my life. It’s a standard life.
All right, Ali, thanks.
Love you, dad.
Love you, Ali. Love to your sister.
Yeah, right.