You’ve met the Daferit, the Victorian Dad and the Overcompensator, now meet the Doting Daddy and the Fading Athlete…
The Doting Daddy
Nothing is too good for the Doting Daddy’s little darlings. Irredeemably insecure, he showers them with gifts in a bid to secure their love but the more he dotes the more distant they become. Trapped in a cycle of love and rejection the balance of power ultimately shifts in favour of the children who become vile monsters and start to fuck with Doting Daddy just for kicks. The Doting Daddy can often be found under a mountain of pink polyester in the Disney store where his brood emotionally blackmail him into buying expensive, mind-stunting tat which will sit in their rooms, untouched, for eight months before being sent to landfill.
The Fading Athlete
Never not wearing trainers, the Fading Athlete refuses to ease up and recognise the limitations of his ageing body. A gruelling schedule of gym, squash, football, running and skiing has taken its toll on the Fading Athlete so much so that he is held together by a Meccano set of steel plates and pins after various bones shattered under the strain. He greets his friends with a roar and a chest bump, although none of them like it, and coerces them into rock climbing weekends when all they really want is a pint and a chat. The Fading Athlete cannot abide weaklings, which is a bind for his infant children who are made to bench press 20 kilos daily when they’d rather be playing with Lego. The Fading Athlete is ashamed of his gentle bookish son and calls him ‘Sally’ for reading so much.
Fun Daddy is an ebullient bundle of joy with the capacity to play with children for hours on end without getting bored or irritable. Consequently, he is not well like by other parents because he makes them feel neglectful for wanting to ignore their children and drink heavily instead. Onlooking parents are not fond of being made to look into their barren souls to assess whether they are bad people for shirking the trampoline game or not wanting to swing Daisy around by her plaits. One, two, three: whee! One, two, three: whee! One, two, three: fuck off.
DJ Dad is hard to get to know because he’s always bouncing behind the decks with giant cans on his ears, even at a Tabitha’s third birthday party and Granny Nora’s funeral. Ferociously territorial about the vinyl, only a chosen few are allowed near the music and that does not mean you. Do not ask DJ Dad for requests, this is deeply uncool. He once called Tabitha a ‘sad twat’ for asking for Crazy Frog and made her wet herself. Never suggest a different music genre as this is tantamount to undermining DJ Dad’s existence and your relationship will never recover.
DDDY 100 runs a FTSE 100 company and has never been seen.
Check out Dadspotting part one. It doesn’t get any nicer.