If you have children of 5 years or over, and are a car driver, then you
will (if you haven’t already) one day discover a strange phenomenon known only by
London cabbies or Limousine chauffeurs – that of the Invisible Ear. That is, from the moment that your progeny
starts to bring friends home for tea, or in the spirit of good mumminess you
offer to give a wayward child a lift, or it’s your turn to do the football run,
or indeed (as has once happened to me) a strange child simply clambers into the
back of the car and demands to be taken to my house (I didn’t), as the driver,
you suddenly become invisible. Gone then
are the two most important things that your children will say to you every day
1) what they ate for lunch 2) what are
they having for dinner?
Instead, their friend brings out of your child more information than you
have ever done, and what amazing information that is – unless of course you
make the stupid mistake of joining in, in which case if it’s the teenager involved,
he merely looks at you wishing that you would instantly explode, if it’s the
preteenager, he rolls his eyes and says that you’re really sad, and if it’s the
9 year old he and his friend become instant mutes and giggle on the back seat
pretending to shoot you with their fingers…
But if you stay quiet and carry on driving, they carry on talking. I now know why in my twenties, even thirties,
all right… maybe a little into my forties, I would get into taxis with my mates
after a night out, and at the end of the journey the driver would be
laughing. It is because, once those car doors close,
there is a false sense of privacy, a feeling of shutting out the rest of the
world, a space in which to release all that information that is rushing around
your head, be it muzzy with alcohol, dizzy with teenage hormones or sparking
with prepubescent neurons.
A friend of mine F, whose turn it was to do the netball run, set off in
the car to pick up her daughters friend.
F rolled up to the house at 8.30 am in her duvet coat and wooly scarf,
beanie shoved on her slightly hungover head, feet trussed up in wellies,
teenage daughter in a strop. The other
mother A opened the door impossibly coiffeured and impeccably dressed in a crisp
white t shirt and blue jeans, with casually low slung converse boots and not a
scrap of make up. Inwardly F marveled at
how great A looked for her age, A was, after all, an older mum, as she bundled
the girls into the car. As she drove
off, her daughter turned to her friend with a sigh and said ‘Your mum is soooo cool,
she wears fab boots. And she looks sooo cool – I really love her hair, and she’s
so pretty.’ F studiously carried on
driving although her ears were reddening.
The other girl stopped BBMing on her phone and turned to her daughter, ‘You
wouldn’t have said that a couple of weeks ago – she had a chemical peel and
bits of her face were dropping off all over the place and she looked like an
angry baby.’
Because of the car, I can now proudly talk as an expert on the merits of
Xbox versus Playstation, can tell you why the England Cricket team are
hopeless, what the best school dinner is, whose single is really the best in
the Top 40 regardless of statistics, and who is the fittest girl in Year 4 (and
why the girl with an ipad mini and
an iphone doesn’t rank). Other mums who
have ferried my kids to places have told me what I wear in bed (or not), which of
my children received a bona fide Valentines card (or three) and didn’t tell me,
who we entertained for dinner at the weekend, and what I am getting for my
birthday…
It does not, however transcend the Teachers Ear Syndrome, which thanks
to several friends of mine, have kept us entertained on many a night out. I asked one friend how her new posting was
working out. She said that a five year
old Irish boy with the face of an angel had told her that his mummy thought she
was much better than the ‘focking halfwit’ of a teacher that he had had
before. She was torn between correcting his
language and defending her predecessor…
Perhaps though, it is best to enjoy the Invisible Ear phenomenon for
what it is – a sign that your kids are growing up, learning to express
themselves no matter what their age or style, and testing out their ideas and
opinions in a contained (and motorized) vehicle.
Just sit back, and enjoy the ride…
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