We are teddy bears

Last night I was driving the Car of Great Grumpiness, performing the Taxi Ride of Gloom. Adrian had been in London at some do with Princess Anne (well, they’d been in the same room). Meanwhile James had stayed late at school as a salve. He wants to weekly board (actually in his heart of hearts he’d like to full-board but he is smart enough not to push too hard) – we’ve said it’s not an option.  Partly (okay, majorly) because of cost but also because, for pity's sake, he's only eleven.  We haven't had him five minutes and already he wants to move out?  
James was tired and grumpy – so was Adrian. Not that much difference between males really, whatever their age: when they’re tired or hungry they become revolting. By the time we got home the mood was positively festering.
‘Oh God, welcome to our happy home,’ said Adrian, dripping with sarcasm.
‘Well don’t worry; you’ll get rid of me tomorrow for the night, won’t you?’ lashed back James.
Cue hurt look from Adrian and stair-stomping by James. The SP hid behind the sofa and Asbo turned his head to the wall.  Jeez.
‘I wouldn’t mind but he isn’t even pleased to see us,’ said Adrian after we’d navigated bedtime and slumped at the table in the penumbra (half the light bulbs have blown).

Ah. Here it is. The Gulf of Parental Expectation. I had had lunch with a friend earlier and we were talking about just this. How, as children, we just accept our parents, we take them for granted. Sure, if they left or died, we’d be devastated. But generally a child’s view (if they even think about it) is that parents’ jobs are to be there, like giant teddy bears (albeit with open wallets and car keys) in the background, solid and comforting but ultimately to be grown out of, to be set aside and patted fondly from time to time.

But as parents, the whole thing turns on its head. Our children are The Most Important Things in the World, objects of endless interest and fascination. I can remember my mother wistfully asking about my day when I was at school; about my life when I was at university. It used to amaze me that she was so interested in every last detail. Now I understand, all too well.

‘Bottom line, we’re not as interesting to James as he is to us,’ I said to Adrian as we walked the dogs through the early morning mist by the river. He had just been relating a long story about the brewing industry in Burton on Trent. He looked suspiciously at me.
‘That was a boring story, wasn’t it?’ he said.  Aaaghh. ‘It’s not about you, it’s not about us.’ I paused. ‘See, you have to understand.  We’re teddy bears.’

He looked extremely puzzled and scratched his fur.