There's one episode of Frasier that I particularly like. It involves Frederick, Frasier's son, visiting his dad. After becoming embroiled in a softball game, Frasier fears that his son will discover that his dad isn't the perfect, infalliable man that young sons belive their father to be.
It always sticks in my mind because an early memory of mine is the time I realised that my dad hadn't played for Manchester United. I can remember flicking through a United history book honestly expecting to see his name there. It seems ridiculous now, but I guess it's an important stage that everyone has to go through as they get to grips with the fact that perhaps they aren't at the centre of everything.
Last sunday (no, not the last one, the one before that) Helen did her Run for Life. And she did very well too, taking just over 33mins. I stood at the finishing line, waiting as the minutes ticked by. In front of me stood a ... portly young chap of maybe 7. Behind him stood his equivilantly portly father and his mate.
After 15 minutes had ticked by the young fellow turned to his dad and said "You would have easily finished this in 15 minutes, wouldn't you dad."
His dad's mate let out a loud, humoured "Pah!". The boy's father looked uncomfortable, for he had seen the look in his son's eye: the final look of total and utter innocent respect. His father tried to be tactful. "Well, maybe 25."
The boy was crushed. You could see in it his face as his chin hit the floor. He aged in those moments, took on a wiseness and learnt a valuable life lesson: big men don't run 3 minute kilometres.
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