Parenting, the Dr Yobbo way

I got sunburned on the weekend. Or sunburnt, depending on your view. These things happen when you spend most of a day standing on the side of a road in Central Otago. Admittedly it wasn't just any old road, but part of the salaciously sinuous serpentinious hotmix (sorry, came over all Troy Queef there for a moment) that makes up the new Highlands Motorsport Park outside Cromwell.

Guess I can see the appeal of the location

So I got sunburned (or sunburnt) and yeah, I'm not happy about it. Partly because the sun was only out for about two hours. Partly because that was about the only spot on the entire South Island that wasn't slumbering under chilly cloud. But mostly because this wasn't your common or (working in the) garden variety sunburn. This was falling-asleep-under-a-Saturn-V-launch stuff. It's now Wednesday and I finally no longer look like a Klingon. On a scale of one to Klingon I probably rate about a Niki Lauda. Now I'm just waiting for Ron Howard to make an award-winning moofie from MY gripping origin story ref. being BBQ'd to a crisp on the side of a race track.

Nobody likes a quitter, Niki

But at least it amused my children. And provided a Teachable Moment, as insufferable Septic wanktards might phrase it. There are many different ways to go about parenting - most of them wrong and ineffectual, judging by the entitled little shits making up pretty much the entire under-30s population of the Western world - but my preferred method, one which I've refined over many years, is the Berenstain Bears School of Parenting.

The Berenstain Bears School of Parenting can best be summated in this diptych from The Bike Lesson:

Or to paraphrase: when you fuck up, as you inevitably will, because you're a man - claim that shit. What's going to compel a kid to slip, slop and slap in the summer sun - empty cajoling from mum, or a clinical demonstration of what happens if you don't, from your used-to-have-a-face-but-it-fell-off father?

Exactly. And the same goes for why you shouldn't turn your back on the waves when you're in the surf. Or kick rugby balls near the goldfish tank. Or wear bare feet on the kitchen tiles after Mum has mopped the floor. Or why you should always keep your eye on the ball at a T20 game in case it comes at you with intent to cause grievous bodily harm to your cup of chips.

That is what you should not do. Now let that be a lesson to you.

You've had your 15 minutes in the spotlight, Supernanny, but I think I'll take over from here.

Soon as I get out of triage.

The Doctor is OUT.