February 18th, 2004

Baby and me

A Little Piece of the Past

Among his other fatherly duties, my dad would sometimes sing to us at bedtime.

(I don't know what song the tune was based on; sorry.)

Oh perfect child,
Oh perfect child,
Oh perfect, perfect, perfect child;

Oh perfect child,
Oh perfect child,
Oh perfect, perfect, perfect child;

Perf, perf, perf, perf,
Perfect, perfect, perfect child!


Ahem. Though he did believe in discipline, Dad also thought it a good idea to impress upon that he thought we were all right.

Which perhaps goes some way towards explaining why, even in my darkest moments, I have always thought rather highly of myself.


Post-script: While I'm on the subject, my wonderful kindergarten teacher, whom I remember only as Miss Matthews, described me thusly to my parents at one of those parent/teacher meetings: "Well, Geoffrey is ... perfect!"

Or so family lore has it.
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