Dear Dr Jannie,
I’m not a man of many words, so I’ll keep this short.
I’m worried about my son. He’s ten years old and he enjoys doing things like playing with dolls, sewing, dancing and watching Oprah.
He has no interest in sports or any of the normal things that a boy his age should have.
I’m starting to get worried now.
When Bismarck and I were growing up on the farm we used to share a bedroom. The only rule we had was that if the door was shut, then one should knock and await a response before entering. It was Bismarck’s idea and I must admit that at the time I found his suggestion a little strange.
One day I was out in the garden practising my drop kicks when I suprisingly connected one sweetly. The ball flew off of my bare foot and seemed to travel for a mile.
I lept with joy and raced up the stairs eager to tell Bismarck what had just happened, but alas, in my excited state, I broke the one and only bedroom rule and barged straight in.
Bismarck spun around in horror, his face red with rage. We both froze like statues and just stood there staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Then all of a sudden Bismarck erputed and started screaming “Get out Jannie, get the hell out of here you dick!!” I was shaken. Bismarck was furious.
As I started to back out of the room it dawned on me that his face was quite a bit redder than the usual shade displayed when he’s angry. That’s when I noticed Mummy’s make-up kit open on the table, a few of her Sunday dresses on his bed and a pair of her high heels already on his feet.
I shut the door, walked outside and continued practising my drop kicks.
Go well Concerned Dad, go well.