Another View On Baby-sitters: DON’T TRUST A FATHER

Press, Volume CVIII, Issue 31865, 18 December 1968, Page 3

Another View On Baby-sitters: DON’T TRUST A FATHER

' 1811 SIOYR4 BIGELOW) An article in “The Press” on December 14 carried the headline: “Men Best Babyi sitters.” Well, perhaps; but are fathers good sitters? My experience and observation suggests that they are not. Is there a dad who can simultaneously spoon-feed a baby, stir gravy and think up two homework sentences illustrating the difference in meaning between “community” and “society,” and still keep cool? Will the gravy have lumps or will the baby? In fact, how many women have complete confidence in their husband’s stability if he has to take over the Home reins? A number of my friends have expressed very grave misgivings. They know only too well that mere baby-sit-ting is regarded by the male

as an opportunity for a wellearned sleep, or a chance to indulge in a hobby in which he becomes so engrossed as to be blissfully unaware that a small boy has uncorked a bottle of cod liver oil and is leaving snail trails over the upholstery. So uneasy on this score was ione woman that she drove back to check up. Her suspicions confirmed, she found dad and a neighbour watching a televised football match, and junior happily poking crayons one by one down the bath outlet. She “kidnapped” the child, drove to her mother’s and telephoned home, asking to have a word with the little darling. FAST ASLEEP Consider the unfortunate experience of a friend of mine. In the midst of a home-permanent, she was summoned home by a neighbour who informed her that her children had screamed nonstop for (wo hours. Alarmed that her husband, la keen Whittier, might have

whittled an artery, she sped home, a towel around her head, only to find her children standing in their cots, purplefaced and hoarse, and their father fiat on his back on the bed between them. He had not had a seizure. He had fallen asleep, a book open on his chest. My own faith was undermined long ago when 1 returned from a movie to find my house in complete darkness, all doors and windows ' locked, and a chorus of wailing from indoors. 1 Filled with apprehensions, ' I battered and banged to no avail. The noise attracted attention in the street before it 1 penetrated to my husband, ' who had simply fallen asleep ' in broad daylight, reading a 1 comic to his offspring. Awakening at last in inky blackness, he became aware of screams within and screams without, doors being banged and windows rattled. TRAUMATIC Befuddled, unable to find! his bearings or the light! switch, he reeled into the beam of a torch shone through; a window by a helpful but perplexed policeman. To this; day, he claims the experience; was more traumatic for him than for me. He was careful not to sleep! on duty again. Even so. he! subsequently managed to mis-! lay a child when nobly holding the fort while 1 attended; a meet-the-teachers evening. On my return, he was writing calmly, and assured me that everything was under perfect control. I checked anyway.

Three children were sleeping peacefully. The fourth bed was empty. Where was the occupant? We searched the house from attic to basement. We hunted in cupboards, under beds, even in drawers. We searched the garden by torchlight, phoned neighbours, and debated notifying the police. Suddenly there was a roar; from one of the older boys, protesting that there was “something hot and lumpy” inside the covers at the bottom of his bed. ft was not difficult to guess what, or rather, who that was. Some sociologists have suggested that the future roles of men and women will become interchangeable (up to a point). Confronted with this prospect, men start to rationalise about women’s instability. This is nonsense. Could we step into their roles? Of course we could. The disturbing question is: could they step into ours?