Janet Christie on parenting: “Don’t ever call me special. I am not special”

I am feeling mellow and sentimental. I can’t remember why. Maybe someone other than me heaved the overflowing bins out.

“I love you very much,” I say to a passing Youngest. “You’re a very special little girl.”

“Don’t ever call me special. I am not special.”

“Why not?”

“Duh! Special needs. Like someone who has to sit on their own special chair that no-one else is allowed on. Or someone who doesn’t want to play with the other kids and likes it. That’s OK if they’re OK with that. But I don’t want to be special.”

“Sorry. It used to mean something else. I just meant I love you.”

“Oh.”

Meanwhile, the boys are bickering. “That top is gay.”

“It’s not gay. How can a top be gay?”

“It is. Gay.”

“Gay’s fine anyway. Loads of people are gay. I’m not. But if I was, so what? You’re gay for thinking it’s an insult. It’s not any more. Like it’s OK to be ginger.”

“Ginger?” says Youngest. “No, no, no, wouldn’t want to be ginger.”

We all jump on her. “Nothing wrong with ginger,” I say. “I love ginger … auburn, red, titian …

“Ginger’s cool,” says Eldest.

“Don’t be ginger-ist,” says Middle. “Just wouldn’t want to be,” she says.

“I love ginger hair,” I say.

“Oh, hair. I thought you meant ginger people,” says Youngest, and departs.