Mum's the Word - Remembering a Specials birthday and why you should be having fun

Terry Hall singing with The Specials, Usher Hall, Edinburgh, 2021.

In a couple of weeks Youngest Child will no longer be a teenager so we can look forward to a homelife of serenity and calm where everyone behaves like an adult. No more ‘tell him mum’ and fake kicks to the head or ‘anyway, I’m mum’s favourite’.

“Will I be as old as this car?,” says Youngest as I drive her to work.

“Probably. Double celebration woohoo. I’ll tie a big bow around it and give it to you for your birthday if you’ve passed your driving test,” I say, confidently expecting a “no way”.

“Yeah, I’d probably accept,” she says, eyeing the Mercedes next to us at the lights. “Obviously I’d prefer something like that, but this one does go, and it’s easy to park and very cheap to run, and we don’t have to stress about anyone damaging the paintwork (that ship has hit and run) or the interiors (T in the Park and the transportation of Shetland sheep to the vets by the previous careful lady owner having left their marks), so I wouldn’t say no. It’s very reliable, considering its age.”

Gulp, I didn’t expect that grown up response. “It’s just a shame the insurance would be prohibitive right now, but definitely something for the future,” I say.

“Yeah, until I can afford my own Proper Car,” she says, “something I’d feel safer driving,” and I drop her off, feeling a pang I can’t splash the cash on ridiculous new cars with bows on top.

But what else to get her? Back at the homestead I’m pondering what has meant the most to me on my birthday and immediately I’m thinking about last year when the kids all took me to see The Specials. Covid delayed, it was a magical ‘we’re all out there again/still here’ gig, and nothing could beat joining Terry Hall in singing ‘married with a kid when you should be having fun’ alongside all your offspring for a back to the future moment. I smile.

“What are you thinking about,” says Middle, comatose on the sofa. I’m about to tell him and share a heartfelt parent/child moment, but I catch sight of his socks, exposed bare heels on display, and don’t. During sock wars my phone pings a headline.

“Oh, Terry Hall just died,” I say.

“Aw what. Remember that gig?” he says.

“Yeah for my birthday. That was special. Thank you.”