My five year old son had a nightmare.

If there was ever an event to make you realise you are a dad, it is comforting a sobbing child who’s just had a bad time in dreamland. It’s one of those times as a parent when you have a clear purpose, even if it is just to give a hug and say “There. There.”

As best I can understand it, his dream was this:

He found himself detained in a police station. As far as I can tell there was no reason for this. But they wouldn’t let him go and he was inconsolable. All he could find to do to try and convince the policeman that he should be released was to show them photographs. Photographs of J Boy with his mummy and daddy, because this would show them how much they loved each other. And how much he needed to go home But still they wouldn’t let him go.

The stuff of nightmares indeed. Imprisoned without charge by faceless officials; your loved ones out of reach. So, I performed my dadly duties and said “There. There.”: an Amnesty International campaign for improper detention in the subconscious.

My five year old son, J Boy, has had another bad dream.

“A man came and said he would give me something to be more grown up,” he reported to me tearfully. “And I wanted to be more grown up so I could do more things. The man said it would make me about six years older.”

“But he tricked me! I took the thing and when I looked in the mirror I had a big grey beard and I was about seventy and it was terrible.”

It seems to me that my life is like J Boy’s dream. It seemed like last night I was falling asleep in my little bed, 5 years old, with a teddy bear and my dad’s scout jamboree pennants on the wall above me. And now when I look in the mirror I am greying and worried and much much older than 5 years old.

Some nasty man has tricked me too J Boy. He tricks us all.

My five year old son had a nightmare.

If there was ever an event to make you realise you are a dad, it is comforting a sobbing child who’s just had a bad time in dreamland. It’s one of those times as a parent when you have a clear purpose, even if it is just to give a hug and say “There. There.”

As best I can understand it, his dream was this:

He found himself detained in a police station. As far as I can tell there was no reason for this. But they wouldn’t let him go and he was inconsolable. All he could find to do to try and convince the policeman that he should be released was to show them photographs. Photographs of J Boy with his mummy and daddy, because this would show them how much they loved each other. And how much he needed to go home But still they wouldn’t let him go.

The stuff of nightmares indeed. Imprisoned without charge by faceless officials; your loved ones out of reach. So, I performed my dadly duties and said “There. There.”: an Amnesty International campaign for improper detention in the subconscious.

My five year old son, J Boy, has had another bad dream.

“A man came and said he would give me something to be more grown up,” he reported to me tearfully. “And I wanted to be more grown up so I could do more things. The man said it would make me about six years older.”

“But he tricked me! I took the thing and when I looked in the mirror I had a big grey beard and I was about seventy and it was terrible.”

It seems to me that my life is like J Boy’s dream. It seemed like last night I was falling asleep in my little bed, 5 years old, with a teddy bear and my dad’s scout jamboree pennants on the wall above me. And now when I look in the mirror I am greying and worried and much much older than 5 years old.

Some nasty man has tricked me too J Boy. He tricks us all.