Dad At Large: Shouldering the burden of fatherhood

There have been times when I've felt like a seaside donkey, although they probably get more sensitive handling.

And there are at least two physical consequences of having to literally shoulder the burden of four children: I have the world's roundest shoulders and my ears stick out more than the handles of the FA Cup due to the fact that successive riders have used them for balance and steering.

It started with our eldest declaring from on high that a tug on my left ear meant I had to turn left and a tug on my right ear meant I had to turn right.

A simultaneous tug on both ears meant I had to stop; a gentle wiggle up and down was an instruction to go a bit faster; and a vigorous wiggle meant I had to break into a trot.

I should have put an end to it there and then but - stupidly - I responded to the ear signals, which he duly passed on to his brothers and sister.

"The secret of riding a dad properly is using the ears like reins," I once heard him say as our youngest climbed aboard because his legs had "stopped working".

With the little 'un hitting six last month, I really thought my shoulder-carrying days were coming to an end - until I took nine-year-old Jack to see his beloved Arsenal play Middlesbrough.

Overjoyed at seeing his team win 2-0, he wanted to wait outside the ground afterwards to get autographs from the players as they boarded the coach. Naturally, plenty of other Arsenal supporters had the same idea which meant we were six rows back in a mad scrum.

Jack was too little to see anything so there was nothing else for it - I had to lift him onto my shoulders. When he was four, it was manageable. Now he's nine, I could have done with a crane.

Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Still no sign of an Arsenal player and my legs were starting to buckle. I knew that if I'd put him down, I'd only have to lift him up again, so I gritted my teeth through the pain.

Twenty minutes: "Dad, I've got cramp - can I come down?"

I helped him dismount - reminding him to let go of my ears - but within seconds, the door swung open and a freshly-showered Dennis Bergkamp emerged.

"DENNIS! DENNIS!" the scrum shouted in unison. Dennis walked over and, although the strain was excruciating, Jack was hauled back into the saddle.

Dennis was signing autographs for the front row. Jack couldn't reach so he leaned over, stretching for all he was worth with his autograph book in his hand.

"RAY! RAY!" screamed the scrum.

"It's Ray Parlour, Dad," shouted the boy.

Jack stretched even further. His sweatshirt was covering my eyes so I was completely in the dark. My back ached, my neck throbbed and I was sagging like Desperate Dan's horse.

"ASHLEY! ASHLEY!"

"It's Ashley Cole, Dad."

By now, he was stretching so much, his body was at right angles to my own. I was blind. I was in agony. And I thought I was about to cry.

"SOL! SOL!"

"It's Sol Campbell, Dad. It's Sol Campbell."

By now it felt like I had Sol Campbell on my shoulders - and he's a big fella.

Finally - after "ROBERT! ROBERT!" (Pires), "PATRICK! PATRICK!" (Vieira), "THIERRY! THIERRY!" (Henry), and one or two others - I could take no more.

"I'm sorry, Jack, you'll have to come down," I mumbled, gingerly lowering him to the ground.

"How many autographs did you get?" I gasped.

"None - I couldn't reach," he replied.

"What do you mean, none?"

So, I hereby make a plea to all footballers: When signing autographs, spare a thought for the poor dads with kids on their shoulders - and make them a priority.

Me? I'm signing on with a chiropractor.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

DADS, of course, are superheroes. They can do fix anything... Sheila Anderson was aged three and enjoying an evening walk with her dad, who had a reputation as a real handyman. Sheila looked up at the half moon and said: "Moon broke - Daddy mend it."

* As told by Sheila's brother Jim Anderson, secretary of the Kader Thursday Club in Brookfield, Middlesbrough.

BETTY Ditchburn, of the Kader Thursday Club, was busy in the kitchen and her husband was cleaning the fireplace.

Their little girl Hazel - four at the time but a Grandma herself now - went up to her Dad, put her arms round him and said: "Hey, Dad, where was our Mum before we got her?"

GRETA Green, former head of Hart Road School in Hartlepool, recalled a little girl in the reception class who hadn't been behaving very well.

After registration, she called the child over and said: "Right, Pamela, we're going to count the children in the class."

They counted to 28 and Greta said: "And with you, Pamela, that makes 29."

"No, it's just 28," the girl replied, "I'm not stopping."

* Told at a meeting of the Hartlepool Retired Teachers' Association."