Perhaps we only really understand our parents once we're grown up, standing in their old, discarded shoes. Photo: Getty
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As Mum and Dad’s tales of the Blitz taught me, being a parent is all about playing it down

The role of parent, which seems so demanding while you’re playing it, requires mostly that you underact.

Our youngest had his 13th birthday the other day and I got a wonderful text from my dad saying, “All I remember about turning 13 is being allowed to smoke in the bomb shelter.” It made me laugh out loud but then I suddenly stopped and, for the first time, I pictured my dad as a 13-year-old little man, huddled in some underground bunker in Finsbury Park, sucking on a fag, while planes flew overhead trying to kill him. My heart turned over a bit with empathy and guilt, as I imagined anyone trying to do that to my 13-year-old little man, and recognised how blasé I’d always been about the things that had happened to both my dad and my mum.

I’d grown up hearing their war stories without ever finding them very frightening, or shocking, or real. They simply were. The war was long over and, far from growing up in its dark shadow, I lived with a cosy version of it, played out through Dad’s Army, my brother’s Airfix models of Spitfires and the boys in the playground shouting, “You be the Nazis!” as an alternative to: “You be the Indians!”

And my parents were of that generation brought up to make light of things, put on a brave face and keep their pecker up, so they made little effort to convey to us the terror hidden in their anecdotes. Wary of frightening us, they made their adventures sound funny and exciting. Mum told us, “I was a bit of a bolshie teenager and one night I was just too stroppy to go down into the shelter, so I stayed in my bed and, as I lay there, a bomb fell and I watched as my bedroom wall split open in front of my eyes, so I could see the street outside.” While Dad said: “My brother and I had to share a bed and this bomb dropped so close that Tony was blown clean out of bed and across the room. HA HA HA.” It was all about as real to me as an Ealing comedy.

Bizarre, though, isn’t it, how lacking in empathy the young can be? Your parents don’t exist for you in any setting beyond the dinner table or the kitchen. Their childhood is simply made up, their life outside the home an irrelevance. Ben and I are often asked whether our children are impressed by our careers, our various successes both in the past and now, and my reply is to ask the questioner whether or not they have ever actually met a child. Of course they’re not impressed. Or particularly interested. What children want from their parents is pocket money, tea on the table, the Xbox password – and for said parents to be as inconspicuous as possible on those occasions when they appear in public.

Currently we are failing this test and our kids are having to deal with the fact that both of us have written books, which are visible and in the shops and in their faces. One of our daughters returned grim-faced from the local Waterstones with a tale of how we had ruthlessly humiliated her by having a picture in the window (Dad) and then stacks of books by the till (both Mum and Dad). “I had to lean across a pile of you to pay for my book,” she groaned. “It was excruciating.”

Ironically, the book by Ben that caused her so much mortification was his poignant memoir of his parents, Romany and Tom, a book in which he comes to the realisation that we never really know our parents as we are growing up, only getting to understand them once we ourselves are standing in their old, discarded shoes.

Perhaps it can’t be any other way. You hear people talk about “the family drama”; if there is such a thing, then it often feels like the characters in it are sketchily drawn and two-dimensional. And the role of parent, which seems so demanding while you’re playing it, requires mostly that you underact: that you don’t commandeer too much of the spotlight, or step out of character, or ad-lib, or ask what your motivation is.

So if we want tips on how it’s done, maybe we should ignore all parenting manuals and instead look to that great quote about acting: “Know your lines and don’t bump into the furniture.” That’ll do for me.

Tracey Thorn is a musician and writer, best known as one half of Everything but the Girl. She writes the fortnightly “Off the Record” column for the New Statesman. Her latest book is Naked at the Albert Hall.

This article first appeared in the 21 May 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Peak Ukip

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UK to reconsider blood donation ban for men who have sex with men

Under current rules, men who have had sex with another man in the past twelve months cannot donate blood.

During Women and Equalities questions this morning, Jane Ellison MP slipped in a bombshell: men who have sex with other men may soon be able to donate blood. 

Ellision, who is Undersecretary of State for Public Health, said that Public Health England has carried out a new survey of blood donors which is currently being analysed. Next year, the Advisory Committee on the Safety of Blood Tissues and Organs (SaBTO), which sets blood donation guidelines, will use the evidence to review the current policy. 

She said:

Donor referrel for MSM [men who have sex with men] was changed from lifetime to 12 months referral in 2011. Four years later it is time again to look at this issue. Public Health England has conducted an anonymous survey of donors and I'm pleased that the advisory SaBTO will review this issue in 2016.

The current ban (which also applies to a range of other groups including sex workers) is based on the fact that MSM are at higher risk of contracting HIV, according to every Public Health England survey ever conducted on the disease. Both HIV and Hepatitis C don't show up in blood tests immediately, so the 12 month rule is based on leaving a "window" for the diseases to develop and be testable. The rules are ostensibly based on sexual activity, not on sexual orientation.

However, as Michael Fabricant pointed out in response to Ellison's announcement, in practice, it also looks a lot like discrimination - there is no ban on blood donation from straight people who have had unprotected sex, for example. Fabricant continued that "equality on this issue" is needed, and clinicians themselves feel a change is "long overdue".

Blood donations in the UK have fallen by 40 per cent in the last decade, a fact which may have contributed to the decision to review the current rules.

A Stonewall spokesperson said:

We’re delighted the Department of Health Minister Jane Ellison has announced this review.

We want a donation system that is fair and based on up-to-date medical evidence. Currently gay and bi people cannot give blood if they have had sex in the past 12 months,  regardless of whether they used protection. Yet straight people who may have had unprotected sex can donate. These current rules are clearly unfair and we want to see people asked similar questions - irrespective of their sexual orientation - to accurately assess the risk of infection. Screening all donors by sexual behaviour rather than by sexual orientation would increase blood stocks in times of shortage and create a safer supply by giving a more accurate, non-discriminatory assessment.

Barbara Speed is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman and a staff writer at CityMetric.