Every parent worries about their child’s future. Olly Hawes, a theatre performer whose new show, Old Fat F**k Up, follows the escapades of a middle-aged, middle-class dad fretting about what legacy he’s leaving his children.
While the story is mostly fictional, here Olly explains what more money could – or couldn’t – do to improve his parenting of two young kids, aged five and three.
If I had £2,000 more in the bank each month, I’d buy my kids musical instruments, build a shed for them to play in, then pay for them to go to more sports, music and arts clubs. They’d have better shoes instead of hand-me-downs and a university fund each. I’d also put some money aside for a pension.
But right now, our mortgage is about to go up by 40 per cent, bills are through the roof and – I know it’s not related to childcare – when pints began to cost £7, that really was crippling. Going to the pub and moaning with your mates about parenting is a male way of opening up, but even that’s harder to do now.
With all this going on, I really worry if I’m going to be able to provide for my kids the best circumstances for them to be happy, healthy and confident. They are definitely all of those things – and much more – and I feel so good about that. But of course, there is this constant underlying anxiety about what more I can do.
I sometimes think that the happiest people I know are the wealthiest people I know. There is a level of wealth that gives people the foundation to build happiness from. And it feels like it’s increasingly challenging for so many – even people like me who grew up middle class with all my privilege – to achieve that.
When my parents were my age, they were far more secure and financially robust, but work doesn’t pay like it used to. I’ve got friends who are doctors and accountants; a few decades ago they would have been so much wealthier.
As a kid, me, my sister and my parents would go out a lot as a family to restaurants, the cinema or theatre. Me and my wife (who works in education so also does not earn a large salary) would never do that with our kids unless we put serious thought into it. We couldn’t do it on a whim, partly because our workloads means one of us will be working on the weekend.
My dad used to spend weekends driving me all over the place so I could play sports, and I don’t know how I’ll be able to do that with either of my kids. When we first moved into this house in London, it was a smart decision, but now, the cost of living is making it so difficult that we’re not really sure.
Obviously, we are so lucky to live in the capital, it’s full of amazing opportunities, but increasingly my family and I feel priced out of those. And it’s very different from the countryside I grew up in.
But even if we wanted to move outwards, the cost of stamp duty and the rest makes it hard to feel the disruption of the move is worth it. One day, I’m sure we will because now the kids share a room and I can see we’ll outgrow the space.
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I know I’ve chosen to be an artist, and take all the risks and sacrifices – and, yes, some of the advantages – that come with it. After years of trying to work it out, I’ve got a job that is solid, reliable and well paid enough to help me get by and leaves time to make art, as poorly paid as art is. So my day job is an online tutoring business and then I also write and act in my own shows. They’re always one-man shows, as that’s the cheapest way to do it.
Around four years ago, I said to myself I’d stop putting my energies into theatre, because I didn’t feel successful. It was a big emotional decision – all I’ve ever wanted to do was make theatre – yet as soon as I committed to giving up, I felt this real wrench. And immediately I started writing a new show.
I used to think the depression I’d suffered from was derived from being a struggling artist, but now I think if I’d been more secure in my mental health, I’d have been more successful during that time. I treated the depression with two long stints of costly therapy (and yoga), and I feel secure in saying it’s in the past.
If I’m not creatively fulfilled I get into a real funk. Some people are lucky because they find a strong intersection between edification and making money, but for most people that’s not the case. There are so many people who work in an office then have a hobby that takes over their personal lives.
To me, how I make a living as a parent is a three-way balancing act between money, my own satisfaction and my kids’ lives. I really try to prioritise their financial and material security, but I also want them to grow up knowing that their parents are doing something that feeds their souls, achieving a different kind of wealth. They might not explicitly understand that, but it’s there. Wealth isn’t just money, it’s about richness of experience and connection.
When I’m working creatively, all my synapses are firing. When I’m not, I feel adrift. And it’s difficult to say, but when things are shit at work I’m probably worse as a parent; I’m less fair and reasonable, I find it hard to stay patient. But when I’m enjoying my work, I’m so much better at dealing with the thousands of challenges that come with having kids.
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The key idea behind my new show is that any squeeze on resources sees a slip in standards – in both our personal lives and in society as a whole.
I don’t desire a huge income and my wife and I know that we both model to our children a way of living that doesn’t prioritise money. But I wonder, yes, if we need to reassess that balance.
I look at them and I see they have creative impulses. They both love dancing and music, my son is so excited about the single speaking line he has in his winter show. In some ways, it makes my heart sing, and in other ways, I’m like, ‘Please no!’ I would love my children to have a job that fulfils them, that contributes to society and that pays them well. But what even is that job?
The thing that almost comforts me, as distressing as it is, is that there’s so much uncertainty that we don’t really know what the world is going to be. Should we be teaching our kids how to survive the collapse of society, giving them skills on how to catch fish from safe sources and how to hoard and fire weapons?
Seriously, though, what I find helpful is remembering that I don’t need to worry about what they’re going to be doing at 25. The question is: how are we going to provide a good life for them for the next five years? And then the next five after that? And the next five after that? I want to look after their childhood so that they can look after their adulthood. That, to me, would be a job well done.
Old Fat F**k Up is on at Riverside Studios, Hammersmith on various dates until 17th December
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