There are parenting moments you dread, often years in advance. How will you deal with conversations about war, drugs or sex when difficult questions are thrown at you, you worry, attempting to formulate your stance, and preparing to lay out and defend it at a moment’s notice. Then there are some topic missiles that come at you unexpectedly out of left field, which you would definitely have been dreading if it had even occurred to you they were a possibility. I’m shellshocked after one from my 11-year-old son.
He began asking about the NHS, and I explained how lucky we were to live in a country where healthcare was free and available to all. He wondered why some people moaned about it, and I said it might be because the NHS is underfunded. Although the doctors and nurses were working extremely hard, sometimes there were long waits for treatment, which were difficult to tolerate when you’re not feeling well.
“Maybe you could pay to be seen quicker?” he said. My blood ran cold.
“Oh, so rich people are treated quickly, and people who can’t pay just have to wait, in pain?” I said, hoping to make him see the error of his ways by spelling out the clear injustice.
“Yeah,” he agreed, instead.
I looked at him in horror. My dad was a Labour MP for 23 years, completely opposed to private healthcare. He was presumably currently turning in his grave. And then I realised: being on the left, politically, isn’t hereditary. My beloved little son could well grow up to be… I can hardly even type this out loud… a Tory. He could even be a Reform voter. The idea makes me nauseous.
It was a running joke as I grew up – although as Freud says, there are no jokes – that my parents would love and support me whatever I did: if I was a drug addict, criminal, no problem. But if I ever voted Conservative, I should never darken their door again. Finally able to participate in elections at age 18, my dad drove me to the polling station and walked me inside. He put his hands on my shoulders, looked me straight in the eyes and told me to “do the right thing.” There was no doubt what that was, and I did it then, and every time since. Well, almost.
It’s hard not to wonder if my son’s comments are the karma I deserve, because in the last London council elections, I betrayed my dad. Disillusioned with Keir Starmer, I had been slowly but surely wooed by Zack Polanski. Not ticking the Labour boxes in the cubicle last May felt alien, but I consoled myself by reasoning that if my dad was still around to see how things were, he may even agree with me. My mum laughed out loud at this idea, but who can really say for sure? I was less confident about it days later, when the news emerged that I may have broken family tradition by voting Green, but Polanski hadn’t managed it himself (he failed to register to vote).
Thank goodness my son’s future Young Conservatives membership is not yet assured. After thinking for a bit, he decided that the NHS policy he’d mooted wasn’t fair. “Everyone should be able to see a doctor quickly, no matter how much money they earn,” he said, as I tried not to scream “hallelujah!” and burst into relieved tears. Better still, he suggested the richest in the country should pay extra money to help the NHS. This about-turn was a very lucky escape.
There’s much discussion about those in romantic relationships struggling to stay together when one of their views changes, and they become politically at odds. Not so much when it’s your offspring, though, which is arguably tougher to take. I’ll feel responsible if my son does what I believe to be not “the right thing” in elections when he’s older, as though I’ve failed him as a parent, not explained the way of the world (in my view) properly. I suppose there’s also an element of how far he wanders off the righteous path – a little veer from Labour to Green is surely more forgivable than a massive detour to my enemies on the right.
The answer to all this is probably a reminder about unconditional love, and being able to see past mistakes to the human being inside. It will be difficult, but I hope I’ll manage. As long as he isn’t a Farage fanboy. Even the most devoted mother’s love isn’t strong enough to tolerate that.
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