On being a dad of an adolescent boy

Stephen Graham's character thought it was all his fault. Was he right?

I watched Adolescence with my 13 year old son. He seemed to enjoy it. Well, maybe ‘enjoyed’ is the wrong word, but he found it engaging enough to sit through the entire four episodes without looking at his phone or suggesting we switch to an episode of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia (which is what he would definitely had done had I tried to make him watch, say, an entire James Bond movie with me).

After the final episode had ended, I decided I wanted a full and frank debrief.

“What did you think?

“It was good.”

“Did you think it was realistic?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t know anyone my age who has murdered anyone.”

I could hear myself trying to shape his responses with my predictable, hand wringing, bullshit questions:

“Do you think you spend too much time online?”

“No. We both know you’re on your phone way more than I am, dad.”

“Do you feel as if you want more respect from people?”

“Not really. I mean, I don’t want people to bully me but it’s not important for people to think I am special or hard or anything like that.”

“Do you think I have a bad temper?”

“Sometimes, yes. Everyone gets grumpy though.”

“Whenever you see me lose my temper, just know that it’s stupid and I regret it and that there are better ways to process our emotions.”

“Dad. Don’t worry. I am not going to kill anyone.”

The final episode focuses squarely on the role of the father, played so excellently by Stephen Graham. He sobs while wrestling with with the thought that he might have been responsible for his son’s actions. Or at least responsible for his son’s state of vulnerability, which in turn allowed more toxic influences to infect his brain. As the show closed with Graham crying into his son’s duvet, clutching the cuddly bunny rabbit that still sat on the bed, I grabbed my own son and held him tight.

We are all aware of Andrew Tate and all of the other angry weirdos that occupy the so called manopshere, vying for the attention of boys and young men who are short on confidence and real-life role models.

They remind me of the fifth years at school who, after finishing their GCSE’s, kept on coming back for months afterwards, hanging around the gates at half three, smoking fags and taunting the teachers with their civilian status. Sometimes, they would even be driving a car (usually their mum’s hatch back). They postured as if they were suddenly men of the world. They saw themselves as figures of aspiration. But most of us younger boys were able to see them for what they were: losers who had failed to move on in their lives and could only seek respect and kudos y operating as big fishes in tiny ponds.

But there were usually a very small handful of kids who actually were enamoured by these Budget Fonzies. These were almost always lads who were struggling socially, romantically or otherwise. They were easily impressed by an older kid with a set of wheels, a ten pack of B&H and an authentic photo ID. They would listen, enraptured, to his far fetched tales of pub violence and sexual escapades. It was all like cat nip to younger lads who were short on confidence, mates , role models or a sense of identity.

Nowadays these aging schoolboys trying to impress younger kids with bullshit and fantasies have larger platforms. Rather than recruiting at the school gates, they do so online, harnessing the power of the algorithm to recruit millions of vulnerable young pipsqueaks to their toxic nerd cults.

How do I know my kid isn’t watching this sort of bullshit? I don’t. How could I stop him from ever doing so? I can’t. Not without some sort of draconian measure, like taking his phone and computer away, which would only serve to alienate him from me and thereby increase the chances of him rebelling.

All I can do is raise him with a set of values that will immunise him from the allure of these toxic influences. This is partly done by the things I tell him. But more, it’s by the life I can give him. Warmth, connection, love, kindness: these are characteristics I want my son to aspire to. Humility, empathy and an understanding that ploughing all of your energy into being some sort of ‘big shot’ is not really what life is about (and is, in fact, something that knobheads do): these are the things I want my son to imbibe as he navigates his way through his teens.

Above: Me, aged 15, seemingly riddled with teenage angst

Unfortunately, I am an imperfect role model. I can be grumpy, I can be intolerant, I can sometimes disappear into my own emotions. But I like to think I offset some of this by just being there for him. I am lucky, I know, to have a career that allows me to be at home most of the time. In Adolescence, Stephen Graham worries that his work interfered with his ability to spend time with his son.

Keir Starmer wants schools to show Adolesence to pupils and teachers, to warn them of the dangers of online influencers. Very nice, but government should be thinking more about the socioeconomic factors that interfere with family lives and render kids so vulnerable to negative influence. When adults are so desperate for economic survival that they must enslave themselves to inhuman work practises, then their kids, their families and their entire communities inevityably suffer.

I have worked hard to shape my work life around my kids. This is not possible for everyone, but you don’t necessarily have to be at home all the time to make your kids feel seen, loved and respected.

I was raised by a single mum. I saw my dad on sporadic weekends and the odd summer holiday. He would sometimes talk to me about serious stuff in a bid to shape my values: politics, morality, the rights and wrongs of the world that surrounded us. He generally gave me sound advice. But identity and worldview is ultimately shaped by the reality of your day to day life, not by cameo appearances in someone else’s. My home life was chaotic, unpredictable, often messy and sometimes a bit scary. But it was full of love and laughter also. From the age of eleven I was a latchkey kid who whiled away long afternoons, and sometimes evenings, alone in an empty house while my mum and brothers were at work. There was no internet but I did sometimes find myself out on the streets, with rougher kids than me, doing things I would later regret.

Above: My 12th birthday party, presided over by my mum (left).

The reason I never fell deeply into a that life was that I had respect for my mum. She loved me unconditionally. But she also had a way of describing the world with real humour and clarity - and the way she treated people around her was always generous, compassionate and consistent. This helped me develop a clear a sense of right and wrong. She couldn’t always be there in a physical sense because she had work to do and bills to pay. But she was present in every decision I made in my adolescence. I knew the importance of respecting other people and myself. She also imbibed me with the self confidence to make my own decisions and say ‘no’ to stuff that didn’t feel right - even when saying ‘yes’ might have earned me more respect among my peers.

My mum was all the parent I ever needed. I still turn to her now when I am struggling with my own parental decisions. She raised four boys in tough circumstances and we all turned out (kinda) okay. Every lesson about being a present and compassionate parent, I learnt from her. More than that, I learnt that being able to have a laugh with your kids earns you a huge amount of respect from them. It means they listen a bit more closely when you occasionally try to give them advice about the more serious stuff.

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Some services, links and phone numbers to help you through the tough times

https://www.samaritans.org/ Tel 116 123

https://www.thecalmzone.net

@YoungMindsUK 0800 018 2138

@CharitySane 0300 304 7000

https://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/

https://cocaineanonymous.org.uk/

https://andysmanclub.co.uk/

https://www.nhs.uk/live-well/healthy-body/gambling-addiction/