Do you let your kids listen to One Direction?

Posted Wednesday 23rd October 2013   By Ericka Waller

So Thing-three is two. For her birthday she had a Peppa Pig cake and a trip to Build-a-Bear.

She chose to make a monkey.
“Ah bless her” I thought. Then she picked a little spotty rain hat and red wellies to put on it. “What a dear little shop” I thought to myself. “Don’t forget to pick a sound” the shop assistant said.

Thing-three started pressing buttons. A magic noise. A little voice saying ‘I love you’. The theme-tune to ‘My Little Ponies’. A dog barking. Happy birthday being sung sweetly.

And then One Direction came blaring out loudly.

I almost tripped over a stuffed horse on roller-skates, such was my amazement. We skipped the noise and opted for a tutti-fruitti scented sachet for his tummy and a heart which pulsed when pressed instead.

Then we stuffed him, brushed him, adopted him via the computer, signed his birth-certificate and went to the till. (Build-a-bear? I could have built-a-bloody-house for that much!)

Then yesterday, Thing-One went to a disco. She looked at her father nonplussed as her friends began bopping about madly to One Direction.

We are very anti bubble-gum, boy-band, banality. I don’t care if it’s just a bit of fun. I don’t want my daughter singing “The way you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed.”

I am not sure how long we can shield her though. At last year’s Christmas Fayre, I roped the husband in to play Santa (he broke the chair and fell off it though the plastic greenhouse grotto but that’s another story).

I was his elf helper. Children came to tell us how good they had been and what they wanted for Christmas.

A bike. A truck. A dolly that cries.

The husband AKA Santa, would then say “I don’t think I have one of those on me, but I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime have this.” And then I would pass them a small wrapped colouring book and packet of milky buttons.

All was going well. I was thinking how twee and perfect it was as a dear little girl approached, looking shyly at her shoes.

The husband did his bit. “Have you been good?” etc.

“And what would you like for Christmas” he asked her. She looked up, eyes shining, and said “A One Direction Sofa.”

I did not even bother passing her a colouring book.