guppy_sandhu

Please comment here if you have either:

A request for a theme

Or

A need for Life Support and we aren't due one for a while

We will as a team try to pick up requests for the latter within 2 weeks, which may be led by any one of the four Life Support muns.

Guppy had said, on various occasions, that childrearing doesn't get much difficult after the third one. He stood by that statement, but it was certainly a jolt to the system having a newborn in the house again.

Apparently, all Sandhu children had to be either easy or difficult babies. Fry and Brooke were difficult, Coral and Gil were easy. Eddy was looking like another difficult one. To Fran's disappointment, she flatly refused to breastfeed despite not being premature.

"I hoped that one of the five would take to it." she said.

"Brooke breastfed." Guppy pointed out.

"Yes, but she needed top up feeding all the time." Fran said. "And then after a few weeks she gave up because I was too inefficient."

"Well, the important thing is that they're fed." Guppy said.

Between Eddy having colic, and Fry kicking off because Eddy was noisy, things were pretty busy at home. So Guppy was caught off guard when he went to pick Gil up from dance class, and was handed a leaflet.

"What's this?" he asked Gil.

"A nordytun." Gil said. "Can I go, pweeeese?"

Guppy looked at the leaflet.

"Audition." He corrected. "'We are looking for boy dancers aged between four and seven to star in a TV commercial for Springbok Junior Trainers. Dance experience essential.'"

"Yeh. That's meeee!" Gil swung on his leg.

"We best ask your mum, she might not like it." Guppy said.

"Mummy will say yes." Gil said. "Cos, cos, cos I am a middle child now and she will say you have to nurger me."

Guppy couldn't argue with that, so a few weeks later he found himself driving Gil to the audition. Brooke insisted on tagging along, even though Guppy pointed out to her that she had no dance experience and was not a boy.

"I don't care, it's sexismist." Brooke said, folding her arms. "And Mum says sexistism is wrong."

"Okay you can come." Guppy said. "But you are to be on your best behaviour, you are not to disrupt Gil's audition, and you are not to throw a strop if they don't let you try out."

"Why does Brookie have to come?" Gil complained.

"Because she's also a middle child and wants to be nurtured." Guppy said, bundling them into the car while they complained that each other was on their side of the car and breathing their air and pulling faces until he told them that if they didn't pack it in he was turning the car around and nobody would be wearing trainers.

When they got to the audition, apparently Brooke wasn't the only one who thought she could pass an audition where a boy was wanted. But the girl at the desk looked sceptical.

"How old is she?" she asked, indicating Brooke.

"Seven." Guppy said. "And Gil is four."

The girl looked dubious, but handed them both a number and took their names.

"It's a two part audition, they're going to teach you all some moves in a group, and then if you pass that stage they'll have you up one at a time to show us your best dance. They'll also ask you to read out a line. You brought your music with you? Good, okay. Make your way to the group - oh, and one more thing; if you get tapped on the shoulder and they say your number and that you're finished, that means your audition is over, and you should go to the side of the room and leave quietly."

Gil nodded enthusiastically.

"He can only read a little bit." Guppy said. "Can it be read to him beforehand? He's learned a few lines for dance before."

"Oh sure, that's fine." the girl said. "It's a voice test not a reading test."

Guppy took the kids through to a large hall full of overexcited children and parents. One woman was rigorously taking her sons through some warm ups. Another was tidying up some triplet boys in matching outfits. Gil had never seen so many other boy dancers, and looked quite delighted. Brooke was rather disappointed that a handful more girls had turned up, mostly more tomboyish than she was.

"All right, kids!" An enthusiastic dance coach clapped her hands. "Little ones at the front, big ones at the back, spread yourselves out and make sure you can stretch out your arms without touching the dancer next to you. Mummies and Daddies, make your way back to the waiting area, you can watch on the screen, and if your child is finished we will send them back through to you."

Guppy gave the kids a wave. Brooke made her way right to the back, and Gil right to the front, and Guppy could see why the first girl asked their ages. Brooke was a good head taller than nearly all the other kids, about the same height as the tallest two boys. Gil was the smallest of them all, and the coach put him right on the front row.

He watched on the screen as the coach took them through the moves. To give Brooke credit, given she had never danced properly before in her life, she kept up pretty well, which Guppy put down to her being sporty and having a good memory for this sort of thing. Gil seemed to be holding his own well compared with the other little ones he was standing with.

Nobody got eliminated for the first twenty minutes or so. Then the instructors started going round tapping kids on the shoulder. Some of the kids came out in tears, and Guppy felt a little uncomfortable. Was this really the right thing to expose his children to? He held his breath as the instructor went towards Brooke, but they passed her to tap the boy next to her on his shoulder. He held it again as the instructor went across the front row and eliminated all but Gil and one of the other littlest children.

And then, just like that, part one was over. Gil and Brooke had both passed, and came out looking happy and excited.

"All right, take a break, grab some water, we'll be calling you back in here in number order." the coach called out of the door.

Since they were numbers forty eight and forty nine, Guppy warned them that they would probably have a bit of a wait, and they sat and ate lunch. Then Gil went over to make friends with the other little boy from his row.

"Hi! I like your dancing." Gil said, going up to the little boy who was waiting with his mum.

"That's kind of him, say thank you Hugo." the mum said.

"Thank you." Hugo said, on command.

Guppy smiled slightly and let Gil get on with it. He looked around and found that Brooke had disappeared to talk to the other girls who were trying out. Typical! But Brooke apparently got turned down, as she returned with a sour expression and folded arms.

"You okay?" Guppy asked her.

"Yes."

"What's up?"

"Nothing." Brooke glowered.

"Were those girls mean to you?" Guppy frowned.

"No."

Guppy gave it up. When the number called got to thirty eight, he got them both to warm up again. And then when Brooke was called, he took Gil with them to wait quietly.

"So, Brooke, how long have you been dancing?" the coach asked, as Brooke took centre stage.

"Oh, years and years." Brooke said.

"Informally." Guppy said, casting a look at Brooke. No good lying about it in case they asked her to perform specific moves which she wouldn't know.

The coach put Brooke's music on, and Brooke danced. It was really more a combination of her hockey and karate moves, but the overall effect was kind of cool. After a minute, the coach stopped her.

"Okay, thanks Brooke. You have style, girl! But I'm afraid you're not quite what we're looking for."

"Because I'm a girl?" Brooke pouted.

"Not really, though we were marketing more to boys, but we're looking for a little kid. You're very tall, nothing wrong with that, but you look more grown up than seven." the coach said.

Brooke looked furious, but left the stage with reasonable grace. The coach called Gil up. Guppy wondered whether Gil would get rejected for not looking four, but the coach let him do his dance, and say his line.

"Gilbert, how old are you?" the coach asked.

"Faw." Gil said.

"You're a very good dancer for four, Gilbert." the coach said. "We will put you on the short list."

"Am I too shawt?" Gil's face fell.

"No honey, that means we might pick you, you've got a good chance. We'll let you know after we've seen all the other dancers."

As they left, Guppy had one elated child, and one miserable one, and was trying to work out how he felt about it. After all, it was Gil's thing really, not Brooke's. But as they got into the car, Brooke asked him a question.

"Dad? Am I fat?"

Guppy looked around at her.

"You're within normal proportions, Brooke. You're taller than most other kids, so you're going to weigh more. Why?"

"Those girls said I wouldn't get the role because fat girls can't dance." Brooke said.

"Well, you've been dancing for less than a day, and you beat a couple of dozen of the other kids in round one." Guppy said. "So you clearly can dance, and they're talking crap, okay?"

Brooke seemed satisfied by the answer, for the time being.

"But I can't win." Guppy said to Fran that evening. "What works for one kid is awful for another."

"It doesn't matter." Fran said, rocking Eddy in her baby chair. "So long as we keep trying."

The smallest Sandhu (for now at least)
Peered out the windows Christmas Eve
And as there was no sign of sled
Turned to his father and he said:

"Daddy? What is Cwistmas all about?"

And Daddy told him t'was for cheer
At this cold, dark time of year
When folks feel sad or sometimes scared
A cheerful feast should be prepared

And Gilbert nodded his small head
As the clock struck eight (for bed)
And through the window sneaked a look
To find, behind the curtains, Brooke

"Brookie? What is Cwistmas all about?"

And Brooke told him it was for fun
And boisterous games where you could run
And lots of presents under the tree
And not to watch the Queen on TV

At that moment Fry ran down
Clutching his tablet with a frown
He told Mum: "Lenny's still at school!
Could he come here? Would that be cool?"

"Of course." their mother said "Poor Lad!
"He can come here, we will be glad
"To have him if he can't go home
"No-one should spend the day alone."

"Mummy? Is that what Cwistmas is all about?"

And Mum said yes, not just a tree
Christmas is time for family
Even if Grandma has been cruel
She gets another chance at Yule

"Now off to bed." his mother said
And kissed the curls upon his head
But as he went to comb his hair
He heard a sneaky wrapping tear

He peeped around a bedroom door
And saw his sister on the floor
Peeping in at a little gift
A smile on her face with a spirit lift

"Col? What's Cwistmas about?"

Coral showed him the chocolate fish
It's tail was broken, it was squished
"Mae gave me the one she made that bust
That means I have her total trust."

He did not see why she was glad
To get the present that was bad
But Coral said. "I am not sad,
She trusted that I won't be mad."

Now Gilbert he was quite confused
Quite befuddled, quite bemused
And seeing Fry come back upstairs
He tugged his sleeve and gave him stares

"Fwy?"

"Yes?"

Gil knew that Fry would answer right
And so he told him how that night
He'd asked each one what it was for
But still was not completely sure

And Fry looked down, and said with thought
"It's all of those, and even more
They're all correct, they all are true
What does Christmas mean to you?"

And Gilbert sighed a tiny sigh
And pointed at the starry sky
Content he had no need to doubt
What Christmas Day was all about

It's not that unusual for Fran to cry, though she tends to cry at cute things, the ends of films, children singing, and that sort of thing. However, when Guppy comes into their bedroom just before bedtime to find her properly bawling, he finds himself quite alarmed and sits down next to her, putting his arm around her.

"What's up?" he asks softly.

"It wasn't supposed to be possible, but that makes it sound all unwanted and it's not unwanted it's just so much of a worry." Fran splutters.

Guppy watches her for a moment.

"No, you've lost me, start at the beginning."

"It could only happen to us, couldn't it?" Fran sniffs and wipes her eyes. "What's the chance of a vasectomy failing, one in two thousand?"

"About that... oh." Oh. OH. Ah. Hm.

Bloody Wilford's going to bloody gloat.

"How do you feel about that?" he asks, cautiously, since this much crying is not Fran's usual reaction to being unexpectedly pregnant. Then again, three of her previous four pregnancies were pretty traumatic.

"I know we've got enough love to give a dozen kids." Fran says, looking down at her belly. "It's not unwanted. I'm not getting rid of him or her, if that's what you're asking."

Guppy nods, feeling slightly relieved.

"We've managed all sorts of difficult things." he says, taking her hand. "We'll manage another one. Besides, Fry and Coral are a lot older now, and they're much more independent."

"You're not upset?"

"Of course not."

"You're not going to accuse me of having some torrid affair?"

"Of course not." Guppy gives her a squeeze. "We have four children, Fran, when would you have had time?"

That gets a small smile out of her.

"But there's so many problems." Fran says, looking at him. "I've thought of nothing else all day."

"Such as?"

"What will we do about bedrooms?"

"Well two of them will have to share, once the little one is out of our room. We'll stick them in with Gil, he won't mind, and even if it's a girl they can room together for a few years."

"Secondly, what if they're autistic, like Fry? What if they're premature again? What if they have a heart condition, like Gil?"

Guppy considers this. "I actually think Brooke is the most difficult of our children, and she's stonkingly healthy. We'll manage, whatever happens."

"And thirdly, we never planned to have four kids when we first started sending them to private school. Even with the multi-child discount and Fry's special needs allowance we can barely manage to pay the fees for four kids. I don't see how we can possibly manage a set of nursery fees on top, and Fry certainly won't be able to go to Oaking, and he's throwing his whole heart into his entrance exams."

Guppy considers this. Fran has a point. And that's not an easy question. Should they move all the kids? Should they move after primary school? But then, Fry is the one likely to struggle most moving out of small class sizes.

"I'll just have to sell my soul." he says.

"Your soul?" Fran asks.

"Let me just do some maths." Guppy gets out his phone and checks a couple of emails. "Okay. If I take up a couple of private clinics - which Dr Bell has been nagging me for ages to do because it'll take some strain off our waiting list - and we look at getting a better rate on the mortgage, and we give up all the expensive extracurriculars like martial arts and music lessons, and we're generally really frugal, we should be able to keep the younger kids in their current school and the little one in nursery."

"What about Fry?"

Guppy stares at his figures for a moment.

"If Fry can win a full scholarship to one of the schools, we're in almost the same financial position we are now, though they'll have to cut down to one extra-curricular activity each. He would certainly need a partial scholarship if he wants to go to Oaking. If he doesn't win any scholarships, he could go to Holby High, which is the cheapest and still perfectly good." He squeezes Fran's hand. "Look, there are a million things we can worry about, but we'll work something out, we always do."

"I know. I mean, even if the kids did have to leave their school, they're good kids, they'd work it out." Fran says. "I just had a lot of feelings..."

"Well let's get you booked in for a scan and we can find out how far along you are. We best not tell the kids until we know whether everything's okay with the baby." Guppy says.

"Agreed." Fran nods.

As they turn out the light, with the best intentions of secrecy, they fail to hear the soft tread of feet back down the corridor and up the loft stairs.

All the kids are in bed, or at least getting ready for bed, but Guppy and Fran are still up. They're expecting, at some point, a hammering on the door. But as far as Guppy's concerned, if Wilford pitches up after he's gone to bed, he can sit outside in the cold until morning.

The autopsy of Wilford Warfstache is a solemn affair.

With Autor and Vyvyan there to assist as trainee medical student and health care assistant respectively, Guppy addresses both of them before he starts.

"Right, Wilford has given us permission to do this."

Well, he gave Guppy permission to do 'anything' with his many dead bodies, but he's not going to say that to Vyvyan in case he gets ideas.

"The fact that he comes back is irrelevant. This is a serious business and his body is to be treated with respect. You can ask as many questions as you want, but anything medical that we discuss is not to be repeated outside this room. I will be letting Security know the cause of death."

This is mainly aimed at Vyvyan.

"If you find the process upsetting and need to step out, there's a water machine in the staff room. Better to sit down rather than fall down, okay?"

It's been a long time coming. And Guppy is more than a little nervous when he first catches sight of his psychiatrist. It's not the first time he's had therapy, but it's the first time he's had this level of therapy.

He doesn't know where to start. Fortunately, the psychiatrist does. He looks a very typical psychiatrist, peering at Guppy over his glasses, and asks him a series of questions that prompt him to tell his life story. He makes notes, and nods encouragingly, and basically lets Guppy talk at him for the best part of an hour.

"I think." He says eventually. "That you should have been referred to me a long time ago. But no matter. You are here now." He puts down his notes. "Let us see if we can address a few of the things that give you the most concern."

"Firstly, you ask for a formal diagnostic label. For a number of years you have focused on the assault that nearly killed you, but it is clear from what you have told me that your anxiety started in childhood, and that a number of different events have exacerbated it. Not just the assault, but the traumatic death of your father, your exclusion from the community you grew up in, and the sudden untimely death of a number of friends and colleagues. No single event made you this way. I am diagnosing you today with Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"What does that mean?" Guppy asks. "Practically."

"It means there is a reason why your condition is resistant to medication, though you have clearly found the medication better than nothing." the psychiatrist says.

"Your main problem is what is known as catastrophising. You see danger at every turn, and you have reason to think that way. Your fears - getting into danger at work, people around you dying, your various concerns about your children - are not implausible. But many of these eventualities you cannot do anything about. You cannot stop accidents, or disasters, or terror attacks. You cannot save everyone, even with your skills. So catastrophising is not helpful to you. We can help you with that, with a course of thorough therapy.

"Some of the worries regarding the effect of your mental illness on your children I can answer now. While I haven't met your children, you gave me clear descriptions. You mention that your older son and daughter have been hiding things from you out of concern for your anxiety. But what you haven't considered is that most children conceal things from their parents for a variety of reasons. In fact, considering your son's autism, the fact that he is able to distinguish between what you know and what he knows is likely a sign of growth."

Guppy nods. He had not considered this. The psychiatrist continues.

"You have three children who are academically gifted, and a fourth who is clearly very secure in his personal identity. You worry about the rebelliousness of your third child, but from your description, she is arguably the most typical of your children. There is no evidence, in my opinion, that your anxiety has harmed any of your children.

"For the next two weeks I want you to keep a diary of thoughts of calamity, and whether they come to pass. We will see you back with that. I'm also going to teach you some techniques called 'grounding' before you go."

Guppy leaves the session feeling hopeful, and perhaps a little less guilty.

Waiting rooms are the worst.

There's always a chance of being recognised by a patient. When he's here with the kids, they inevitably catch something, or do something hideously embarrassing, or have a sudden bladder emergency just as they're about to get called in. Fortunately, today, the kids aren't here.

There was something he had to do.

He'd talked it over with Fran and she'd kissed him on the cheek and given him a warm squeeze, and said she would make sure he didn't have to do this with a toddler in tow.

He's had the same GP for a number of years now. He's been stable enough to only come in every six months or so, but they've built up a trust. Nevertheless, he feels his heart pounding when she calls him in.

"What can I do for you?" she asks.

Guppy looks her straight in the eyes.

"I need to get better."

She tilts her head slightly, questioning. He continues.

"I've suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder for over ten years, and generalised anxiety disorder since I was four years old. I have three significant phobias. I take medication that allows me to function but it's always there, and I still have the occasional panic attack. I have four children who need me. They're getting older and they're keeping secrets from me because they think I'll worry. And not just little secrets."

He pauses for breath. And she gives him the time.

"I've spent the last twelve years afraid to speak out because I was afraid for my career. But I'm not alone. Far from it. Many, many doctors suffer with their mental health at some time. And they don't speak out, because they expect to be above all of that. They bottle it all up inside.

"And the reality is, I'm at the top of my career ladder. I have a permanent consultant post. I have no trainer to convince that I'm good enough. I work with equals, who don't need to know about my mental health, but would probably have no less respect for me if they did."

She nods.

"Okay, let's see what we can do." she says, giving him a smile.

"You think I can get better?" Guppy asks.

"I do. It's been a decade since you had any sort of therapy." she says. "If you've suffered from anxiety since you were four, then it's probably not going to go away completely. But I think you could heal somewhat from where you are now, with help and support, and most importantly, self-care."

She hands him a leaflet and an envelope.

"Look, I'm not going to tell you how to suck eggs. But I want you to read this and refresh yourself with the basics of self-care, which I know with a busy job and four children you don't do enough of. This envelope here contains a self-referral form for talking therapies. If your therapist turns out to be someone you know, I'll arrange for you to get help in the next town instead."

Guppy nods. "Thanks."

"You've spent your whole adult life looking after other people." his GP says. "And I know that isn't going to change overnight. But be even a quarter as kind to yourself as you are to others, and I think things will start to get better. I want to see you in a couple of weeks, and if things aren't getting better, we'll have a look at your meds. But self-care first, because I think you've neglected that for a long time."

Guppy knows it's not going to be easy. But he does feel hopeful. And most of all, he feels it's okay.

Guppy had had stern talks with Brooke at the beginning of the new term. In fact, they'd had a 'Naughty Amnesty', where he promised that she wouldn't get into any more trouble for anything she had already done if she fessed up, and together they would work on some guidelines for getting in trouble less at school.

After an hour of confessing, they narrowed it down to 'No climbing, no name calling, keep your hands to yourself, don't touch the teacher's things without asking, and use your inside voice' and so far Brooke had kept her nose clean for the first week.

He'd had a word with Miss Brimstone and offered her his support and encouraged her to communicate with him. The woman shows the same signs of nervousness that he does. Does she really just not like Brooke, as Brooke claims, or is she suffering from stress? Or both?

On the way out he'd stopped to see Miss Hewitt, Gil's teacher. Gil is angelic in school, and has become quite the favourite with all the staff. Which is fortunate as with hindsight, both Guppy and Miss Hewitt have had some doubts as to whether he was really ready for school, because every time they have story time he says 'Night night' and goes to sleep. They agree to try not to let him have a nap, to try and get him out the habit.

Alas for such good intentions, it doesn't take long for Brooke and Miss Brimstone to come to blows.

It comes, to Brooke, quite out of the blue. While painting, she dips the red paintbrush into the green paint, again. Tilly, across the table, starts making a fuss.

"Miss Brimstone!" she wails. "Brooke ruined the paint again!"

"BROOKLYN!" Miss Brimstone shouts so uncharacteristically loud that the whole class jumps and is silent. "HOW MANY TIMES MUST YOU BE TOLD? YOU DO THIS EVERY TIME, YOU RUIN IT FOR EVERYONE!"

Brooke blinks. She doesn't cry, mostly she's surprised. Several of the other children, who have never seen Miss Brimstone lose her cool like this, do start to cry, and the teacher looks rather embarrassed and starts trying to comfort them.

She doesn't see Brooke do it. But when she goes back to her desk, some time later, her register is under an upside down pot of pink paint.

Some time later, in the staff room, Miss Brimstone sits down wearily next to Miss Havisham.

"What syndrome does the older Sandhu child have?" Miss Brimstone asks.

"Asperger's. Why?"

"That Brooke... she can't be normal." Miss Brimstone declares. "It has to be ADHD or ODD or something."

"I don't believe in ADHD. Most of the time." Miss Havisham says. "And I've never heard of 'odd', whatever that's supposed to be. Besides, Brooklyn is capable of sitting quietly at a desk doing lines just to make a point, so I doubt attention is the issue. In any case, I am the wrong person to ask."

***

"Hello Brooke. Can we have a chat?"

Brooke looks up from where she had just been debating with Alisha whether to bring in her realistic rubber snake and if so, where in contact with Miss Brimstone they should put it.

"My name is Mr Irons." Mr Irons says, as she follows him inside to his small room.

"I know who you are." Brooke says. "You help weirdos like my brother."

"Not quite how I'd describe it." Mr Irons says. "I'm here to help people who are finding school difficult, for one reason or another. Getting into trouble a lot. That sort of thing."

Brooke eyes him with suspicion as they sit down.

"I'm not like them."

"Who?"

"Fry, and Coral. I'm not like them." Brooke says.

"I know." Mr Irons says. "Brooke, I want you to answer me just one question."

"What's that?"

"Why do you mix green and red paint?"

"To make brown." Brooke says.

Mr Irons just watches her.

After a moment Brooke carries on. "Miss Brimstone never puts out brown. She puts out pink. I don't paint pictures of myself pink."

"Because you're mixed race." Mr Irons says.

Brooke nods.

"Did you ever tell Miss Brimstone this?" Mr Irons asks.

"No." Brooke says.

"See, if you'd just asked nicely, she could have mixed you a separate pot of brown." Mr Irons says. "You don't have to fight with people if you just talk to them and are patient."

"She yelled at me."

"I will tell her what you told me." Mr Irons says. "No doubt the two of you can make amends."

By the time Guppy comes to pick her up, it appears that Mr Irons has smoothed the ground between Brooke and her teacher. Miss Brimstone makes an honest confession to yelling at Brooke, which Guppy appreciates.

But what warms his heart is when he sees, on the table, that Miss Brimstone has not only made pots of brown, but has mixed them to four different skin tones. Maybe there's hope for the two of them yet.

They'd discussed, together, how far exactly they ought to let Gil go.

All their kids had, at one time or another, cross dressed. As a rule, they tended to get hand-me-down clothes from Fran's sisters Hannah and Tanya, who both had daughters a bit older than Fry. Fry had worn his fair share of pink tops with butterflies on, and Coral and Brooke had worn Fry's old t-shirts with dinosaurs and diggers. So it wasn't really a surprise that Gil ended up with quite a few pink t-shirts, being the youngest of four, though he would also go for anything with a tractor on.

When he'd gone to dance, he'd wanted to dress like the others, most of whom were girls, most of the time, and they'd been okay with that. And he was always in the dressing up box at nursery school, and they were okay with that. And now and again he'd put on his sisters' dresses at home, and they'd been okay with that.

But Guppy worried that, especially now he went to school with older kids, that wearing girl clothes in public might get him teased. So they'd decided for now to try and restrict these things to dress up play.

He was thinking about this when he took the kids to a clothes shop to get outfits for their Christmas party. It was hopeless to try and guess sizes for surprise gifts. Coral's was inevitably too big, Brooke's inevitably too small, and Fry wouldn't wear anything unless he had first touched the fabric and smelled it and it had met his requirements.

Perhaps he could find Gil a sparkly waistcoat or something? He pauses over a rather dashing gold and black suit.

"Daddy? I like this one." Brooke says, reappearing with a pink sparkly dress.

"'I'd like this one please'. Hm, that is nice." Guppy says, looking at the price tag. Brooke is the best at picking out clothes, but can't read price labels well and can always be relied upon to grab something expensive. "You have good dress sense Brookie, but if we get you this for Christmas, you are not to wear it in the garden or anywhere dirty, okay?"

Brooke agrees. Guppy changes it for a slightly larger size, hoping that it might last a bit longer.

Coral picks out one in light blue after being prompted to put back a nightie and a bridesmaid dress.

He's just about to steer Gil towards the gold and black suit, when he sees Gil clutching a dark green and white dress.

"Pretty!" he says, turning around and showing Guppy.

And at that moment, it hits him.

People like Emcee, who only this week ended up in a huge pool of blood - people like him died for this stuff. Not just people who were Jewish died in the holocaust. People died for being different. For freedom of expression of gender and sexuality. For cloth sewn in different ways.

He crouches down and pulls his little boy into a hug for a moment, much to the surprise of the other children.

"Yes Gil, it's very pretty, you'll look great."

Fry and Coral exchange a glance.

"I hope Grandma won't be mean." Coral whispers.

"Grandma's mean every Christmas." Fry whispers back. Then adds to Guppy. "Dad, I don't have to wear a dress, do I?"

"No, you don't." Guppy says, straightening up. "But it's a party so you need to pick something from formal wear."

"I did."

"Minecraft pyjamas are not formal wear."