I find my kids a constant source of entertainment. Their innocent way of seeing the world, uninhibited minds and developing language skills have made for some hilarious moments. But they’ve also made for some excruciatingly embarrassing ones. The same words or actions that have me rolling on the floor laughing at home, have me looking desperately for a hole to fall into when out in public. Take the time I was at the checkout in a supermarket with my then two year old son. He was in an inquisitive phase, and very interested in the difference between boys and girls. I was carrying him when he said very loudly to the young cashier “You’ve got boobies, my daddy doesn’t have boobies, he has nipples and a willy.” I’ve never bagged up my shopping as quick.

Being a parent is full of these moments so we asked the D.A.D collective to share their embarrassing stories and there’s some real humdingers!

For a while my daughter Eliza couldn’t say ‘Chocolate’ and instead was saying ‘Cock-cock’. We were in a busy café and she wanted chocolate cake (her favourite food) for lunch but I refused in favour of something more suitable. At this point she had a complete meltdown and started trying to climb onto the counter, clawing for the cake, screaming “COCK CAKE! COCK CAKE! COCK CAKE!”.

When my son Joschka was about two years old we were potty training him. He was really into going to the toilet on his own ‘like a big boy’ whenever he got the chance. It was around this time that we were in a Homebase in North London looking for a new kitchen tap. My wife and I were chatting to the shop assistant about the virtues of chrome versus brushed steel when I realised Joschi had disappeared. I wandered off to look for him and eventually found him stood in the bathroom showroom area. Pants and trousers around his knees as he peed ‘like a big boy’ into the unplumbed display toilet. By now my wife had finished with the shop assistant and was heading towards us – she realised what had happened and, after a quick panicky giggle, we decided the best way to deal with the situation was to leg it. I still feel sorry for whoever discovered it first – but at least it wasn’t a number two I guess…

I took the whole family to the Panto one evening, we sat near the front and I ended up as the cast’s stooge. I was mentioned in all the jokes. Had to play air guitar in the super trooper spotlight when they had the sing along at the end. Everyone in the theatre knew my name after the show and so it seemed did half of the town centre when we left. Definitely more than my 15 minutes of fame! We now sit at the back of the bloody auditorium. Sod the view!

When one of my children were small we were having fun in a local swimming pool when he unleashed this beauty in a loud manner – “Dad look at that fat man.” The aforementioned man was indeed extremely large. I moved my son to what I thought was a safe distance away and quietly explained that it was impolite to say such things to which he replied at full volume “but dad, he really is fat isn’t he?” At this point we were attracting the attention of some fellow swimmers. I slipped into damage limitation mode and headed for the quiet waters of the kids pool!

Our family had only very recently moved to Brighton in the Summer of 2015. Determined to make the most of it and to feel part of the city Leah (my wife), me and the kids all headed out to Pride to watch the parade. We found a lovely spot to watch on a sunny patch of grass near to the roadside. Close by there was a street vendor selling flags, headbands, whistles and of course amyl nitrate – Liquid Aroma Gold Label to be precise. I thought nothing of it at the time. Next morning as we headed through the school gates – remember we’re the new family in town – Laurie (aged 4) pipes up “Anyone want Poppers? Anyone want Poppers?”. I turned to him and said “Laurie where did you pick that up? What’s Poppers?” to which he replied “Don’t worry Dad. I heard it at Prude”.

As we got off the plane in Bahrain on Christmas Eve and joined the queue for passport control. My 5 year old son, fresh from performing in his school nativity play shouts “Look Dad, real Shepherds!!’

We’ve been trapped these past couple of years in the cycle of listen to a song to death before moving on. We’ve estimated that it’s about 35 to 40 plays before a change is permitted. One of last years big ‘hits’ was Mark Ronson’s Uptown Funk. After three days of virtually non-stop play we paused Mark and his buddy Bruno mid-flow to enjoy the company of our newly made, school parent friends who had popped by for a drink. Miller my four year old daughter, unhappy with this turn of events, requested “more Fuck Me Up.”

‘Pardon?’ Said in unison, interrupted the light, school centred/how nice your home is chat that had commenced.

“More Fuck Me UP! I want Fuck Me Up.”

Thankfully the Surrey school mums set is quite liberal, and after a few minutes of shameful silence, all was good.

Miller still likes to hear ‘Fuck Me Up’ at birthday parties. She’s also fond of Katy Perry’s ‘Whore’. Never a rock big enough to climb under!

My kids (three and four) both love to swim. We go most weekends and have done since they were babies. On a recent wet miserable weekend we were all going crazy indoors. I decided to give my wife some peace and take them to our local pool. It turned out every family in Surrey had the same idea by the size of the queue. We eventually made it into the changing area to find out there were only single changing cubicles available. We all squeezed in and started to get undressed. I helped both the kids first before sorting myself out. Once they were ready and sat on the bench I start to get undressed. All of a sudden my daughter shouts out “daddy I can see your willy.” I tell her to be quiet but can’t help letting out a little giggle knowing the people in the cubicle next door would’ve heard. She see’s the smile on my face so turns it into a song “I can see your willy, I can see your willy, la la lala la.” I quickly pull my shorts up, take a peek outside the cubicle to check that the coast is clear and make a hasty beeline for the pool.

Of course the tables eventually turn. Before too long it will be us that embarrass the shit out of our kids. Enter our multi-talented columnist Guy Lloyd and his performance on Britain’s Got Talent whilst his 11 year old son watched in the audience.