Youâve got to bring âem up right. There are many important lessons a man must impart to his boy children. Some can only be done by a bloke and are officially delegated by the mother. I include things like the first visit to a football match and the long wait in the pub car park, where you learn to make a can of Panda Cola and a bag of prawn cocktail last an hour and three quarters. But far and above these critical life lessons is the most important one of all, the âPull my fingerâ trick. This week, with great ceremony, I introduced my boys to this timeless classic. It was a fine moment. Teatime had come and gone and the lads (5 and 3) were settling down to a bit of Tom and Jerry before bed. I felt a hooberstank brewing up and seized my opportunity. Turning to the five year old, I offered him the index finger of my left hand and said, âPull my finger, son.â Quizzically, he leant forward and gave my finger a quick tug, releasing a mushroom cloud that took him by complete surprise. Feeling that there was still a bit in the tank, I offered the small finger of my right hand to the little feller, only needing to nod this time. With eyes full of wonder, at the feat of magic on offer, he pulled it and I let out a one-cheek-sneak that contained at least a handful of sh-it molecules. My lads now think Iâm on a par with God and can simply fart at the pull of a finger. Funnily, my wife doesnât feel the same way and says unconstructive things like, âOh yeah, thatâll be great when they show it to their teacher,â and âIâm so proud of you Convoy, maybe youâll find time to teach them how to cross the road next week,â For reasons known only to herself, she thinks that the âPull the fingerâ wisdom is further down the life lesson list than the âDonât drink bleachâ one. It still needs some work though. The lads have started returning the favour. The 5 year old has got the hang of it and does it with great gusto, even taking the time to offer a different finger depending on strength and aroma. I was putting the 3 year old to bed last night and he said excitedly, âDaddy, daddy, pull my finger.â I did as instructed, but he had failed to load up and simply deposited an eggcup worth of Bisto onto my trouser leg. Can anyone else think of any equally important lessons I should be passing on?