OPENING MY EYES UNDERWATER

One of these is a goat fish. One is just me being silly.
Goat Island wasn't named after either of them

I really can be a cynical old bastard sometimes.

I like to pretend my children are a massive imposition on me, constantly plotting to ruin my life with their incessant demands on my time, patience and resources.

Actually, as I re-read that last paragraph, I realise I don't have to pretend particularly hard. They ARE a drain on my time, patience and resources. That's just a fact. But unfortunately, that's just a fact of parenting.

We've all made the jokes about being mum or dad's taxi service, implored our brood to make themselves useful and go and get a job, or at least put their iPads down and come and dry the dishes. This is all done in the knowledge we brought this on ourselves. If we wanted lives of our own, we shouldn't have had kids in the first place. Simple.

However, what I have genuinely come to fear and dread over the years is the school trip.

As I've mentioned before, one of the things I love about being an adult is not having to go to school anymore. Of course, once you breed, you're straight back there again; assemblies, athletics days, meet the teacher picnics... oh god, what have I done?

But at least those activities take place in a relatively controlled environment. Once that bus pulls away from school property... well, all bets are off.

This week was my 9 year-old's class trip to Goat Island, a marine reserve north of Auckland where you can go snorkeling. As class trips go, short of an actual school camp, Goat Island is about as technically difficult as they come. You've got a bus ride, a remote location, changing rooms and lots and lots of water. Oh, did I mention the 5mm full-body wetsuits we had to get the kids in and out of? While still wet? (One kid had a broken arm. Yes, in a cast. Have you ever tried to get an arm in a cast through the sleeve of a wet 5mm wetsuit?)

If parental supervision was a reality TV show, this would be the final episode, the ultimate challenge.

Because the Domestic Manager had put her hand up when the other daughter went on this same trip, it seemed only fair for me to volunteer this time round. Sadly, when the Domestic Manager undertook this fantastic voyage, the weather was not kind. The swell was up, the temperature was down and snorkeling conditions were less than ideal.

Ha ha! I thought. We're in the middle of the worst drought in a million billion years! The weather gods have really come to the party and this year's Goat Island excursion will seem more like a jolly little jaunt to Rarotonga. (Sadly, minus the swim-up bar)

At least, that was my thinking several weeks out, when I sent the form back to the teacher. Little did I know the endless drought of 2013 would end after all - the weekend before the trip. Two days of rain, wind and the possibility of thunderstorms. How wonderful for the farmers.

While the forecast wasn't looking AS bad for the big day itself, there was some talk of cancellation the night before. Daughter was overtly alarmed. Dad was secretly hopeful.

But no, the call was made, the email was received, the trip would continue as planned the next day. Cue; sleepless night tossing and turning picturing a whole class of 9 year-olds and me being washed away in the perfect storm.

You know what though? It was awesome... and not just because the weather turned out to be significantly less shithouse than I had been worrying about the night before.

It was awesome because there's something about kids doing something outside their comfort zone. Seeing them try something for the first time, something they might be pretty nervous about. Watching that nervousness turn to pride as they feel the fear and do it anyway. That, I have to say, is pretty cool.

And when you're there to see it happen to your own daughter... it's almost enough to make a cynical old bastard eat his words.

Proud dad and daughter. No, seriously