I love my kids but when they're ill, I get sick of it

Dads think sick kids are faking it to get out of something. Mums think kids are sick all the time.

Mums are sensitive. Fathers don't like to accept problems exist.

I am a loving father of two. My kids mean everything to me. I'd jump off a cliff for them. Into a fire, in front of a bus, down a well. Up a tree. If we ran out of food, I'd happily cut off my foot and feed it to them.

However, like all Kiwi dads, I don't really care when they get sick.

By which I mean I never believe that they actually are. In general, fathers don't like to accept that problems exist. When a child complains of feeling poorly we immediately assume they're faking to get out of doing something.

Mothers, on the other hand, tend to think their kids are always sick. No matter how healthy they are. A kid can be having a great time, running around, jumping up and down and Mum will claim he's a funny colour and ask if he needs to go to the doctor.

It's important as a dad to dismiss this with an offhand "he looks okay to me". You don't even need to look.

Mums are sensitive. The smallest suffering pains them. Maybe it's because they're more in tune with their offspring. After all, our precious little babies grew in their tum-tums. Maybe they care more because they breastfed them for months and months. Or maybe it's just because mums are nicer people that dads. Either way, it's annoying.

The truth is dads can't be bothered dealing with sickness. We'll be sitting down to watch the rugby, a kid

A kid coughs once and we're being asked to go to the White Cross. Suddenly a warm night in front of the TV turns into hours in a freezing cold waiting room.

coughs once and we're being asked to go to the White Cross. Suddenly a warm night in front of the TV turns into hours in a freezing cold waiting room. If, on the other hand, we manage to convince Mum our beloved child isn't really sick, we get to stay where we are. Simple logic.

This system works really well until someone is actually sick. A month ago my 5-year-old was complaining he didn't feel well. Said he really needed to lie down. Said he might puke. This was massively inconvenient for me because I really wanted to go to EB Games. I needed to get some new online headphones for the Xbox. So I made him come to St Lukes with me.

Next thing you know he's throwing up all over the shopping mall. One of the biggest spews I've ever seen. ARGGHHH SPLASH!! on to the white tiles in the middle of a major walkway. By the time we got back from buying my stuff, a circle had formed.

Some poor bastard with a bucket was cleaning it up. It was very gross. There was food in there we hadn't even fed the boy. We fled the scene.

That day I swore to add motive to my diagnosis. Why would he be faking? It wasn't a school day. He has no job. He loves going to EB games. He's never faked anything in his life. I'd missed the signs.

I did it again this week. My other son claimed he was sick. I claimed he wasn't and forced him to play footy. He threw up on the sideline. Once again. I got the signs wrong. The guy loves playing footy. Seven games later he was happily holding up a trophy.

Even if we do have a few little slip-ups, the dad strategy is still sound. Someone has to counterbalance the motherly assumption that everyone needs help all the time. Someone has to fight back or all of New Zealand would be down at A&E every day.

Before we run a full emergency operation we need to be sure the mums are really concerned. That it's not just a tyre-kicking exercise. If she's absolutely dead-scared certain, move heaven and earth to get the child help.

Like most Kiwi dads, if there was something genuinely wrong with my kids I'd do anything to help them. I'd crawl nude across thumb tacks. I'd hang on to the side of a plane like Tom Cruise in Mission:Impossible -- Rogue Nation. I'd roll up my own hair and smoke it. I'd roll up their hair and smoke it. I'd cut off my own foot and eat it. I just need a bit of convincing.