IF I was God, I wonder if I could stop myself playing superhero, swooping down at every disaster.

Here a war, and in I'd dive to smother all and sundry under a blanket of peace. There a terrorist, and down I'd leap, trailing divine cape emblazoned with 'SuperGod!'

Would I really swoop? I got my answer the other day.

Telephone rang at an ungodly hour. Son No. 1 had had an accident. Seems he'd been trying out a new wing like one of these crazy paragliders who throw themselves off mountains.

Anyway, he braked too hard and came to a halt still 15ft above a rugged hill side -- not a recommended position for a 30-year-old built like the Incredible Hulk.

He'd no alternative but to make his own way down. Suddenly! Hard! Flat on his back! Dislocated shoulder bone jutting out of jump suit four inches lower than normal.

Should I, Superdad, swoop down to stop this crazy sport? YES! Screams out every emotion. NO! whispers a wiser reply.

When I gave him life, the package included freewill. In the early days, we had battles over it. After 16 years, we shook hands and, as Superdad, I opted for redundancy.

Yes, I still yearn to swoop and stop him jumping off Snowdon or whatever, but I 'd better not (or else!)

Our heavenly Father wants to stop us blowing each other up. And yes, thank God, he does answer some prayers. But normally he lovingly allows us freedom to live, mature and even fall.

This fatherhood business is hard.