A little earlier today the Boy Wonder was dropped off after his hockey tournament. He came running up with a massive grin, eager to show me his medal. His dad had stayed for the first half of the morning and reported back that they weren’t doing too well, and true to form they lost every game. But the smile on my boy’s face tells a different story.
Track back to September 2009, another Sunday morning, this one the start of a new Rugby season. I cajoled the Boy Wonder into his rugby kit; even though it wasn’t absolutely necessary he still had the shorts, socks and shirt, all provided at huge expense courtesy of my generous parents. This was to be his second season at our local Rugby club, we’d ‘persevered’ our way through the first, traveling to some of the coldest spaces in the cosmos to watch our fledging player. Commonly it would transpire that I was designated parent and I can honestly say I have never been so cold as on those Sunday mornings.
As leaving time approached I sensed a little reluctance in my son. Call it a mother’s intuition, or maybe it was the fact that he had a vice like grip on the bannister, sobbing as I tried to drag him to the car.
We sat down and talked.
He explained that he didn’t really like rugby (duh!) and didn’t want to play football, but would still like to have a go at hockey, because he was “really good at hockey.” I remembered the point a year before where he’d played hockey and come home raving about it, telling us how much he loved it and begging us to let him play again. We’d largely dismissed it at the time; we didn’t know of any nearby clubs and probably thought he’d forget it immediately.
I had a facepalm moment looking at my boy and in that second I saw a pushy parent, albeit an unwittingly pushy parent trying to find an outlet for her son’s boisterous energy. I asked him whether he still thought about playing hockey. His enthusiastic nod was answer enough and, remembering an advert I’d seen that week for a local club looking to grow its youth team, I made a quick call and we jumped into the car, not really knowing what to expect…
So here we are at the end of the season and I don’t care that his team lost every match. He’s happy.
As it’s Mother’s Day I’d like to dedicate this post to my lovely mum. I’ve asked her over the years why I didn’t do ballet, play the piano, go to stageschool etc etc… obviously blaming her for the fact that I’ve not fulfilled my primadonna potential.
She simply says:
“You didn’t want to”