Sean finished his breakfast, pushed his bowl away and looked at me with a resigned air, “Time to add to my collection of ‘Well Done’ stickers”. Sports Day – a day when at one of my children’s schools I practise my ‘shucks-I-know’ smile, while at the other we practise our brave faces. Sean has been up at 6 each morning, running round the park, determined to show his true mettle to his somewhat old-school PE teacher (I don’t want to say anything litigious but think Dodgeball). Somewhat surprisingly, Sean had come third in the heats for the high jump and was looking forward to the final. The first place kid didn’t show and so first place was awarded to second and… Sean remained third, with another ‘Well Done’ sticker.
I can remember clearly the sound of my feet on the track on the last lap of sports day races, in the distance the cheering for the boys finishing first. There. Is. No. Worse. Place. Except watching your little boy following in his father’s footsteps at a similar velocity.
He got dropped from the relay for a boy in the year below. And then he found out there was a sleepover to which he wasn’t invited.
He’s doing football stickers in the kitchen at the moment.
And I think to myself, what the fuck happened to politicians when they were kids? Was there a day like this for young Johnson when he got dropped from the dressage team and Cameron didn’t ask him round to the dorm for crumpets and a quick flick through Razzle, ‘One day I’ll show you all…’
I’m going to get him some ice cream.