The chimes of my alarm went off this morning and I picked up the phone to snooze it. “Only Thursday?” I thought in despair.
This week has been a marathon. It started last weekend with Beau’s first soccer match, not of the season — ever. He played well, really well in fact, it surprised me. He hung back a bit, naturally — he’s not as used to the game as the other boys.
We went home and spent the rest of the day and the whole of twilight playing soccer with Chickles in the backyard. It was a true delight to forget time and to play. Chick and I made up a winning goal dance, ‘Chicky Licky’, which was pretty gross, I admit.
I drove home sweaty and tired after chasing the balls and umpiring little brothers quibbling over the ball, rules and whose side Dad was on.
I went to sleep thinking about them, how proud I was of both, but of Beau pushing himself out of his comfort zone.
Then Monday was parent-teacher night. Chick is academically present. He doesn’t need to try too much.
Beau, on the other hand, is more easily distracted and usually needs to put in more effort. More effort, more resilience to other kids and more practice, I was told. It wasn’t a shock, but it was a downer.
I’ve made a list of the things we need to do with the boys following their teachers’ advice, along with practising soccer and keeping up with the other boys.
I recall my own childhood, trying desperately to keep up with the other boys. It was nearly impossible without my father’s support, pushing me further into introversion.
While shaving this morning, as usual, I thought about the boys. Quiet hindsight about my own formative years and with awareness of today’s demands, I have a plan in mind.
As I pulled the door closed, pausing as I remembered my keys were on the inside, I made my way to the bus, frustrated. It’s one hell of a job but one I could never imagine not having.
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