Eleven years ago (according to Facebook), my son walked for the first time. He was ten months, two weeks and six days old.
In October, after years of baffling the NHS doctors, we visited a private physiotherapist who declared that Boy Seymour’s ongoing leg trouble is due to one simple fact: that he didn’t crawl for long enough.
My joy and pride at my son’s early, advanced mobility was clearly ill-placed.
There are no miracle cures, but the physio’ suggested “dangling”. And belated crawling. I remain somewhat dubious but… we struggle on.
Last week, Boy’s school phoned me. He had decided last minute that he’d like to try out for the basketball team, of all things. The basketball team? He’s five foot nothing, and can’t jump! But I gathered up the PE kit, and off I went, as requested, in time for the after school try-outs. I had my reservations.
What if he doesn’t get in? What if they expect too much of him? What if the older boys knock him over? What if? What if?
I formulated a letter in my mind, to the relevant authorities.
“Dear Mr P.E. Teacher,
Please let my son on the team… he’s ever so keen…”
(Meddling. I was planning on meddling. Always meddling.)
Today, eleven years after he learned to walk, he is up on the South Downs, on a school team building exercise.
“Are you sure you want to go? Won’t you be cold? Do you want longjohns? Here, take all these supplements for breakfast…” Boy didn’t want to miss out, but it remains to be seen how today goes. His new school have yet to fully witness his struggles. The poor chap is torn between crushing FOMO and his uncooperative limbs. But off he went, choosing aches over boredom: he discovered the other day just how dull it is staying off school. (The cough he woke up with had miraculously ceased by ten a.m. and then, when devices were removed, he agreed it’d just be best if I drove him in.)
I’m praying he’s ok today. Find my iphone is telling me he’s on the South Downs as planned, so things are looking positive. It just remains to be seen whether a last minute dose of collagen, zinc, iron and cod liver at breakfast time are the miracle cures we have been looking for. Oh yes, that and crawling. And dangling.
Optimism rules!
(*FOMO means “Fear Of Missing Out”, Mother.)
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