Bunny has just finished year two of primary school and as per school tradition, sports day came near to the end of term. We are not a particularly sporty family. Wait, what am I saying? We do NO SPORT AT ALL!
I played rugby back in my school days, until I broke my left wrist in a rather spectacular fashion… which pretty much put me off all sport, except cycling. Then I broke my right arm cycling. I got detention for being so bad at TABLE tennis, that my teacher thought I was taking the mick. In badminton, I got pulled out of class and made to play by myself against a wall for six weeks because I just couldn’t hit the darn thing! In all other sports involving balls, I did the typically girly thing of putting my hands in front of my face, shutting my eyes and whimpering. I was ALWAYS last to be picked for any team. Once it came to leaving school… that was pretty much the end of sport for me.
Jonny decided to get sporty a couple of years ago. He joined a football team and went off for his first session. He was discharged from hospital several hours later, with a broken collarbone which required surgery. His version of sport now involves a large tv screen and a pint.
Bunny has not miraculously inherited a love of sport from further up the gene pool. She doesn’t get it. She’s not a competitive child and sports day usually includes tears.
At sports day, when Bunny was in reception class, she saw me across the field and BAM… tears and sobbing because she wanted a cuddle from mummy!
In year one, Bunny just did NOT want to do any sports. She stropped through most of her races and cried because her friend was mean to her, and because she “HATES sports day”.
So as you can imagine, I approached year two sports day with caution. I dreaded seeing my little beauty cry again. I gave her all the usual reassuring parent advice, including that the most important thing, was to try her best and have fun. I was apprehensive, but she went in with her usual headstrong confidence (which doesn’t normally falter until the nerves kick in).
She did however, cry at the schools Race For Life, because her sign had fallen off her back. Her sign said “I race for… My Mummy”, in her own writing. A kind teacher put it back on for her and she ran her race, whilst talking
the hind legs off a donkey to her headmaster. That made me even prouder. She raised £40 for Cancer Research and told me how important that was to her, because of my having Cancer last year.
She’s every bit my mini-me.