I was never big fan of school sports day - mainly because I consistently came second from last in every race. I'm not sure why I was so bad at games, but I suspect it was because I didn't care enough about winning. I enjoyed running and kicking a ball around in the street behind my house, but I hated organised sport. When I left school I naively assumed that I'd never have to endure the misery of a school sports day again. How wrong I was.
Today I attended my son's school sports day and watched him faithfully maintain the family tradition by failing to win a single race (he scored better results than me but there were fewer fat kids to outrun in the 1970s). I wasn't bothered, but some parents were near to hysteria shouting 'Go Charlie!' 'Go Sam!' and I suspect that some of the dads would have experienced temporary impotency if their sons hadn't won a race.
Today's sports day lasted for three hours! What were they thinking? I made the mistake of wearing black and after fifteen minutes of sitting in direct sunlight, I'm sure that I saw wisps of smoke start to appear. It seemed a high price to pay for the 3 minutes in which my son took part in the games.
Naively, I had no idea that if I had a child it would gain me readmission into the world of playground cliques, school sports days and the all-pervading smell of stale cabbage. When I take my son through the school gates, I feel as if I am betraying him.
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