Further to my Day of
restraining myself from strangling anyone less than 5′ tall looking after my children, last night my friend Guy and I took Bart to watch his first football match.
Billed as an early christmas present, it was clearly going to be a hit, but I was concerened by the fact that the game kicked of nearly an hour past his usual bedtime, the temperature was knocking -2 and we had over an hour’s drive to get home afterwards.
However, with the usual poor judgment I tend to show in all things parental, I decided he was up to it.
Thankfully he was in a sensible mood and decided to nap on the way there so as to be awake for the game.
When we got there, he came alive with questions. Facinated by everything, yet overwhelmed by nothing he asked about the hillsbrough tribute, about the anouncement that racist or homophobic abuse would not be tollerated (Thankfully I had addressed much of this before), about the Michael Shields anouncement (A fan that has been in prisoner for the past 3 years for a crime that it would apear he did not commit)… Everything.
He continuously refered to his programme to tell me which player had done what. To see this boy who is so often frustratingly apathetic to the privaliges he is given so engaged was wonderful.
Unfortunatly we were seated just infront of a man that litterally swore in every sentance, a fact that I was hopeing would go unnoticed due to it being heavily drenched in scouse. Alas you can not hide any swear words from this boy as they seem to be his pet facination, but he did seem to understand that this was not a “very nice man”, and that maybe swearing is almost as uncool as mummy and daddy keep suggesting.
Unfortunatly the game ended a goalless draw. Bart took this in relativly good spirits, but thankfully for once, he really did seem to care.
The night was topped off by one final act of poor parenting on my part, as we all finished the night sat in a carpark sharing a KFC bargain bucket.