As some of you will be aware, I’ve had terminal lurgy of late. Despite the doctor’s prognosis, I’ve pulled myself together and am going to make it. However, I think in the process I may have nearly killed Mrs DB. Ah well, she knew what she was getting herself into when she married me.
So on Saturday, despite my incapacity, it was my shift for a bit of childcare so that she could go back to bed for an hour. As I was missing the rugby on the telly I thought what better option than to start B’s top level rugby training with a trip to the park with a rugby ball.
Now I don’t want you to think that I’m just a bundle of fun. First there were trips to the post office and to drop some things off at the charity shop (yep, perfect husband and charitable to boot). Afterwards, I feel I excelled myself in tearing up the three year old boy rugby coaching manual. You can stuff your sports scientists and your sports psychologists, I was on fire.
After a 40 minute cross country run and 100 burpees, B was ready for his first taste of “Rugby Delivered by Gods” [™ – The name of my soon to be published coaching manual].
There was no cross country, no burpees, just a dad and his treasured son running around a field, chasing each other, kicking a ball, falling over and laughing our heads off. I have to say that I possibly had the best afternoon of my life. I got the chance to mess around with my new partner in crime, to joke around, to run, to laugh, to fall over, to not worry about life’s job lists, responsibilities or utility bills. It was bliss. I think we both had fun too. I know we did.
And perhaps such fun made me soft. As we walked back to the car, B suggested that it might be fun to go for an ice cream to his favourite piss ridden ice cream vending establishment [I Love You. Piss Neck.] and putting to one side the thought of “for Heaven’s sake man, it’s December, who wants raspberry ripple?”, I said yes, why not.
So I opened the door and started to buckle him into his car seat. And then it hit me. Bang did it hit me.
“I preferred living with X [his birth parents] than living with you.”
I have to say that cut me pretty deep. I crumpled a little bit but held my cool.
“Does that make you sad me saying that?”
Jesus, is this kid 3 or 30? Sometimes the maturity of his thought process astounds me.
I didn’t say what I wanted to say. I did the right thing. I played it by the book.
“Of course not. That’s ok for you to think that. The wise judge decided it would be safer for you to live with me and mummy and I promise that I will always keep you safe and will try my best to make sure we have as much fun as possible. Now, time for an ice cream”.
So there you go. So much of this adoption process leaves you thinking “what the hell just happened” and that was fairly high up there. I’ve been on enough dates to know when someone is faking having a nice time and he wasn’t faking it. Well at least I don’t think he was. Maybe he was just testing me? Maybe it was fun? Maybe I am a good dad and maybe he just wants to check I’m as good as my word?
Or maybe it was like my last date with Kylie Minogue???
Whatever it was, I’m not willing to rip up the coaching manual just yet. We’ll get there in the end.