I love the first day of school. Like I hated it when I was a kid, but love it now because I havekids.
You know exactly what I’m talking about.
One of our Venue folks is also our neighbour and I could tell by the look on her face that she was definitely ready for her kids to not be in the house all day every day anymore. You know the look I mean, guilt mixed with extreme joy?
I still walk Neela every morning because she doesn’t know walking with your dad isn’t cool yet, in fact if I’m honest she thinks I’m quite funny (insert teenage years soon), and I LOVE it. Seeing kids milling around and riding their bikes, the boys rough housing, watching people walk their dogs accompanied by the little brothers and sisters who are desperate to one day be important enough to go too.
I often feel as the firstborn that I had to always be the responsible one and never really lived like Neela lives every single day… to the hilt.
One had to watch out for Ryan and make sure things worked out, you know the firstborn drill… leave no man behind, no chore undone.
Neela doesn’t even know that she has chores. That’s why she’s so fun.
The little sisters walking wearing superhero capes and the boys wearing hockey hats, while I look on like an idiot with a big grin. It’s magic.
Just this morning my wife pointed out a boy in Neela’s grade who cheers for the wrong English soccer club Manchester City. Now it should be said that cheering for City is still better than cheering for Manchester United (it’s like selling your soul to the devil and forgetting to ask for anything:), but this Liverpool boy has been coaching his daughter on how to respond properly and with class.
Airdrie schools are great but missing some needed life skills that only dads can teach: how to trash talk fans of the wrong teams.
Sure City won the league over the Reds last year by one point (we assume by buying referees), but we won the Champions League baby! That’s the one that really matters (unless we win the other one)!
I must say that Neela’s frenemy did have a few digs at her for her team of choice over the whole league thing (she has no actual choice if she wants to eat and live indoors at my house) , but I taught her how to do the “Hey ____, do you know who won the Champions League? I can’t remember.. was it US? I think dad was saying something it was us.. correct me if I’m wrong?” you know… stuff like that.
Can’t blame the boy really, probably has a bad father who just didn’t teach him right is all.
My wife also has to cheer for Liverpool if only to maintain appearances. She doesn’t care in the slightest who wins what, but she does like that Liverpool Football Club consumes my entire life for about two hours a week so she can read a book or find some form of boring fulfillment (I assume) that doesn’t involve me.
She actually found a little Man U jersey at the thrift store one day and brought it home for one of the girls to wear.
I walked in and said “What the heck is THAT doing in my house???”
“I thought it would be cute for one of the girls to wear to school!”
“??????!!!!!!!! Are you crazy? It’s cute like an economic recession is cute! Like a tree falling on my car is cute! This is the worst travesty in the history of the human race!!! Get that thing out of my house!!”
Like for reals Erin, who knows how many diseases that thing is carrying? It’s probably cursed too. Do YOU want our beautiful girls to get warts and lose all their hair???
Luckily sanity prevailed and she burned them in the backyard (she actually just gave them away), but it was a near thing for a couple of stress-filled minutes.
So walking Neela to school this morning Erin pointed out this poor traitor to the Beautiful Game. He knew exactly who I was because he studiously smirked and avoided my eyes at the same time.
I turned and, to Erin’s horror, taunted “Liverpool top of the league!” in the crush of children and parent’s going by shooting my fingers in the air like imaginary guns and my head tilted to the side daring him to say something back.
Somebody’s got to have the courage to speak the truth Erin,
Even if you can’t show your face in public again…