Thunder in June

By AM Sunday, June 14, 2009

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It was our daughter’s school sports day. We feared we might not get the weather for it. As we packed a sports bag in preparation to go the first clap of thunder pealed through the air. Signs were ominous. I looked up from the garden and black clouds hovered seemingly closer than clouds usually do, as if the weight of the moisture contained within was weighing them down. A deluge would soon be upon us. We might be the only ones there, I mused. My wife sent a text message to the principal hoping to get a rain check. No response. The woman was obviously far too busy to be looking at every text that came through.

The taxi arrived and it still had not rained. The greater the distance we put between ourselves and home, the less cloudy the sky became. At the school the sun was shining while parents watched over children frolicking on the grass or clambering over each other to get into the bouncy castle that had been provided for the day.

Last year we made the same but different journey. Her annual sports day was on but her school then was temporary and in a different location. It was my first visit to the new building. The lay out was conducive to a relaxed environment. Spacious and comfortable I was so pleased that my daughter was getting her education in conditions much better than I got mine. And I am not talking about the H-Blocks.

Once there we set up camp, first in the shade of the bicycle shed and then on the grass. Lying flat out as if on a Spanish beach it was not too long before my daughter summoned me to the first of her races. A medal eluded her on that one, largely because she allowed a competitor to cut across her, thwarting her stride. Rather than trip him as I would, she graciously held off. Compensation came in the wheelbarrow race where both she and her ‘barrow’ picked up a medal each.

My son, not yet at school, told me yesterday that his school is still being built. It isn’t. He will attend the same one as his sister but consoles himself with that for now. The school’s standard of education is excellent and we anticipate that he will be as bi-lingual as she when he comes of age. Today education and the Irish language were the last things on his mind as he bounced from one end of the castle to the other. Then the challenge came.

Prompted by his mother he invited – demanded is a more accurate term – me to race him from our ‘base camp’ to the wall at the far end of the school complex. Up we got and on the count of three away we hared it. Well, he did. It was more like the story of the Tortoise and the Hare but on this occasion the tortoise didn’t win. Overweight, overfed and under fit I stood no chance as his nimble frame literally made the running and I stumbled and fumbled in his wake. Two races, two victories to him. His demand for a third race was declined. Better to do it after the second contest than the twenty fifth. For as sure as the thunderstorm that was by now beckoning he would have raced until I dropped.

I then passed on the Dads’ race. On the previous occasion I came last and had no desire to prove that I could accomplish the same feat again. Despite the taunts of my wife I stayed put as a heaving mass of flesh wobbled its way up the field. Its ascetic form would only have been diminished by my presence.

Today was an Irish day. My wife loves it when our daughter engages me in spoken Irish. Her complaint is that it is not frequent enough. Although not a ‘culture vulture’ I realise I should make more use of my Gaelige so that my daughter can benefit from the conversation. It would also help create a more Gaelicised environment at home and help familiarise my son with the language prior to his first steps out the door to begin his schooling. And like the H-Blocks my wife too could grow to understand it without having to learn it.

Today I took some small steps toward making that possible. Surrounded by Irish speakers most of the conversation between myself and our daughter was conducted as Gaeilge, including the order to bolt for it when the skies opened and the downpour lashed us.

A wet end did nothing to dampen our spirits.