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.
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.
Maith thú, Antoine-- agus tú teaghlach! Le dea-mhéin agaibh aríst. Bain sult as an lá sin.
ReplyDeleteLooks like the wee man had the better of you there Anthony.
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ReplyDeleteLooks like you had an exhausting day ,Irish 100m sprint record looks safe
ReplyDeleteMy Good gracious look at the size of him !!! Last time i saw him he was still a baby !!
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