The going was good to infirm

First chance I've had to write about the Sports Day events. I was rather surprised at how well it was organised. It involved about 100 children competing in various races: Egg and Spoon, Bean Bag Race, Crab Race (where two cherubs stand back to back, link arms and then run sideways), Sack Race, Hoop on Head Race, and straightforward running race. The kids were put in teams of 5, thereby eliminating the chances of one outstanding athlete winning all the races. They were then split into classes and rotated round the field to participate in each event. The amount of cheating going on matched my expectation levels. One girl in my son's class had her own idea of how far she should run; only as far as required for her to assume leadership in any race, then turn for home quickly, leaving the rest in her wake. It was nice to witness at first hand just how pushy some parents really are. Screaming at their children to run faster, stop being so slow etc.etc. Not surprisingly these are the ones whose parents berate them in the school yard over not doing well enough in class. These are 5 year olds we're talking about, hardly truculent teenagers. The children I felt sorry for, apart from the truly uncoordinated, were the ones scouring the groups of parents, searching for their own Mummy and/or Daddy, and finding no recognisable smiling face beaming back. I understand some people would find it hard to get time off to attend events, but both parents not showing, for your progeny's first sports day - harsh. Our own star not only had me and my wife, but Nana and Grandad watching too. They seemed completely baffled by the changing of venues, despite my efforts at explaining the different events. At what age to you lose the will to apply common sense to a new situation? I dread that day. After the cessation of child olympics we were informed that the traditional Father's Race was now to take place. A stranger gathering of same sex beings I have yet to witness. It became painfully obvious to me that I featured in the upper age range. I thought people were having kids later these days? Yet I was not in the grey haired brigade, something for which I was grateful. Quite a few of the larger gentlemen had to be barracked by the throng before the surrendered to the inevitable - they were going to have to run. Clearly some of these guys hadn't run since their own school sports days, and were already regretting not bringing that crutch or fake plaster cast with them. In terms of racing this didn't make much of a spectacle, with the younger dads making mincemeat of the field. I finished in a respectable position, and finished still able to breathe, unlike some other competitors. Next year may see the attendance of St. John's Ambulance volunteers for the Father's Race. My son expressed his gratitude in my participation, "You were rubbish Daddy!" and I realised then that he still has that childlike notion that your Dad is the best person in the world and can beat all other children's Dads easily. I think some of my gloss came off at that point, although at least I came first out of his classmates, so some some dignity and kudos was salvaged, I think.