So this time we’re hiding in plain sight, in the sun, with the other parents, but this time she’s a player not an umpire.
Tag Archives: Parents
After the chop-shop (the hairdresser) I stopped at the Hockey to have a look at the umpiring skills of the daughter. After all it’s what a father does.
Apparantly she can see quite well as I was seen from about 150 meters. D’oh
Watching
The sport of watching sport
I watch my daughter at hockey. Shes progressed through the years aand plats a respectable level for a decent club, in fact premier Womens level.
The game today was marred by poor umpiring. Not the type of poor umpiring where the umpire wants to be involved in the game, but generally poor umpiring decisions and decision making,
Which is a shame.
They won 3-2, and were denied a penalty corner at the end of the game because the poorer of the two umpires was time keeping and being very pedantic about that if at least nothing else in the game.
Now I’m not an umpire, don’t claim to be one, but other umpires I was sitting with also made comments and observations, so I feel righteous in my whine.
Losing your mother
Not like at the mall or anything, or in a carpark, but the death of a parent.
In context I left the UK in 1987 and spent a goodly amount of money on a 3 months stay in the US of A.
My father died in 1988 of a long overdue fatal stroke, due to smoking and a sedentary job.
My mother endured many tribulations, including a physically abusive drug addicted brother, and of course seeing her siblings pass away as the years went past.
She ended up in a sheltered accommodation, a granny ghetto, which by all accounts was pretty awesome and very communal, suited my mother to a T
I’d call her 3-4 times a year (I kid myself of course it was more like twice a year), and send amounts of money as she carped on about shoes or coats or frocks, any little to helped
It was clear that she was older and increasingly frail, with a number of small operations to fix bits of her that were falling off, and had had minor corrective sugary on a hernia.
I spoke to her on the Monday, after the February Earthquake in Christchurch, making sure she understood that Christchurch was the other island, and that she’d been there on a previous visit, and that everyone was fine and dandy and in no dangers.
She had a massive stroke that night, never awoke and died a week or so later.
Closure is a difficult thing to define, and I’ll never have a real sense that I said all I wanted to, you never do.
