Well the easy answer, for those of you who don’t know, is quite simple. It’s blue.
Having spent the weekend with Maia sans Erica, I now have a greater appreciation for the power of children's poetry and for biltong.
Maia's love of poetry meant that the car drive of over an hour to see her great Uncle Douglas, (GREAT) Aunt Hilary and cousin Harry, was an example of how good her attention span has become. She sat in her car seat and quietly absorbed the various poems, while her father listened in abject horror as a little girl who told lies was burnt in a house fire and one little boy who wandered away got noshed by a lion. One of the poems was about a little girl on her first day at school, wondering what colour a lesson is and whether a teacher is someone who brings the tea...(there is a connection).
Harry (who is an outstanding junior tennis player) was playing in the club final at Wentworth and we tagged along to watch. Maia and I calmly undid all the good work of Erica and Heather by drinking Ribena and eating blueberry Muffins there might have been some chocolate as well. After the game, which Harry won to nil, Maia decided that she wanted to play tennis. Thoughts of Wimbledon and fame and fortune as her coach wafted lazily through my head as I chased her round and round one of the courts. I then tried to get her to play catch. (Note to self...this needs a LOT more work before fame and fortune).
And then home...more poetry and biltong (mentioned earlier). Biltong is dried meat from South Africa - it's dried to an ancient recipe, handed down, some say, by the god Zeus - or not. It is an aquired taste and one which Maia has aquired...if you listen carefully, you might be able to hear ancestors on my South African side cheering quietly. So, the journey home was poetry and biltong - and a moment shared in silence (broken up by jaws masticating biltong) between Maia and myself that I will cherish for as long as I live.
When we got home I prepped dinner and just as I was about to hand Maia her food she asked
"Daddy...what colour is a lesson?"
I spent five minutes patiently explaining what a lesson was. This was met with a perplexed expression. She asked me again.
"Daddy...what colour is a lesson?"
The answer is simple....it's blue.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment