Well the deed has finally been done - a little earlier than planned - but Wilf, my son, has finally at the age of four years 10 months, entered the world of joy and happiness and pain and misery.
On this September day he has been partially detached from his mothers bosom and truly joined the roller coaster, which should run for a lifetime - which my Father passed to me.
Wilf today, went to his first football match.
Obviously not just any football match (Beth had some odd idea to take him to watch a small match first) a match at Eastlands watching the greatest team in the land and all the world (as the song goes) Manchester City.
For the record, it was against Blackburn Rovers, and ended in a somewhat disappointing 1-1 draw, but that is the least of this story and something to which Wilf is completely ignorant.
As mentioned above, it was all a little earlier than planned - I cannot remember the first game I went to, and wanted to be something my two boys could cherish and tell their children in years to come - but there was a spare ticket going, and I just thought , what the heck.
I put it to Beth, who was not impressed. It came off the back of a discussion I'd had with Wilf , about him liking United, which had ended with me telling him he could live in the garden if that was the case, and I'd just thought, lets strike whilst the iron is hot, and give him a day to never be forgotten.
Beth was very unsure and the debate waged to and fro as we tried to complete the weekly shop. In the end we asked Wilf.
"Do you want to come to the football to watch City?"
"Yes"
"Why?"
"Because Dad says I've got to go."
Not really the answer I was looking for, and gave the impression I had been applying undue pressure on the boy...
It was finally agreed he would come (After I had called a friend who was also taking his son for the first time that day) and amidst some tears from his Mum (who had seen him go to full time school for the first time earlier in the week) he was prepared for the match.
Maybe I should have taken over at this point as he ended up looking like he was going on a trip up Everest.
He had a warm jacket on under his waterproof coat (and over his City shirt), he had a large rucksack packed with, well almost everything.
Two drinks, crisps, a chocolate biscuit, a cup of sweets, a book to read, a notepad and pen,tissues, a full change of clothes, an apple, raisins, plasters, calpol, a sleeping bag, small cooking stove...
Okay the last two weren't, but you get the idea. a bag that only a mum could pack.
We set off, agreed to meet Grandad and Grandma Shona at half time, picked up Liz and Adam, and made our way to Eastlands.
He started on his sweets in the car and was clearly excited at the prospect of his big day out. More sweets and a burger outside the stadium, and we joined the queue and entered, forcing our way through the hordes inside and got to our seats. I introduced Wilf to the regulars around our seats (who were warned about their swearing) and before we knew it the teams were out.
Wilf loved it.
He cheered, clapped and booed in all the right places, his little face glowing as he stood on his seat to see his future heroes.
16 minutes on the clock.
"Dad, can we go home now?"
He then finished his sweets, ate his crisps, looked at the Moonchester comic, had Liz read his Transformers book to him, and did some drawing.
By half time, he didn't feel well, and wanted a poo.
We went to meet Granddad and Grandma and was a bit clingy, clearly tired. I told him there wasn't long left, he sighed and followed me back to our seats.
He did me so proud during the second half, during a lull in the crowd noise, amidst some disquiet from the fans he started shouting out to any that would listen around us.
"Come on City, Come on City - Keep on Trying!"
It was such a mummy's boys kind of line, those around us smiled, laughed, and started shouting again for City to pull their collective fingers out.
Even the chap behind changed his normal rantings as he caught Wilf's eye,
"Referee you're an absolute fu - fu -f - idiot!"
The game ended, and we left (Wilf oblivious to the score or what we had really been dong for the past couple of hours)
The rain came down as we trudged back to the car. We all got soaked to the skin, and Wilf splashed in puddles all the way. I think this is the main thing he will remember from this day.
We got to the car, and he got in (without the carefully packed change of clothes in his bag) wet and happy.
Fast asleep before we were out of the city centre.
One very happy little boy and very proud dad, who will remember the day for far longer than his son.
(Please note, when I have wiped the tear from my eye, I will return to my normal moaning self in my next blog!)
On this September day he has been partially detached from his mothers bosom and truly joined the roller coaster, which should run for a lifetime - which my Father passed to me.
Wilf today, went to his first football match.
Obviously not just any football match (Beth had some odd idea to take him to watch a small match first) a match at Eastlands watching the greatest team in the land and all the world (as the song goes) Manchester City.
For the record, it was against Blackburn Rovers, and ended in a somewhat disappointing 1-1 draw, but that is the least of this story and something to which Wilf is completely ignorant.
As mentioned above, it was all a little earlier than planned - I cannot remember the first game I went to, and wanted to be something my two boys could cherish and tell their children in years to come - but there was a spare ticket going, and I just thought , what the heck.
I put it to Beth, who was not impressed. It came off the back of a discussion I'd had with Wilf , about him liking United, which had ended with me telling him he could live in the garden if that was the case, and I'd just thought, lets strike whilst the iron is hot, and give him a day to never be forgotten.
Beth was very unsure and the debate waged to and fro as we tried to complete the weekly shop. In the end we asked Wilf.
"Do you want to come to the football to watch City?"
"Yes"
"Why?"
"Because Dad says I've got to go."
Not really the answer I was looking for, and gave the impression I had been applying undue pressure on the boy...
It was finally agreed he would come (After I had called a friend who was also taking his son for the first time that day) and amidst some tears from his Mum (who had seen him go to full time school for the first time earlier in the week) he was prepared for the match.
Maybe I should have taken over at this point as he ended up looking like he was going on a trip up Everest.
He had a warm jacket on under his waterproof coat (and over his City shirt), he had a large rucksack packed with, well almost everything.
Two drinks, crisps, a chocolate biscuit, a cup of sweets, a book to read, a notepad and pen,tissues, a full change of clothes, an apple, raisins, plasters, calpol, a sleeping bag, small cooking stove...
Okay the last two weren't, but you get the idea. a bag that only a mum could pack.
We set off, agreed to meet Grandad and Grandma Shona at half time, picked up Liz and Adam, and made our way to Eastlands.
He started on his sweets in the car and was clearly excited at the prospect of his big day out. More sweets and a burger outside the stadium, and we joined the queue and entered, forcing our way through the hordes inside and got to our seats. I introduced Wilf to the regulars around our seats (who were warned about their swearing) and before we knew it the teams were out.
Wilf loved it.
He cheered, clapped and booed in all the right places, his little face glowing as he stood on his seat to see his future heroes.
16 minutes on the clock.
"Dad, can we go home now?"
He then finished his sweets, ate his crisps, looked at the Moonchester comic, had Liz read his Transformers book to him, and did some drawing.
By half time, he didn't feel well, and wanted a poo.
We went to meet Granddad and Grandma and was a bit clingy, clearly tired. I told him there wasn't long left, he sighed and followed me back to our seats.
He did me so proud during the second half, during a lull in the crowd noise, amidst some disquiet from the fans he started shouting out to any that would listen around us.
"Come on City, Come on City - Keep on Trying!"
It was such a mummy's boys kind of line, those around us smiled, laughed, and started shouting again for City to pull their collective fingers out.
Even the chap behind changed his normal rantings as he caught Wilf's eye,
"Referee you're an absolute fu - fu -f - idiot!"
The game ended, and we left (Wilf oblivious to the score or what we had really been dong for the past couple of hours)
The rain came down as we trudged back to the car. We all got soaked to the skin, and Wilf splashed in puddles all the way. I think this is the main thing he will remember from this day.
We got to the car, and he got in (without the carefully packed change of clothes in his bag) wet and happy.
Fast asleep before we were out of the city centre.
One very happy little boy and very proud dad, who will remember the day for far longer than his son.
(Please note, when I have wiped the tear from my eye, I will return to my normal moaning self in my next blog!)
