Almost every week for the last I-don't-know-how-many-years we have watched at least one son play some form of sport. Over the years we've watched baseball games, hockey games, basketball games, badminton games, soccer games, and touch-rugby games. I cannot begin to imagine how many games we've watched (perhaps that explains why I never - and I mean NEVER - watch sport on television). Some years we've had 3 or 4 sons playing sport and sometimes they've played more than one sport each in the same season.
At the moment it's hockey. Outside. At night. In winter.
If the game is later in the evening or if it's particularly cold, DH will offer to let me stay home and he'll go but last night he was flat on his back and I got to do the honours. Wisely I took his warm hunting jacket, but it was still freezing! For a whole hour I got to sit outside and watch my son run around a hockey field. Toward the end of the game it started raining. Not a heavy rain but more a misty type of rain. In the beam of the huge spotlights that lit-up the playing area we could see the wind blowing the rain across the field. Brr!
It got me thinking of all the times we've watched sport in less than ideal conditions. In the summer heat, in freezing winds, in pouring rain. I can still remember the day I watched my two eldest sons play hockey in rain that was so heavy I could barely make them out on the field even though I was right on the side lines. In NZ, nothing - and I mean nothing - stops a game of sport from going on.
We've been blessed to have had few injuries over the years. Our fourth son has been hit several times in the face with either a hockey stick or a hockey ball but nothing stops him! Next time, he'd be right in there where the action was, putting his face and body at risk. It's no wonder I pray for them every time I know they're playing sport!
The most serious injury was a broken arm that our youngest son managed when he fell out of a tree at a soccer game. No, he wasn't playing soccer. His game had finished and we were watching his older brother's. I'd only just realised that he wasn't with me when I noticed a large crowd of children gathered around a tree. Something told me that it was my son and that it wasn't good. I got to spend Mother's Day in hospital with him that year after he'd had his arm re-set in theatre.
There have been other broken bones and injuries over the years but none of them sport related. Oh the joys of raising boys!
At the moment it's hockey. Outside. At night. In winter.
If the game is later in the evening or if it's particularly cold, DH will offer to let me stay home and he'll go but last night he was flat on his back and I got to do the honours. Wisely I took his warm hunting jacket, but it was still freezing! For a whole hour I got to sit outside and watch my son run around a hockey field. Toward the end of the game it started raining. Not a heavy rain but more a misty type of rain. In the beam of the huge spotlights that lit-up the playing area we could see the wind blowing the rain across the field. Brr!
It got me thinking of all the times we've watched sport in less than ideal conditions. In the summer heat, in freezing winds, in pouring rain. I can still remember the day I watched my two eldest sons play hockey in rain that was so heavy I could barely make them out on the field even though I was right on the side lines. In NZ, nothing - and I mean nothing - stops a game of sport from going on.
We've been blessed to have had few injuries over the years. Our fourth son has been hit several times in the face with either a hockey stick or a hockey ball but nothing stops him! Next time, he'd be right in there where the action was, putting his face and body at risk. It's no wonder I pray for them every time I know they're playing sport!
The most serious injury was a broken arm that our youngest son managed when he fell out of a tree at a soccer game. No, he wasn't playing soccer. His game had finished and we were watching his older brother's. I'd only just realised that he wasn't with me when I noticed a large crowd of children gathered around a tree. Something told me that it was my son and that it wasn't good. I got to spend Mother's Day in hospital with him that year after he'd had his arm re-set in theatre.
There have been other broken bones and injuries over the years but none of them sport related. Oh the joys of raising boys!
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