This week we
decided to take her to a community play scheme which my son had
mentioned to us. On arrival, we were unsure who we were to pay or what
the set up was. We had no need to worry, as we were welcomed in, and
not even charged to enter.
The room was huge,
and part of our local football and rugby stadium. There were huge
slides, mats, swings, balls and many other child-friendly objects.
The noise of happy and boisterous children reverberated from every
solid object. The words, “get down, play nice, don't put that in
your mouth!” could be heard from lots of tired and distraught
parents and grandparents. Most of the children that were there, like
Harleigh, with their grandparents. Most of whom seemed to be living a
second childhood themselves.
We found an area
that had a big sign above it saying, 'UNDER THREES ONLY!' so we
found a chair and my wife took Harleigh in to play while I went to the
café for refreshments. My granddaughter is, it's fair to say not
like her father (my son) was at her age. Lee was quite timid and
quiet and wouldn't leave our side at that age, while Harleigh is
fearless. She is so petite, but she loves to play and is not perturbed
by noise or bigger children. It looked as if her head would explode
with the excitement of it all. She didn't know what to play with
first.
As she played, my
wife sat with her, throwing balls and chasing her around a matted
area, I looked around the room at the other parents, etc. It was
evident that there were people from all walks of life and cultures,
chatting and swapping child stories. I couldn't help but think
how wonderful this project was. The only thing that spoiled it for
me was two idiot women (girls) who talked loudly in West Indian
Creole, even though they were third or fourth generation. They
refereed to everyone, even their children, as 'Blood Clarts' which is a
phrase I've not heard since the seventies. They ordered some food,
and when the young lad brought them their order he asked if they
would like any sauces with their meal, and one of them shut her eyes,
lifted up her nose and waved him away without a word. Her child later
peed on one of the mats; she went over to the same young man and
shouted, “There's piss on the mat! Clean it!” then both her and
her friend laughed as he cleaned it up, remarking that he had no
dignity! This is of course a very strange thing for them to say as
they obviously had no concept of the word, either.
I was amused to
see two super-heroes arguing over their identities. One, a seven-year-old, announced that he was Batman, so therefore his friend would be
Robin. His friend was having none of it, regarding Robin as an
inferior super hero, to which his friend pointed out that he was two
months older then him and that made him the senior partner which of
course everyone knows is Batman.
They ran off, but when they returned
later the dispute seemed to have been cleared up as Robin had become
Batman and Batman had become Superman. They didn't wear their coats
around their necks like capes as I used to do at their age though. So
when it was my turn to go in the padded pen with Harleigh I decided
to remedy this and fastened my coat around my neck and became
Baboman! All was going well until I climbed to the top of a platform
with Harleigh under my arm, the way us super-hero types do. At the
top was an apparatus that looked like an old fashioned washing
mangle the type that squeezed any water from your garments. This one
was fully padded and had a gap in the middle, which I passed Harleigh
through without the slightest hint of trouble.
This is where I became
unstuck, as I foolishly followed her. It was obviously designed for
a three year old, and the only thing about me that was three years old
was my socks. Harleigh's weight can be measured in pounds, where as I'm
six foot two and weigh about fourteen stone, this would not be a
pretty sight. I got my head through with a little trouble and my
shoulders just about went through, but then everything siezed up. I was
like the mother of all turds down a U bend! I looked down at people
pointing at me my wife was sitting with her hands over her face and had
even turned away, just in case the hands weren't sufficient enough to
block out the sight of my predicament. Then I noticed Harleigh running
for one of the huge slides, and in fear I heaved up and pushed, and
like a mouse giving birth to a camel I fell to the floor. But it was
too late! Fearless Harleigh had already disappeared down the slide! I
ran to the slide only to see an incredibly happy child beaming with
defiance smiling at the bottom. It was then that I was asked to leave
the area as I slid down the slide to the sound of the plastic slide
cracking under my weight. As I left, I passed another grandfather who
had a sheepish look on his face. I could tell that he, too, was banished
from the play area, and we smiled, both acknowledging the pain of our
banishments.
Harleigh meanwhile
was happily running around enjoying herself instead of showing any
solidarity with my predicament and walking out in disgust. The child
of one of the rude women tried to take the dummy (pacifier) from
Harleigh's mouth, and though she is quite small she is made of stern
stuff and put the kid on his arse! I looked on with pride as she looked over, thinking she would be in trouble. She squashed up her
little nose and shrugged her little shoulders and gave us a wave with
the prettiest and cutest grin that a human can ever witness. This is
her way of saying how the hell can you be mad with this?
It was soon time
to go, so we said good bye to all our new friends, except for Batman
and Superman who had fallen out and were now fighting in the corner
of the play gym. I asked my new friend, who had been barred from the
slide with me, if he was coming back next week with his grand kids but
he couldn't as he was a doctor working shifts at the local hospital. But I shall be back and I shall have a slide for him because I am,
'Baboman!'
PS: My wife says
that I'm not 'Baboman', but a stupid old git that needs to grow up!
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