Mind that time you saw your Dad on the telly from the other side of the world?
This is just one sentence we’ll be able to say to our intrepid explorer in future years.
While the mister and I headed to Murrayfield for the one day a year I don’t like him, she was in an Irish bar in Perth, Australia (not the one just down the road) in her Scotland top. Surrounded by, what she felt, was the whole of Ireland.
Who should appear on the telly?
As she explained to the folks sitting next to her she was onto a winner either way, who should appear on the large screen telly but her father!
His Ireland top, dragged from the depths of his wardrobe and his warmest bunnet wasn’t what set him apart from the rest of the fans. It was his ‘badger beard’ she noticed, excitedly leaping up at the fleeting glimpse of the first love of her life. Oh, how exciting!
Did she see me too? Had I chipped away at my five minutes of fame unbeknownst to me? No. Her mother went unnoticed. It was only her dad she spotted.
Say what now? I didn’t leave his side all day, not once. We travelled on the same bus, went to the same bars, sat next to each other in the stadium but no, she didn’t see me.
What the actual, I’m hardly easy to miss?! Yet not even a peek at her mother apparently. And yet, if it was his facial hair that set him apart, I am glad mine didn’t play a part.
How is it possible?
Now, I adore my daughter but am I convinced by her sighting? She was in a bar, surrounded by fellow supporters. Claiming to have seen her hairy, beardy Irishdadman in his green top.
In a stadium full to capacity (more than 67k people if you need actual numbers) on the day where every single hairy, beardy Irishman who was able, donned their trusted green top and travelled to the capital of Scotland just to see their team triumph? No. I am not convinced.
But as a mother, one who’s easy to miss apparently, I’ll merrily go along with it because it made her happy. And when she’s over 9000 miles away, happy and safe is all I can hope for.
Let’s see if she can spot him again today during Super Saturday, from the couch where he’ll watch all three matches and, once again, I’ll be back to supporting both Scotland AND Ireland.
Super Saturday beckons
It’s quite the weekend for the big man. Paddy’s Day on the Friday will pass mostly uncelebrated though, We did our time at Uni making sure the occasion was marked splendidly.
Super Saturday where his team will no doubt reign supreme and he, along with his fellow countrymen, will be frantically on their phones searching for Rugby World Cup tickets. I’d suggest they’d be better off assessing how much money and time they can spend shoulder to shoulder in a French rugby stadium instead.
And then Mothering Sunday. Mothering Sunday is a funny one. Regardless of how commercial it’s become, I still believe it’s a day to be celebrated. In whatever manner is appropriate to you.
The love of a mother
When it came to Mums, I was blessed from the beginning. From the young girl who gave me up to allow me to have the best chance possible, to the family who adopted me and made me their own. Two overwhelming acts of love right there.
I then grew up surrounded by grandmothers, aunts, great aunts etc. Raised by a multitude of strong women giving care in abundance.
I may choose to parent rather differently to my own mother, but it’s a choice I make, not because she was wrong but because times and circumstances have changed.
And yet for those without their mothers, those unable to be mothers, those who have suffered losses as mothers or those who have difficult relationships with their mothers or their kids, the run up to this day can be an incredibly difficult one.
As a hospitality business owner, I’ll gratefully catch a peek at my three over the course of the day, while making sure the mothers visiting us are treated like queens.
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