Although Thomas refused to go to gymnastics club this term, on the grounds that he was one of only two boys in it, he insisted on participating in the competition at the local leisure centre. This particular venue is a kind of gymnastics central for Durham, and the gym is fully equipped with big, springy floors and all the requisite equipment. Because the kids competing had done all their practicing in school halls, the events were limited to floor and vault. A good thing--I can't imagine Thomas coping well with a balance beam, and I wouldn't be able to watch him on the parallel bars.
Not only did Thomas insist on taking part in the competition, he wanted an audience. Fair enough, I suppose, though it wasn't high on my list of desirable events for the afternoon. I would probably have said I was too tired--but that turns out not to be a problem. Watching tumbling by 6- to 11-year-olds who haven't had much training or practice isn't particularly taxing, nor does it require any intellectual effort. (The main thing required, in fact, is the ability to refrain from saying things like, 'point your toes' and 'stick your landing'. I may not be able to explain the off side rule in football or tell you the score of the last Newcastle vs Sunderland match, but gymnastics was my thing when I was Thomas' age.)
Despite my initial ambivalence, I was glad I stayed. St Godric's school won the competition (in all three age groups) and Thomas was delighted with their victory. Everyone had a chance to hold the trophy, and Thomas made certain he took his turn. Sure, I had to sit through lots of awkward tumbling, and Thomas's share of the spotlight might have been 5 minutes out of 90. But it was worth it to share the joy with him, and that's why we do these things, isn't it?
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