I think it’s safe to say that my (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys do not take after me. At least not in terms of Bravery, Fearlessness and a Head for Heights. I was, after all, the mother who took my four year old
daughter up to the top of the church tower to see a view which was reputed to stretch over several counties - only to have to be led down to terra firma by my small daughter when I came over all dizzy and discombobulated. It wasn’t my Finest Moment.
Today, courtesy of FaceTime, I was invited to watch all three boys, especially six year old Morgan, tackle the high ropes at St Fagan’s aka the Museum of Welsh Rural
Life. It’s one of my favourite places though that opinion is not based on the installation of the high ropes which personally I can take or leave. No, correct that, which I will gratefully leave to my Welsh Boys.
The invitation came from My Boy who was keen for me to witness Young Morgan’s first ascent into the heights. I love the way FaceTime allows me to sample such important “Firsts” in
my grandchildren’s lives. Although, it did take me a while to get my eyes trained on the Athletic Ones.
“You must be able to see them,” complains
the proud father, clearly exasperated at my ineptitude, “They’re in between the two trees - Sam’s in yellow, Morgan’s wearing a blue helmet and the Spurs shirt you gave him for his birthday - NOW can you see them!?”
It is reminiscent of my monthly outings with the Birdy Group when my fellow members try so hard to help me see the yellowhammer, the goldfinch, the long-tailed tit. “There
it is, there it is, you see right at the top of that tree, behind the prickly bush...” To which I reply, despairingly: “Where? Where?”
I see my boys and they all three give me nonchalant waves, supremely confident in their own sure-footedness. I wave back - though obviously I realise they can’t see me, being as I am on their Dad’s mobile phone way down on the ground while they
are up there on high.
When my Foursome were small, I was firm in my intention that they should grow up brave and fearless, like their father, not a Wimp of the
First Order like me. I swallowed my fears as they clambered to the very top of the tallest slides in the playground and swooped down with squeals of delight. I stood by, trembling, as they tried out every roller coaster in every theme park we visited and applauded
them when they insisted on “one more turn” at every stomach-churning thrill ride.
My success, I firmly believe, can be seen in the fact that
my Fearless Foursome have grown up to teach their own children to be brave and confident, to take to the High Ropes with glee.
Me? I’ll just stay here, with
my feet firmly on the ground and applaud their courage...