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Ouch!
Football,
with the men. He’d waited a long time.
Excitedly, like a small child, he hopped into
the cold red shorts. Unaware how thankful he
should be that he was still wearing his
tracksuit bottoms.
Someone
bellowed up the stairs for him to hurry up,
snapping his gaze away from the small tornado of
leaves as it danced it’s way across the field
they would soon head to. Shouting “Coming!”
he grabbed his boots and headed downstairs,
careful not to run, but hurrying. Some of the
guys were already outside with the ball, kicking
it against the small front garden walls. He
didn’t notice the “aaaahhhh’s” coming
from the kitchen as he passed the soon to be
left women.
His
Dad stood in the open doorway waiting for him,
his annoyance rising as his temperature dropped.
“You haven’t even got your boots on, come
on, sit down.” Obediently he dropped to the
doorstep, covering his Dad’s hands in mud as
he passed him the boots. “What have I told you
about cleaning these?” Oh, no. He didn’t
want to get in trouble, he just wanted to play.
But then he had been told to keep them clean, so
he knew he should have. He said as much to his
Dad, which averted any trouble. After what
seemed like seconds he was on his feet, running
towards the ball that the lads had just passed
back to him. His small feet only moved the ball
forward, fifteen or twenty feet. But to him it
seemed like the biggest kick in the world. It
went from off the field, to on the field! One of
the guys ran back to get the ball, but
Denees’s Dad came from behind him, and hoofed
it almost into outer space, bounding after it,
following it into the pack of players.
The
leaf tornado seemed to be hiding from the
players Denee thought as he ambled over to the
players. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to grow
up if it meant that he would have to play out in
weather like this. Not only did he have a jumper
on, but he also had two Ian Rush T-shirts on,
and everyone knew that Rush never let cold get
in the way of scoring goals. He chuckled to
himself as the players disappeared behind a fog
of his cold breath.
After
two or three minutes he had made his way to the
goalpost, he wanted to watch for a while, to see
whether he was good enough to play. As he
watched some of the men were huffing and
puffing, one even took his arrival at the post
as a cue for a fag break.
Denee
was watching the warm looking end of the mans
fag when he heard his Dad call his name. Shout
his name. He looked , but instead of finding his
Dad, his eyes focused on the ball as it bounced
a foot away from him. He froze. Screwing his
face up as tight as it would go as the ball
floated up to smash him square in the groin.
After
a second he opened his eyes, it didn’t hurt,
oh praise be it didn’t hurt.
He was about to run towards those now running to
him when the pain came, apparently bringing its
friends and family. Denee dropped to the ground,
trying to screw his face up tighter.
His
Dad, and some of the others, came bounding over,
concern spread across his face. “Easy son”
His Dad suggested, trying to prise the boys head
from his chest, which wasn’t easy. “Does it
hurt?”
“Aaaarrgghh, my balls!” Denee half joked,
half screamed.
“You OK son?” his Dad smiled down on him. By
now all he players were gathered round the small
boy.
“Will be” replied Denee through a half
smile.
“Right, then go and tell your mother where you
learnt to speak like a sailor, go on.” His Dad
stood up and moved away, urging the others to
follow him.
Shoulders drooped in shame, Denee walked off the
field.
Once the boy was out of sight, the men on the
field burst out in laughter, Denee's Dad
laughing loudest of all. He had only just
managed to keep from laughing when the small boy
swore, bless him, he thought.
Downhearted,
with tears still in his eyes, he took his boots
off in the doorway, and walked into the kitchen.
The tears made steam rise from his face. He
hadn’t even kicked a ball, but he had said
Balls, and he knew he wasn’t allowed. Now he
was sure to get a telling off from Mum as well.
Once
she was sure that he wasn’t too badly hurt she
listened to what had happened outside. An untold
smile crept round the room as the story
unfolded.
Once he was finished she leant in to him and
asked “what should you have said?”.
Desperate to stay out of trouble he sheepishly
looked round at the other faces, finally resting
his gaze back on his mother.
“Ouch?”
he offered.
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