The day she watched the movie "Bhaag Milkha Bhaag" with us, she was keen on becoming a runner. She even made us buy her running shoes the very next day. Since then, all she wanted to do was run. She ran with Papa dear, with me, with her Grandpa, inside the house, in the balcony, in the park, and just anywhere she could.
Today was the day when she had to run her very first race; little, but very crucial, because it was her first, even if it was a little one organized as a part of the "Ganapati festival" events in our society. She woke up fine, had milk, had toast, and was all ready to race in her favorite running shoes, showing them off and running just everywhere. I kept cheering her and told her the dos and the donts of the race.
"Do not push, do not look at anyone else, run as fast as you can, and don't stop until you reach the finish line."
She started off fine, did not push, did not look at anyone else, ran as fast as she could, and reached the finish line (not first though). The kid behind her bumped into her by mistake, and there she was, face down, on the ground. My mind went blank. All I could see and hear was her tears (and the little bump on her forehead).
More than her, it was I who felt bad. I felt bad about how her first race ended. Nothing big. Kids run. They fall. They get hurt. They cry. Everything is perfectly normal. But I, as a Mommy, felt bad for San. Had she not fallen, I would have been good. It was a perfectly normal Mommy thing.
Holding her bandaged elbow and rubbing the bump on her head, San said, "I don't like running, Mommy."
"But you stood third, San! That is good enough for your first race." I tried to make her feel better.
"But Mommy, explain me how standing third in your first race is good enough? Tell me, Mommy, tell me!" San asked.
I have a big task ahead of me!
Today was the day when she had to run her very first race; little, but very crucial, because it was her first, even if it was a little one organized as a part of the "Ganapati festival" events in our society. She woke up fine, had milk, had toast, and was all ready to race in her favorite running shoes, showing them off and running just everywhere. I kept cheering her and told her the dos and the donts of the race.
"Do not push, do not look at anyone else, run as fast as you can, and don't stop until you reach the finish line."
She started off fine, did not push, did not look at anyone else, ran as fast as she could, and reached the finish line (not first though). The kid behind her bumped into her by mistake, and there she was, face down, on the ground. My mind went blank. All I could see and hear was her tears (and the little bump on her forehead).
More than her, it was I who felt bad. I felt bad about how her first race ended. Nothing big. Kids run. They fall. They get hurt. They cry. Everything is perfectly normal. But I, as a Mommy, felt bad for San. Had she not fallen, I would have been good. It was a perfectly normal Mommy thing.
Holding her bandaged elbow and rubbing the bump on her head, San said, "I don't like running, Mommy.""But you stood third, San! That is good enough for your first race." I tried to make her feel better.
"But Mommy, explain me how standing third in your first race is good enough? Tell me, Mommy, tell me!" San asked.
I have a big task ahead of me!
