113. An the phone rang (3/3)

He wants to know if I have any questions. I have one. It is rather mundane but hey I need to know. So I ask.

'Will I have to drive him to matches at weekends ?'

As I said it I realised - too late - that it was not a good question to ask. The bad-mother question! And there was me trying to make a good impression. 

'Of course, we are counting on you to support him and therefore to come along! As for the driving, no, you won't have to chauffeur him.'

I do my best not to sound happy about not having to be the on-duty chauffeur and I also do my best to sound thrilled at the prospect of spending my weekends on the side of a freezing pitch watching rugby men zig-zag around a muddy pitch in the middle of winter when all of a sudden a rather intelligent question springs to my mind. 

'Is there anything my son could do this summer to prepare for this ?'

Now, that is a good question, the type of question a perfect mother would ask. 

'Yes.' He says.

There we are. A good question. 

'He must do some - ' He uses a word that I do not understand, some technical pro-sounding word to refer to exercise. I do not want to sound stupid after my intelligent question and so I write the word down thinking I will google it later.

'And he should do school work.'

Now I nearly choke on that. I am siting down which is just as well because the shock is quite sudden and brutal.

'School work?' I am almost yelling. School work! Does he want to ruin the rest of my summer holiday?

'Yes, school work. He can get ahead where he can and catch up where he should.' 

'Yes ... Okay ...'  I am now furiously scribbling on my piece of scrap paper. 

'And he must read.'

Now this is getting unreal. Has this man been reading my blog and seen how I have struggled to get him through the 200 pages of The Great Gatzby'? Does he know I failed to get him to read even one short poem from a collection called alcohol? I straighten up on my chair.

'Yes, he must read some classics. As many books as he can as he will not have time to read once the school year starts.'

Oh no, that is dreadful! I have made the wrong decision! I cannot possibly let my son disappear to a school where he won't have time TO READ! 

'Yes, reading is soooo important! Any particular titles?' I sing-song like some deranged woman.

'He will get a shock. They all get a shock when they get here. They find it really hard going. By the time dinner is over all they can do is collapse and fall asleep. So they must do school work before hand, what they do ahead is what they won't have to do come September. And he must read! General knowlegde and being able to talk books is also important.'

He is off. Just like me when I start lecturing my kids. I don't know if this is good or bad.

'And you know, rugby men are not just strength and speed, they do have brains too ... and ...'

Everything is getting fuzzy now. I must be dreaming. I'll wake up soon.

Some sound, a mix of surprise and wonder comes out of my mouth. I probably sound like a duck. Somehow I manage to end the conversation in a polite way, put the phone down and start a frantic search for the reading list I chucked in the bin. I go to my son's bedroom and chuck the contents of the waste paper basket onto the floor.