Every second Friday, routine now sees self, The Boy, and his Dad, drive over to the young cricketers' training session. Boy plays cricket, Dad reads a book or goes for a run, and I help out with the coaching. It's a comfortable enough set-up.
Last night, we probably stuck around for just a little bit too long, though it was fun having general knockabout time with the young guns - a largely bright and funny bunch. That is, whilst the wind is with them.
Getting into the car, The Boy realised that he forgot to have the drink that was bought for him about an hour earlier, and so suggested we return for him to have a drink. Dad and I were as one, 'You can wait, we'll be home in 10 minutes'. Cue tantrum - a rare thing, but a thing of tiredness and layered frustration nonethless. Some effort towards reasoning occurred, but this was upset that he'd just have to burn off. Barking his frustration from the back seat, we were struck with:
'You two are the worst parents I've ever had!'
Dad turned to me, observing, 'Seems you're Dad, too'.
'It was a beautiful moment', I agree.
A few minutes later, sitting on the doorstep of home (having peeled himself from Dad's car), The Boy accepted a glass of water. As a concession that was by my design and at Bio-Dad's despite-himself approval, it made for an awkward moment. I could feel Bio-Dad calling upon more reserves of patience than he knew he had. Quietly patting down The Boy's talk of 'I'm staying here, tonight' - he offered no real resistance - I kind of wished he was, but was also glad that he wasn't. He's been my little rock, of late. He scored his first competitive boundary (four runs), last weekend, too.