Mumma was never far away. There were times when she had to clench her fists; times when she had to shove her hands in her pockets. She was the most concerned, but probably also the one who realised that letting go was the only way.
Her son had a ball: constantly challenging himself and squealing out with pleasure when his sneakers slipped and he flipped base-over-apex. Even Dad could see that not only was their physical ability being challenged, but their openness to the challenge was changing the way their brain approached the world in which they lived.
|Sydney Park, the old Bee-hive kilns, St Peters|