Egg & spoon champ hits dizzy heights for his Maw
PUBLIC warning – today’s words were written by an emotional mother, aided by a large dose of nostalgia and a box of Kleenex. Sniff.
I’d become a Mother of Athletic Weans – and had the laundry to prove it
You see, over a decade ago I wrote a column on this page that began… “The tension mounts as the athlete steps up to the starting line. Ready. Steady… A sheen of sweat forms on his face. Teeth clench. Muscles flex. Go! He takes off, thundering past the roaring crowd, conjuring up the spectacle of those that have gone before him. Steve Ovett. Sebastian Coe. That bloke out of Chariots of Fire. “Moments later he claims his prize – a Nobbly Bobbly ice lolly and a pound that is not to be spent on anything containing E numbers. Yes, it’s that time of the year again – that melting pot of snot, sweat and tears that is school sports day.” The kid taking home the confectionery was fiveyear-old Low the Elder, and I cheered him from the sideline, while trying to dodge the competitive parents that showed up in Lycra, speed-dialling their personal trainer for tips before the primary one mothers’ race. Fast forward through his childhood, and this weekend I watched as my 16-yearold son competed in a sports day of a different kind. Sniff. Sorry, I’m welling up again. A few years ago, he started playing basketball, and ever since, our lives have been conducted to a soundtrack of thud, thud, thud, the volume increasing when his younger brother followed him on to the court. Both of them made the Scotland squads for their age groups, ironic given that my sporting pinnacle was winning the family Twister championship on Christmas Day, 1984.
Yet, somehow I’d become a MAW – that’s Mother of Athletic Weans – and I had the laundry pile to show for it.
Sadly, basketball doesn’t get much publicity in Scotland but hopefully that’ll change, because it’s a fantastic game for all ages, with a thriving community and top professional teams.
For years, Low The Elder played alongside a brilliant group of friends, and we’ve had dawn starts, nightly training runs, endless motorway miles and flights to international tournaments.
However, every trek and sore muscle was worth it, because last weekend the wee boy who won that Nobbly Bobbly was selected for the Scotland Senior Men team.
Out he went on to the court to play against Ireland on Friday and Wales on Sunday. Oh, the jubilations. Although, always keen to keep his feet on the ground, he may never let me forget that shortly after he got the news, I reminded him that he had to hoover his room.
I’ve never used my sons’ names in this column, choosing to protect their privacy while they grew up.
Now he’s 16, I’m lifting the ban for one week only.
Congratulations Callan Low, on picking up your first caps for your country. Your mother couldn’t be prouder.
Now, back to your hoovering, love. Sniff.