Friday, January 30, 2009

Georgia, the All Black

It was Rugby World Cup time and Georgia was becoming a rugby fan.

During one of her usual weekend visits I was sitting on a single lounge chair reading to her and she was perched on the arm of the chair with her arm around my neck, leaning on me and looking at the pages over my shoulder.

The story was about a little train that was learning to stay on the tracks, no matter what. Usually this story is followed by Georgia telling me how she is going to be a train when she grows up and stay on the tracks. But not this time. This time she says she's not really going to be a train when she grows up, that's just pretend, she's really going to be an All Black.

“Oh, you're going to be an All Black?” I respond trying hard to keep a serious face.

Georgia sits up, puts a hand on either side of my face and turns my head to face her. She then tilts my face upward with a finger under my chin, so that I was looking directly into her eyes.

Then she tells me, ever so seriously -

“Now, Granny, you must be very brave! I will get hurt, All Blacks do get hurt!”

I must have looked suitably stricken.

The following weekend when she breezed through the door she announced, “I'm not really going to get hurt, Granny. I'm going to fight - like Tony Woodcock!”
(a story from 2007, just after Georgia started school)

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