By Maia Russell
My little grand-daughter, Holly,
was very bright -- even I, a very biased Grannie,
could see that. At not quite three, she could
already draw a very wobbly capital H for her name.
We were on our way to the park.
Holly insisted on walking, and pushing her own
stroller We stopped on the way to admire a pink
rose-bush;- "Pettie fower!" and a tortoise-shell
cat, asleep under it- "Look! Pussy!"
There was a large football and and
rugby pitch in the main park. A couple of very tall
Pacific islanders in striped jerseys were kicking a
rugby ball around. One of them kicked a beautiful
shot,...it circled in a high curve over the high
goal-post.
Suddenly, Holly rushed to the
white marked touch-line. Standing arms akimbo, legs
astride, in her little pinafore, she shouted at the
boys.
"No boys,-no!----Holly!"
The men turned ,saw this tiny
little girl shouting at them, and looked totally
bemused! They grinned at her, and carried on
playing.
It wasn't until we were walking
home,{Holly tired by this time, and happy to be
pushed in her stroller}, that i twigged what had
happened.
The tall rugby goal-post had been
shaped like a giant letter H for Holly. She had been
furious with them for kicking a ball over her own
name, -her H for Holly. |
