I’m not a sports person, never have been, but I figured maybe I could handle golf. During this COVID-19 outbreak, golfing is one of the few things left do with with kids. We hit up the local Facebook marketplace, bought some second hand clubs, and headed out.
I took Six and Seven along because both girls have been stuck in the house for a month and some fresh air and sunshine was needed by all. Seven had seemed a bit off on Monday, and again today, obviously not herself but unable to pinpoint to me why or what she was actually feeling. I was concerned, but chocked it up to hormones, life, and I don’t even know what.
We had one bag of clubs that the girls were sharing. So of course the immediate action taken by both was not to gaze around, basking in the fresh air and beautiful course before us, but to start arguing over who was going to carry the bag. I yelled, settled the matter, and we carried on. Three holes into the par 3 course and Seven had had enough. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a beautiful graphite golfclub go winging through the air, with the intended targert of her big sister directly within her sights.
I think the entire golf course heard me demanding what in the name of all that is holy was she THINKING!!! The obvious answer is that she wasn’t. The red hot rage of grievous injustice had taken over, and she could no longer contain her feelings.
Our day improved when we realized the bottom of their new-to-us golf bag had broken and the clubs were poking through. At this point Seven sat down in the middle of the green and refused to get up. Being the intituve, emotionally compentent guru that I am, I ignored the part of me that said I should sit right down and work through what was happening inside her to upset her so much, and went straight to berating and threatening that she better get her ungrateful butt off that grass and onto the court. After all she had been badgering me to try this stupid game for a month, and the first time we’re out she’s going to pull this?! I don’t think so.
After a long and tenuous golf game, we arrived home.
I received a phone call from her teacher, and finally clued in.
Her teacher, Miss C., mentioned that she’d been off for the last two days. Just seemed really down and not interested in anything, almost hopeless. I mentioned she had been to see her father on Sunday and her teacher immediately said “ah, that makes sense now.” Kind of took me by surprise until I stopped to think about it.
Seven and I sat down for a cuddle and a talk. Once again a ten year old was carrying the burdens of a forty year old, and it was crushing her.
How do you help a kid figure out that it’s not their responsibility to fix their dad, to find him friends, to take away his sadness, to clean up his life?We prayed for her and her daddy, talked it through, and I let her go. She’s getting back to her normal self. And then she asks me this:
“Can I go for lunch with dad today?”