I do worry though Phil, I worry that we're putting unnecessary pressure on him.
Their 6-year-old son, Kye, was often the topic of conversation.
But that is how everyone gets on Lorna. We can't wrap him up in a safety blanket.
Phil loved challenges in his work life, Lorna was initially attracted to his aggressive style when she first started to notice him at their work many years ago.
He looked at his wife, her eyes showed that she clearly did not agree. He knew that look.
Ok, well we can, but a bit of failure in life does no-one any harm, even young Kye needs to realise that, he said.
The assessment is just 10 bloody days away, she said. What are we doing? We are actually setting him up to fail, what's the point in doing that to our son?
The challenge they were talking about had been set a couple of months ago, a detail Lorna has never forgotten and regrets bitterly. Kye needs to swim 25 metres of the pool; one length, unaided, without stopping, in order to gain his badge. He has been taking swimming lessons for several months, with either Lorna or Phil observing from the sidelines. Every other weekend, they both take him to the pool so that he can enjoy their company with some fun splashing around in the water. This is where they had been this morning. This was why young Kye was currently taking a nap on the sofa with his favourite dvd playing on the tv in the background.
Lorna was feeling uneasy, her tea was getting cold. She was noticing this happening more and more often, cold tea. There really are not enough hours in the day she pondered.
Phil shook her out of her daydream by actually responding to her question: he can do it love, he can.
He bloody well can't Phil and you sodding well know it. This morning he got just over half way, as you bloody well know because I had to stop him from drowning because he couldn't stand on the floor. She banged the tea down on the kitchen top, her heart was racing, she felt nauseous.
Phil walked over to her and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
Yea, I know, but we still have 10 days....
She turned to face him.
Yes, that is one more swimming lesson Phil and if we go again next weekend, one more time with us. It is not enough.
It is babes...
Lorna hates it when he calls her babes.
... all he has to do is build his stamina some more, he added.
Lorna stepped away from Phil's contact. She could feel the pressure in her head. She glanced over to Kye to check he was still snoozing. Her heart was heavy in her chest and pulsing wildly.
Listen to me Phil. He can't reach the other side because he runs out of breath....
Yes I know, but....
Just listen will you? His body is not flat in the water, his feet are too low, in other words, babes, his technique.... technique is preventing him from being able to make the progress needed. He runs out of steam because....
Phil could sense his anger levels rising. He detested the idea of making excuses for failure. His father had brought him up to recognise that making excuses is simply condoning failing in life. He was not going to allow his own son to be surrounded by failure due to making excuses.
What you do Lorna is, he pointed directly at her face in direct timing with the "you". He continued: keep telling him he can achieve it, surround him in positivity, it works Lorna.
She looked at him directly. My God, she thought. Is he bloody well saying that I'm preventing Kye from achieving by how I interact with him?
She suddenly realised she had momentarily stopped inhaling and took a deep breath in.
Jack is fed up.
I'm fed up.
It is 4.45pm. He is in his room, everything was normal. Music on. Snack on his desk. A typical 16 year old's bedroom. Utter chaos littering nearly every inch of the carpet. Mugs, glasses, cereal bowls, towels, discarded clothes, ironed clothes, pants here, socks there.
Bloody hate school.
Jack is tapping in his daily journal into his laptop. He is pretty good at doing it every day. He might miss the odd day if maybe he had stayed at a mates house, but generally, he gets around to it every day.
What is the point of it? I feel like no-one is listening to me.
He paused, just to listen to this particular bit of the song.
I know I'm going to shit out my GCSE's, what is the point in doing them? Their trying to force me to do more and more at school, here at home, lunch times, after school, I'm getting detentions, on the tracker, shit, what is it all for? I've got absolutely no interest in fucking plants, clouds or old wars. Who fucking cares? Not me. They say "Well Jack, it will affect your grades, and then you wont get accepted to a decent Uni". I don't want to go to fucking Uni! Do they not get that bit?
I..don't..want..to..go..to..fuck..ing..u..ni
This has been going on for 3 years now. Exams, grades, uni, apprenticeships (yea right), interviews, cv. Responsibility, perseverance (however you fucking spell it, good job I'm on my pc), fucking discipline, focus.
I fool around you fuckers, because I'm bored shitless. Don't you fucking get that? How many mock tests have I been forced to do now? Do they like telling me how shit I am or something. "Do you realise we haven't told Jack how dumb he is for a day and a half? Would you believe it? Best we set him another mock fucking test". I'm pretty sure they want me to bin it all. They want to grind me down so that I feel so shit, I just leave the fucking school. Guess that means it somehow helps their figures.
He paused. He knew his shoulders were scrunched tight. He thought about going to play with the dog for a minute. He could sense his eyes welling up. He knew what he wanted to do, but felt so helpless.
God, I'm useless.
What I don't get is that I love my snooker. I'm getting good. I'm getting better I suppose, not good. There's a point when I practice. If I cock up, my coach John tells me, and I can do something about it. I know that if I don't practice, I don't improve, and I don't win the matches I play. I know that. What I don't get is why do they keep making me do these stupid bloody tests? I'm not getting better. I just keep being told I'm shit. It makes me feel sad.
At that very point, a tear fell from his left eye.
Fuck it.
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