The U14 team run onto the field. I see him. His tall frame is
not difficult to miss. I am glad to see he is wearing his scrumcap. His legs are
strapped. I remember that he proudly
announced that he was the person to catch the ball in the lineouts. Somehow, he
reminds me of Victor Matfield. The same loping gait, tufts of hair peeking
through his scrumcap.
I feel a lump work
its way to my throat, my jaw tingles. I recognise the feeling. The sobs are
going to break through; the sobs threaten to overpower me. I am glad I am at
the far end of the field – hidden behind my Canon. I cannot help the tears that
break through as I watch my baby run onto the field. I am proud but I am also
scared shitless. I have lived through one son’s passion for rugby. Now another
has decided to follow his footsteps. All I can do is watch. Hide my feelings.
And pray. Pray that after each game he will emerge intact and stronger. That is
my job as a mom. A job that weighs heavily on my heart.
