Last week I spent $80 on soccer boots for my little boy.
I hadn't planned to mention that to anyone but my husband spilled the beans. The other soccer mums were horrified, pointing out - quite rightly - that I could have bought boots for $40. What happens if they don't fit next year? they asked. What happens if he doesn't play soccer next year?
Fair comments but they missed the point entirely.
For my little boy's entire life we have bought him only the cheapest of everything. Or we've made him go without. Or wear shoes with holes in them just a few more weeks. Or struggle into pyjamas two sizes too small. And, of course, 95% of his clothes have first belonged to his brother.
So there we are shopping for soccer boots and, finally, things are better financially, not wonderful, but better.
And soccer boots are amazing. Sure, there are some plain ones, but many of them are bright, multi-coloured explosions. My seven year old's eyes got bigger and bigger. 'I love those,' he said. 'No, those ones!' Finally, he settled on lairy gold boots with black pumas leaping across the tops. He tried them on, clomping delightedly across the floor. Done. I paid for them and he carried them out of the shop with a huge grin on his face.
If they don't fit next year, it doesn't matter.
If he decides not to play soccer next year, it doesn't matter.
For once, he got exactly what he wanted. At the next soccer training he pulled them on joyfully and ran across the pitch. He was still grinning. And so was I.
