When my son was at school he was no good at sport. He hated the days he had to change into his
sports gear and participate in what was for him humiliation. In those days teachers were not so tolerant
of pupils who didn’t get sport. To make things worse, his classmates made fun
of him too.
Then one September he came home from the first sports lesson
of the year full of himself. A new teacher
had arrived and introduced the boys to hockey. For some reason my son took to
this sport really well. He’d had a
growth spurt during the holidays and was becoming stronger. Apparently once he was armed with a hockey
stick there was no stopping him. He soon
became chosen for the team that was created to represent the school.
As the first term sped by, my son went from strength to
strength, not only in sport, but in his academic work too. He continued to grow taller and was turning
into a good looking, popular young man. Life was good.
One morning he woke up and when he got out of bed, he could
hardly walk. His back was very painful
and he found it difficult to stand up straight.
Of course, we took him to see the doctor who ordered X-rays and therapy
and a visit to a specialist. The
specialist listened to his history and asked about sport and how that had been
going. My son proudly explained how he’d
done so well once he started playing hockey.
At the mention of the word hockey the doctor scratched his chin thoughtfully. He explained that my son had grown to be exceptionally tall and the constant leaning forward with the hockey stick was putting a strain on his back. Hockey, which had helped my son so much, was damaging his back.
Creative Writing Prompts No. 317
