Stan chucked the alarm clock across the room and it shattered into bits. It still works but is held together by super glue.
It struck me – why not do a sort of Generation Game in reverse - ie we don't get to keep hold of any of the stuff – and name, in one minute, all the things he’s broken. Here goes:
· Plasma TV
· Three ipods
· His cousin’s camera
· Lampshade (frosted glass)
· Cuddly toy (ripped the head off – OK, I made that one up for artistic licence)
· Threw ice against the car when it was snowing, leaving dents
· A pair of earings (like two of the ipods, they went flying over the fence next door)
· Photos ripped
There’s more, but I give up.
Didn’t he do well?
And why did I do this to myself? Well, it’s difficult at times to rise above it all and think about how I felt nine years ago standing outside Great Ormond Street wondering if he was going to make it. In that context, a few things smashed can be laughed off. I can afford to guffaw in the face of broken things.
We had a note in his home-school book the other day. It said “Stan had a good day.” The items above; several hundred pounds. The comment in the book; priceless.
Good game. Good game.