Mum’s the Word on Valentine’s Day
Blogger Nicola Osborne questions young love
What a difference a year makes. Last February I looked on agog as my nearly eight-year-old son spent his own money on gifts for his freckle faced Valentine. This year, however, I think his pennies will be staying firmly in his Darth Vader money box which seems apt as he seems to have moved to the Dark Side.
My sweet, loving boy who was convinced he would marry the girl he lost his heart to on his first day at his last primary school now thinks that girls are “three headed demons in disguise”. I guess it’s an imaginative step up from girls smell at least.
I would whine on about not knowing how it happened but I know, I don’t need to ponder too much. My Romeo son was an anomaly, his over romantic, massively optimistic nature was straight from the mind of his starry eyed, romance writer mother. My sugary sentimentality was always at odds with his father’s staunch practicality. I was determined to raise a lover, not a smiter; I thought I’d done my job, I took my eye off the ball and the rose tint faded to nothing.
Just the other day he said to me “if I had to choose between the love of my life or going to university which would you encourage?” He had me. I couldn’t possibly say love, not to my son who has so much academic potential. I answered as a politician representing the Sentimentalist movement might answer: “I got a degree, I had a successful career. I have never been happier then I am right now. Why is that?” He hesitated a moment before saying “Love?” Perhaps there is yet time for him to find his Valentine, I’ll get some red card in, just in case.