The Boy Child attended a birthday party today ~ pizza making and bowling.
It was the first time that we had dropped him off and then left the premises.
We didn't go far, just across the carpark to the coffee shop.
We met up with the father of The Boy Child's best friend.
When we arrived to collect him (a little early so we could see what was going on), we found him bouncing like Tigger and obsessed with the bowling balls and the return mechanism (the thing that brings the balls back from behind the pins).
The noise was incredible.
Twenty eight lanes in use and booming
His classmate, Miss Z announced that The Boy Child had dropped a ball on her leg, on purpose.
We heard him shout "loser" at Miss Z when her ball went awry.
We saw him drop a ball in the rack without noticing that the birthday girl's older brother was taking a ball out.
You know what happened, don't you?
We saw him trying to "help" his friends by carrying the bowling balls.
They didn't want his help and told him so, some of them quite vociferously.
We saw him score a strike (is that the correct expression?), much to our astonishment.
We saw him finish with the highest score of all his classmates.
I saw the gulf beginning to widen.
I saw the sophistication of his classmates.
And I wanted to cry.