'Tick, tack.. tick, tack..'
The haze was back.
The air was stifling and hot.
And there were no plans made for the day.
Amidst the dreariness of the hot Saturday morning, there was a constant yet erratic 'ticking tacking' that could be heard through the otherwise quiet morning.
S and me were playing 'Door Tennis'.
This was much like table tennis, except we didn't have the table or a net.
Lunging within the confined space in the living room behind the door, we would take turns hitting the ping pong ball against the door like we were playing a game of squash, but in slower motion.
As we held our worn out racquets as professionally as we could, we moved back and forth hitting the ping pong as if we were really playing doubles in a game, and the wooden door was our formidable opponent.
We giggled when the ball hit an odd corner and rebounded onto the loaf of bread.
We snickered as it rolled between our feet while we were comically trying to pick it up.
We laughed whenever one of us lost our balance and sat onto the floor when our exhausted legs gave way between mid-squats.
Playing Door Tennis was hard work!
For a boy who is turning 9, S has been growing day by day in his own ways. During these growing up years, there have been many activities that he has gradually stopped enjoying with me.
He doesn't enjoy doing arts and crafts with me now. Unless I coerce him into doing it, he would very much prefer to indulge in his own activities.
He doesn't stick with me as much as he used to, preferring to stay at home if I were to go for a round of grocery shopping.
He doesn't readily surrender his hand when I reach out to hold him while crossing the road. 'I'm big already. I know how to cross by myself' he would tell me as he stubbornly held his hand by his side.
And so, it slowly begins. This turning of age and independence. The steadily increasing manifestation of his personality. In the not too distant future, the time will come when I have to let go of his hand totally, and let him make his travels alone.
In the meantime however, as we progress to more big-boy activities like Door Tennis, I will be thankful for small slices of time like these that he enjoys spending with me.
At the end of our unorthodox tennis session, we were both sweaty, drained and out of breath.
The haze was back.
The air was stifling and hot.
And there were no plans made for the day.
But it was a glorious, mother-son morning.
