I've raised three ungrateful children; the exception is Chocolate, my fourth - except dogs don't count. Phoebe, Phoebus and Fabian blame me - or my genes, to be precise - for making them 'vertically challenged' (yet the boys are taller than I am). Phoebe also accuses me of giving her short fingers. They never credit heredity for their talents in music.
In atonement for parental guilt, I tried my best to encourage my children's sports training from very early days, even though I was no sportsman myself. I took Phoebe to the children's playground as soon as she could walk and let her boldly - in fact, recklessly - swing sky high and climb the tall slide. She enjoyed hanging upside down from the monkey bars just to scare us.
Phoebus, in contrast, was quiet and sedentary. We had a small swing in the living room, and he sat in it all day making neither sound nor motion - until one day, when we heard him screaming and rushed in to find one of the chains had snapped. Phoebus was hanging on with one hand gripping the top bar, his legs kicking in mid air (well, he was all of 5cm from the floor). He did, however, prepare himself for throwing the shot-put or discus by seizing my pyjamas and hurling them out of the bedroom window.
Fabian, who would send his mother a Mother's Day card saying, 'You must be a proud mother to have a son like me', sent this reply to my e-mail asking him to refresh my memory about his early sports activities: 'I won in primary school [the] 100-metre race, being the fastest runner of the whole school, and that in spite of having parents who played no sports at all.'
My wife, Helena, who recalled this incident well, said he had told her that he won because during the race he felt an extremely urgent call of nature and so was rushing to go to the toilet as soon as possible.
When they were in primary school, we sent them for table tennis and swimming classes. Phoebe was again the early starter. At two years old, wearing a swimsuit for the first time, she led the way out of the changing room and leapt with a squeal of glee into the pool. The lifeguard - followed seconds later by me - had to dive in to save her. She went on to win competitions locally and overseas. She told me that in England, during a school swimming gala, she glanced at the blonde rivals threatening to overtake her, and her competitive spirit drove her to strive for victory 'for brunettes'.
Phoebus, too, shone in Vancouver aquatic meets in grade 13 and was champion of British Columbia at the provincial contest.
