Julie Jay: Promise of jellies is the only way to field a team of under-8s in West Kerry

My two boys have always been fond of kick around, but sometimes they need a little extra persuasion 

The three days he spent back west really sold the sport to him, mostly of the very cool jersey provided, the sporting miracle which saw them all score a try and the sweets which were provided on the last day as a parting gift. Picture: iStock

I Can't have been the only one who found myself watching the European Athletics Championships and thinking to themself that with just a little push, that could have been me up there. Could I run for a bus? No. But perhaps if somebody had driven me to gymnastics back in the day, I too could be gliding from monkey bar to monkey bar in Birmingham a couple of weeks back.

To be fair to my parents, historically I have never been somebody to gravitate towards extracurricular activity, having been known to sit in a hostel dormitory finishing my psychological thriller while the rest of my pals embarked on a sky dive or windsurfed down a dormant volcano.

As such, I never know how far is too far when it comes to encouraging our kids in pursuing activities outside the home.

Football-wise, my two boys have always been fond of kick around - in that, if presented with a ball, they’ll happily kick it - but wouldn’t seek out much in the way of contact sport or organised training. Over the summer, I could count on one hand, using precisely two fingers, how often I got Number One into GAA training, but despite his slowness in heading off on both occasions, he had ended up having a great time.

Similarly, this was the first year he did the football camp for our local club, and he loved it. Not only did he enjoy the running around, he also came away with such a sense of love for the parish that I expected him to start whittling off Yeats at any minute: ‘My country is Kiltartan’s Cross/My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor.’ 

Even if the football never took off, if he is anything like his mother in college, then plenty of spoken word poetry readings and talking about feelings await.

Since I first attempted to get him into sport, I have been plagued by the internal struggle between wanting to allow him to discover what he wants to do hobby-wise and steering him in the direction of team activities, which I know will benefit him physically and socially in the long-run. The last two years, I have often found myself offloading onto friends, voicing my concern as to when to push my kids and when to go with them if they’re saying something isn’t for them.

As a parent, maybe what we need to be doing is less of a push and more of a nudge in the right direction, even if that direction is contemporary dance. I paid my dance dues last year when I attended a performance by Number One in Siamsa Tíre, a venue where I have performed countless times, but until then, had never seen it full. It was crammed with rows of parents cheering on their own personal Billy Elliott.

I was a little relieved when Number One decided hip hop might not be for him, and not just because if I had to listen to Bruno Mars one more time, I was seriously considering driving my car into the nearest ditch. The class time was tricky for me to get to after work, and it always resulted in me nearly having a coronary getting to the childminders and back on time. What I’m saying is, hip hop was just all around bad for my driving.

But I am still determined to expose my eldest to as many different potential hobbies as possible, and so it was that I brought him back to rugby camp over the summer, where it is safe to say he had a ball. The three days he spent back west really sold the sport to him, mostly of the very cool jersey provided, the sporting miracle which saw them all score a try and the sweets which were provided on the last day as a parting gift. I know Paul O'Connell is a big fan of the white stuff (milk), but he needs to understand that the promise of jellies is the only way to field a team of under-8s in West Kerry.

Every time I drove away from either football or rugby camp this summer, I got to thinking about how lovely the instructors were and how truly lucky we are to have so many people in our community willing to give up their time and their jellies to help ignite a spark for something in the kids. If anything, it got me feeling a little guilty about my lack of giving back.

I would love to volunteer at such things myself but sadly my talents start and end at my ability to interrupt somebody when they’re trying to share a personal story and list off European capitals unprompted.

Just this morning, I happened upon one of our Irish European medal winners breaking down what she does in a day to train, including getting up at 4.30am on weekdays.

Turns out my parents are officially off the hook, because getting up in the morning has always been a push too far for me, especially when I've been up all night revising European capitals.

A hobby is a hobby, after all.