Regular readers (look, a joke in the first two words!) will know that over the last few years, this column has featured a number of updates on the Canary indoctrination of our two children.
There have been several highlights: our son, at two, refusing to play with a blue ball at his toddler gym club and insisting on a yellow one; our daughter making up her own Norwich chant to wind up Ipswich supporters on holiday (a real show of chutzpah, since this was just after we’d been relegated to League One).
All seemed to be going to plan. But I should have remembered that all roads have their setbacks and holdups, whether it’s the A11 near Elveden or the path to Premier League safety.
The first sign of trouble came just before Christmas when Harry (now six) came home from school and asked if he could support Chelsea like all the other boys in his class.
I said that he was perfectly free to support whichever team he liked, so long as he understood that there are consequences to all actions and decisions and that in this case it would involve him sleeping in the shed.
(Note to NSPCC supporters: this was a joke. Note to NCFC supporters: no, it wasn’t.)
That seemed to do the trick, and soon he was back on the straight and narrow – or the green and yellow, if you prefer.
But then three or four weeks ago, he came home from his after-school football club in tears. Apparently the other boys – and the Chelsea-supporting coach – had been making fun of his allegiance. ‘Why do you make me support Norwich?’ he asked me angrily.
It seems the coach had asked them all to name a great striker. Harry, who had been at the Everton game and witnessed his cracking header, suggested Kei Kamara. No one else had heard of him. Laughter all round.
Unfortunately, Harry isn’t yet able to make caustic comebacks about oligarchs, racist remarks or megabucks strikers who’ve lost their spark, and felt crushed.
I’d forgotten how hard it can be to feel alone and different when you’re younger.
I’m used to it now, of course; I’ve had years of working for companies where I was the only Norwich fan in the building. (That said, City supporters do turn up in unexpected places every now and then. A couple of weeks ago, there was an old boy on the R68 bus in Twickenham wearing the scarf. Was it you?)
And I’m not at all bothered these days about being largely shunned by the mothers at the school gates on account of my penis. (This is, I should make clear, an issue of possession rather than exposure.)
But for Harry, being mocked for being different was difficult to take. And it was difficult for me to watch, since I’d put him in that situation.
At Carrow Road, we like to tease supporters of big clubs by singing ‘We support our local team’. But for Harry, Norwich isn’t his local team. He was born in Kingston and has lived in south-west London for the whole of his short life. (His local League team is actually AFC Wimbledon.)
Although he and his sister happily sing ‘I’m City born and bred’ to the Norwich version of Just Can’t Get Enough, neither of them has spent much time in the Fine City – and there’s no prospect of them living there any time soon. Their allegiance to a football club 125 miles away is solely down to me.
I did some soul-searching – and having finally located one, I reluctantly came to the conclusion that perhaps I wasn’t being fair to them. I wouldn’t make our children adopt my religious beliefs even if I had any, so why should I do the same with my football team?
‘You don’t have to wear your Norwich kit to football next week if you don’t want to,’ I told him. He said he’d think about it.
Sadly, I began to come to terms with the idea that my son might support a different team. But then…
The next Sunday afternoon, I was watching the second half of the Sunderland game on TV when Harry came in. ‘Can I watch it with you?’ he asked. ‘Course you can,’ I said, making a mental note to keep my thoughts on the match officials mental rather than verbal.
We watched City’s stout rearguard action together – and then he said it:
‘Do you think we’ll hang on, Dad?’
‘We’. A simple two-letter word that showed he was back in the fold.
The final whistle was greeted with a synchronised father-son fist pump. And the following Tuesday, he went to his football session proudly wearing his Norwich kit as usual.
He scored two goals and the coach (who, to be fair to him, apologised for the previous week’s remarks) commented on how well he’d done.
If the boys are asked to name a great striker again, and Harry says ‘Ricky van Wolfswinkel’, I don’t think anyone will be laughing.
Well OK, someone might.
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Loving that Kev, beautifully written and observed. My sister will never let me forget that one of the very first phrases my nephew learnt to say was “Chrissy Martin is magic!” -“whose….”, she says, glaring, “…influence was that?”.
I’m totally there with this Kevin. My 5 year old has started making noises about Manchester United (we live in Bedford so obviously he would go this way…) despite my strict NCFC upbringing of him. Sunderland game though he then pulled it round by getting dressed into full kit and watching it with me. He also insisted I wear a full kit as well which I happily obliged…
Lovely stuff.
I am an expat myself, and as much as i’ve ‘tried’ to care about other teams that are nearer where i live, i just can’t.
Norwich city took my heart when i was a boy and no other team can give me warm glow when we get points on the board, (or that semi-suicidal depression when we lose 7-1!)
These days, in my late 20’s, i love being the only city fan, and I love the interactions with my friends and colleagues with other footballing allegiances. particularly when we beat the arsenals and the man utds.
Brilliant article again, sent tingles down the spine. I will soon have the same dilema although the choice, still being yellow, will not be so tricky given that we live in Oxford. Norwich will win 1-2 this weekend, trust me.
My old man said follow the van…Wolfswinkel! Just hope his bite is as good as his bark so kids of today will look back with pleasure and not pain.
Did you paint the kids bedroom yellow and green? Bit of subliminal colour suggestion would do the trick. If they are waking up to it every morning, then allegiance is guaranteed surely?
Right there with you Kev – As an exiled fan living in Leicester (“I have to live here, but I wanna go home”) my sons are the only ones wearing the Yellow & Green at football training. That said, our recent rise to greatness (compared to Leicester anyway) has meant they’ve actually had a bit more respect for it, though one of them was actually called a “Gloryhunter” the other day – Fantastic!
Nice piece Kevin. City fans turn up in the most unusual places. Last summer I was walking along a street in Bulgaria when my daughter (20 years old and over the idea of ever supporting anyone else!) screamed with delight when she noticed a gnarled, walnut skinned, old bloke sitting outside a bar smoking his pipe and drinking a beer proudly wearing a City Shirt. We approached him and said very slowly “WE ARE FROM NORWICH”. Why do we shout at foreign people?
He looked at us and said equally slowly, “THAS NOICE BOI. OM FROM OLD CATTON. OM HERE ON HOL’DY”.
Russell: Yes, I did the yellow bedroom painting. I also bought the kids a yellow and green Fimble and NCFC pyjamas – and when they very young, I used some unconventional songs to try and get them to sleep at night. Clearly not entirely foolproof, though.
Brilliant read and as a dad of 3 boys can understand your issues, I had for a short while an arsenal, man utd and Chelsea supporter. But luckily for me being a season ticket holder and living in our fine city two of my boys one from the age of 5 the youngest and one being from the age of 12 decide yellow and green was the way to go. Unfortunately the oldest is a lost cause and at 17 now still supports Chelsea much to the rest of the houses disgust. But I think two out of three is not bad :0)
I remember taking my 2 sons out at age 5 & 7 and we were buying lunch boxes for school. The eldest had a NCFC lunch box no problem, the youngest wanted a Man U lunch box like everyone else at school. I refused to buy the Man U lunch box. I was not spending my “Hard Earned Money” on produce that may benefit Man U. This caused a little disagreement as my wife thought I was being childish. I stood my ground. Both are now season ticket holders at Carrow road. They have been for six seasons and what six seasons they have experienced. The depths and the highs far greater than any Man U fan would have experienced.
One of my proudest moments as a City fan and parent was when we lived in Wales in the early 90’s and seeing the kids football training with all the red shirts of Liverpool, Arsenal and Man Utd- and just one yellow one – shining like a beacon.
Kevin – sounds like you did pretty much everything humanly possible except maybe employ a hypnotist to induce lifelong devotion.
Just hope that, like myself, they find the righteous path with age and maturity. It’ll help if we stay in the PL of course.
I don’t usually take my kids to the pub but I make an exception on Christmas Day. A few years ago we went for pre turkey drinks in our West Midlands local. When we got there, much to my horror there was a bloke in a shellsuit blue 1p5wich shirt which someone who doesn’t like him must have bought. Without any kind of urging from me, my nine year old daughter stood behind him loudly singing On The Ball,City. It made my Christmas and the look of surprise on his face was a joy to behold.
My son was born in exile in Harlow, and started his school life amongst Arsenal, Spurs and West Ham supporters (the numbers of each varying with who was doing best at the time), but he stuck to his upbringing and proudly wore his City strip whenever possible. We moved back to God’s own county when he was seven, and he’s been true ever since, as are his own two children.
(I secretly think that part of the attraction of being a City fan in Harlow was that he enjoyed being different – the other kids even nicknamed him “Norwich”).
You might want to see a vicar about your possessed member frightening the ladies at the school gates 😉
I don’t have kids but if all else fails you could try stopping their pocket money if they support another team. Harsh..but fair. Do kids even get pocket money still?
To date Gowers jnr has shown no inclination to anyone other than the yellow and green, but alas there’s still time. While I’ve been fortunate in not having to try too hard to point him in the right path, considerable effort has gone into highlighting the wrong… the very wrong… path. And so far so good; while his mum thinks his aversion to all things blue is unhealthy, dad finds it rather endearing.
Nice piece. As an Edinburgh born Scot whose followed ‘City for about 40 years, I can empathise with the being different feeling. Can’t explain my ‘City passion, but knew I wanted nothing to do with the religously divided drivel that is so much of the Scottish game. Bit akward joining in the “We Support Our Local Team” chants though!!!!
Living in Gloucester my sons allegiance has been tested by ‘big’ clubs and some sport called rugby. He did weaken once & suggested he could support another team as well. I explained he could, but he’d never watch a game with me or his Uncle. A little harsh but seemed to do the trick. Now 6, he took a far more mature role during the Sunderland game. Sensing my mild annoyance with the officials he kept on holding my hand & saying “I love you Daddy!” He’ll get used to the stress of being a Norwich fan soon!
Some encouragement, Kevin:
My two sons, born and raised in Hertfordshire, were taken to Norwich games from a very early age — but away games in London or the Midlands, as the 260-mile round trip to Carrow Road seemed too far for 90 mins.
When, eventually, we thought they could tolerate the longer journey to the Fine City for football (rather than visiting relies or holidays), both boys were amazed that there were so many wearing yellow and green. Because they’d only been to away games, they’d thought being a Norwich fan was a minority pastime.
Son One drifted away from football while at uni. Son Two remains a proper fan. I am now working on our first grandchild. She’s only 14 months, but there’s no such thing as too early.