My little girl played football today

We’ve had a drawer full of suitably-sized football kit for some time. Castoffs from footballing cousins and gifts from Newcastle United supporting aunties and uncles.

She has never wanted to wear them before.

That’s not to say she hasn’t been interested in football. She loves sports camp in school holidays and at weekends football is always on. Plus, she’s been to games and shown not-too-disastrous levels of concentration.

Last week, she signed up for training with Hexham FC. She was quite excited, but this morning she wouldn’t wear any of her kit. Why couldn’t she wear her normal clothes? Her leggings or tracksuits, what about the t-shirt with the spangles?

The boots and the shinpads are club rules. The rest, I assured her, was what people wear when they played football. She eventually went with mismatched blue shorts and an orange shirt — both Newcastle strips from miserable eras past.

Every single item of clothing was a negotiation.

Just over an hour later she was finished.

We played in the rain! We didn’t stop!

Footballers play in the rain, Dad!

Did she want to change out of those wet things before we went to Granny’s?

Can I keep them on? I want to show Granny!

My daughter is almost two years into living in a new town in a new country. She’s fearless but also searching for her own identity as all kids are. In September she’ll go to big school.

I think she found a bit of herself today.