Libby has been cock-a-doodle-dooing and flapping her arms all week.
“Cheer for the Roosters!”
“Go the Roosters!”
“The mighty, mighty Roosters!”
“The Roosters are our team!”
I’m not the biggest spectator sports fan myself.
Sure, I get into the spirit when big productions roll around like the Olympics, World Cup and, in this case, the Australian Rugby League Grand Final.
But Libby – she’s been something else.
Her pop (my dad) is a Roosters fan and she has taken up the cause with massive enthusiasm.
She stayed up and watched the game on Sunday night (that’s pretty late for a three-year-old).
She clapped and hooted every time the Roosters scored or made an impressive tackle.
She asked what it meant when someone was awarded a penalty.
And none of it was the result of pressure from us.
Libby has become a genuine rugby league lover.
Funny then, that her baby brother Jonah (just nine months old) is the one who has a room full of football paraphernalia.
He actually has a Roosters club membership purchased for him by his pop the week he was born.
While I’ve been ranting about the way we shower girls in princess merchandise the moment they leave the womb, I hadn’t thought too much about the consequences of forcing the equivalent of stereotypical stuff on boys.
What if Jonah grows up preferring dollhouses to racing cars? What if he wants to dress up as a fairy rather than a super hero?
Like Libby, we’ll aim to give him a spectrum of choices and let him find his own way.
And whatever he chooses, we’ll support.
Now, we’re off to picket Pop for a Roosters membership for Libby.