My parents have always been very supportive of my hobbies, whatever they may be. They drove me to football matches, paid for guitar lessons, and encouraged me to write as often as I could. They didn’t really get video games – and still don’t to be perfectly honest – but acquiesced regardless when I wanted to spend my pocket money on a secondhand copy ofPokemon SilverorMario Kart DS. But the hobby they supported the most, in comparison to how much they understood it, wasWarhammer.
My parents had no interest in Warhammer. I guess they liked the creative side of it, the building and painting and stuff. But they definitely didn’t understand the game itself, despite the fact that I often laid out enormous Apocalypse battles that took over the entire living room for whole weekends at a time. They supported me and my friends with snacks, they bought me kits for my birthday, and they listened to me and my brother prattle on for hours in the back of the car on long journeys.
But a couple of weeks ago, my mum started followingmy Warhammer Instagram account, and that feels… Strange.
Astra Mum-itarum
Lots of people have multiple Instagram accounts these days. My so-called ‘main’ account is reserved for posting pictures of my family and trying to make my friends jealous whenever I’m on holiday. But I’m aware that few of my friends are interested in Warhammer, one or two at most. So I created an alternate Instagram account specifically to share my hobby. I’ve made a few new friends through that, and invite anyone I play at my LGS to follow that account. They don’t need to know what my kids are up to, they just want to see my latest wild conversion.
My mum lives firmly on the family Instagram. She doesn’t need to see an Iron Hands Dreadnought with custom banner orTrench CrusadeArtillery Witch I built from Age of Sigmar kits. She probably wouldn’t know what a single one of those words mean. And yet she followed me.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I love my mum. I’m glad she supports me. I just don’t understand why she’s here. It’s like seeing a fish walking about on its flippers and taking a business call on its fishy phone, a roe-bile, if you will. I’m just confused. What does she gain from seeing my Warhammer escapades? She just reacts with a shocked face to every story I post – which is mostly sharing other people’s work. Whether it’s a Darren Latham diorama or an indie Kickstarter announcement, she’s in my DMs with the shocked reacts.
Completely baffled and fundamentally confuddled, one course of action presented itself to me. I was going to have to… Ask her.
No I’m not softblocking my mum you heartless b*stards.
Warhammer Mumstagram
“Why do you follow this account?” I asked, adding a cry-laughing emoji so she knew I wasn’t upset. You’ve got to speak the language of mums in order to engage them, and emojis are like saying, “pspspsps” to a cat. Her response?
“I’m a Warhammer mum!!!!! Xxx”
I have not exaggerated the number of exclamation points in that quote. I had nothing to say to this. It’s true, I guess. Over the past 21 years, she’s probably imbibed a baseline Warhammer knowledge through osmosis just by being in my presence. She drove me and my friends to the Games Day convention in Birmingham. She took me and my brother on regular pilgrimages to Warhammer World in Nottingham, only to sit in Bugman’s Bar all day with a book. Multiple times she was approached by my fellow nerds, who tried to engage her in polite Warhammer conversation before realising she was a lost cause.
But maybe that’s not the case? Deep down, I think my mum has a passion for Warhammer. It’s not the same as my passion, or yours, but it’s there all the same. It’s a hobby that has shaped her sons’ lives, and therefore she feels something towards it. A fondness, perhaps, or nostalgia for a time when her children would sit at our little desks for hours building, painting, and discussing the intricacies of our latest projects. A time when we lived at home.
I once read that75 percent of the time you spend with your kids will be before they’re the age of 12. While the website that wrote this had no studies to back up the claim, it hit me hard as a parent of young kids. Even if the exact percentage is a guesstimate, the point remains, anecdotally at least, true. I can’t imagine how I’ll feel when my kids have grown up and moved out. There must be a profound sense of loss, despite the fact that they’re (hopefully) thriving without you.
I wonder if my mum feels that sense of loss. I wonder if following my Warhammer Instagram account is a way of reliving that nostalgia of having kids running around the house with clippers and hobby knives. And I wonder what things I’ll be nostalgic for when my kids have grown up. At the moment, it seems like it’ll be Moana.
Shoutout to my equally supportive dad, too. He didn’t get an article about him because he didn’t follow my Instagram account and send confusing emojis.
If your mum ever followsyourWarhammer Instagram account, here’s my advice: be appreciative that she supports your hobbies. Bask in every shocked reaction to a perfect wet blend and share your hobby with your loved ones. I’m still not going to post myMordheim warbandon my main account, but I’m glad my mum’s still my biggest cheerleader over a decade after I’ve moved out of her home. Cheers, mum. I’ll name my warlord after you.
