Totally Frank: The Autobiography of Frank Lampard. Frank Lampard

I turned up to train and came across kids who were technically superior in many ways. It was all about the ball and what you could and should do with it. Not tricks but ways of beating a man on the run, or from standing still. I came up against boys there and thought ‘I want to be able to do that.’ They also had a different way of dealing with you. There was a meal after the session and everyone was friendly and encouraging.

      Arsenal were something of a mix of the two. I enjoyed the coaching there though it was more physical. The people were very well trained in the latest techniques and seemed to know what they were talking about. For a few years I flitted between all three though it was clear in Dad’s mind where I would end up playing.

      West Ham were in my heart, as they were in his, and I played my youth football there at the same time as I was playing for Heath Park and my school. It was hectic but I was doing what I loved. I never really stopped to think about much else though there were times when I had to.

      I began to realize that after I joined a new team or club and got to know people, some kids developed a certain attitude towards me. It usually didn’t take too long. It had nothing to do with how fast I was, how good I was at football or cricket or how I spoke or looked. It was because I was Frank Lampard’s son.

      The majority were fine and I made some very good friends. But some kids can be cruel and are easily made jealous and I was the son of a famous footballer. I never hid the fact of who my Dad was. Let’s face it, with a name like mine it would have been quite an act to pull off. I took a bit stick for it though and there were occasions when kids were determined to beat me at this or that because of who my Dad was.

      It wasn’t just kids either. At Heath Park there was a lad called Danny who played centre-forward. He went on to play at youth level with West Ham as well and scored a lot of goals though he disappeared after a year or so. His Dad used to come along to games and would slag off everyone except his lad. He would always have a dig at me because I was ‘Lampard’. It really got on my nerves. I remember one game his son scored seven and I got eight but all he could shout was ‘Come on Lampard, pass the ball!’

      Michael Black and I would just slag him off on the quiet. It was our way of dealing with it, though one day Michael had enough and told him to ‘F*** off.’ He was only 13 and this guy was silenced for the first time. I preferred to just stay quiet and get on with my football. To be honest, I didn’t really mind most of the time. I got used to kids reacting in different ways. When I turned up for a football game or athletics meeting most people were absoluetly fine but there was the odd time when I sensed someone was looking at me a bit differently.

      I was shy but I wasn’t ashamed. Far from it. And in a way, it worked in my favour because it made me more determined to do well. Not to prove them wrong but to prove to myself that I was better – better than them and better than the cheap shots about my Dad.

      I was already good at football but that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted to be good at everything. I concede that it may not have been the most healthy attitude at times. On one occasion I remember I was due to do a cross-country run after school and was so obsessed with how well I would do that I got a stress headache. It got worse throughout the day and was really thumping by the time I was changed and ready to race. I should have told the teacher and just abandoned it. But no, I was determined. I did it and I won but at the end I was just hanging in there.

      It wasn’t all about winning all of the time. I dropped in and out of other sports with the fashion just like most kids of that age. I had fun doing other stuff and hanging out with my friends but I can’t deny that the desire to win was something which burned fiercely within me. Like the time I scored the own goal, there are other episodes which stand out in memory which I realize instilled in me the competitive edge which has been so essential to my development as a footballer and as a person.

      When I was about seven I was due to run a 200-metre race. There was a another lad there who was bigger than me and was expected to stroll through it. I looked at him and thought I could take him. I was determined to beat him. The race went off and I fell a bit behind and then disaster struck; I fell over half way through it from trying so hard to keep in touch. I was distraught and had to be picked up off the track.

      It was hard to get over. I was still in tears when I got home, and spent the rest of the day upset and hiding in my room. No one could talk me out of it. I was embarrassed but worse still, I knew what it was to fail.

      Sport was extremely important in my life and usually came first for me but I was aware that I needed more than just games to get on in life. I suppose for a lot of boys who go on to become professional footballers schooling gets tucked away with your old uniform. My experience was a bit different.

      Dad earned a good wage as a player and he and Mum wanted me to have a better start in life. I was sent to a fee-paying school to get a good education that would help me decide for myself what I wanted to do. Going to Brentwood was a great opportunity and one I’m glad of.

      It’s quite a posh school which has a bit of a reputation for producing high achievers. Sir Robin Day, and the comedian and actor Griff Rhys Jones went there as did Noel Edmonds. It was quite daunting to arrive at a place where the motto is ‘Virtue Learning Manners’, especially when you’re a footballer’s son from Essex.

      It was a lot less stiff than I expected and I adapted quite quickly. My childhood – especially my craving for football – was undiminished by the fact that I went to school with kids who had been brought up without the obsession with football which I knew as the dominant force in my life. There was a real mix of different kids – some had parents who worked in the City, others were well off because their Dad happened to have done well in the building trade. I brought a strong sense of my own identity along with my determination. I was still an Essex boy with working-class parents who loved nothing more than football.

      It was a new and interesting environment. None of my neighbours went there and I had a different outfit to some of the other boys around my street – including shorts and a cap in summer. It was very traditional but after a while the embarrassment wore off. Well, almost.

      My parents felt a bit uncomfortable with some of the others at my school and they weren’t really the type to get involved in meetings or administration. It didn’t bother me except for one particular instance when it would have been nice if they had been paying attention to what was going on.

      Mum took me in the car to school as usual but as we drove through the gates I realized that something was very wrong. All the children were wearing a different uniform. Well, actually, they all had the same uniform on – neat black shorts and shirts. It was just me who was wearing something completely different. I ducked down in the car like some kind of criminal and told Mum to keep driving. Why was I still in tweed blazer and trousers? Apparently, the uniform had changed for spring term but no one in our house had noticed. I was mortified and had the day off school while Mum went out and bought the new outfit.

      She still laughs about that and it’s a silly story but there is a serious point to it – people took the piss out of me because of where I went to school. All my Heath Park mates certainly did – mainly because I went to school on Saturdays so when everyone else was going out to play football with their mates or heading off to a game I was sitting in a classroom learning French and algebra.

      It was very annoying. Like most kids, at one stage I really had the hump with school but I am thankful for what I experienced there and I made a lot of friends. My view of the world is a lot more rounded than it might have been and I think Brentwood played a big part in that.

      On the whole, I was a pretty good student. There were a few minor scrapes that every kid has, though bizarrely the only real problem I had was the fact that I made the football first XI when I was in fourth year. A few of the older boys resented me for it. I was still just a young kid but I was good enough to play and I think some of the others were hoping I would fall on my face.

      I didn’t. They let me know how they felt at the end-of-year school dance when a couple of the older lads sauntered up to me to ask what I was doing there. It was more of a threat than an invitation to explain so I ignored them. I had done nothing wrong except put a few noses out of joint by