Today, for the first time in 20 years of parenting, I had a sports coach/teacher walk up to me and talk about how athletic my child was and how she really should pursue the sport further. The first time...and this after I had managed to traumatize any number of her hapless siblings by insisting on their participation in the ritual that is suburban sports. I have memories of her eldest brother almost crying on his way to swim team, of David standing like a confused wooden soldier during a basketball drill, of numerous children repeatedly tripping themselves on a soccer ball.
You have to understand, I long ago resigned myself to the fact that my children lacked both the competitive spirit and the hand-eye coordination necessary to succeed at soccer, baseball, basketball, tennis, you name it. I convinced myself that it was enough if they could participate in one of these activities without doing actual bodily harm to themselves. And I was comfortable with that. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, after all.
But I'd be lying if I said I didn't give that kid an extra cookie tonight after supper. Thank you, sweetie, for making me feel, at long last, like a legitimately suburban parent.
[Tennis image: Fastest Tennis Serve]
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