Tennis, Anyone?

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.

So picture my shock to have a tennis instructor approach me to rave about Rachel's backhand and explain at length what type racket I need to procure for her.  I did my best, you know, to act as if I had had many of these sort of conversations in my parenting career -- as if, in fact, I had not for 2 decades played the role of conversational wallflower when the ever-popular subject of offspring's athletic prowess came up.  Oh, I was the picture of nonchalance! 

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]