One area that I’ve been remiss in my parenting skills, has been exposing my son to proper sports. I’m not a sports enthusiast. And I’ve never been particularly good at any sport. I played softball when I was a kid only because I thought the t-shirt design was TOTALLY COOL. And I got to actually use my bright blue Sears glove. Which I bought to match the totally cool baseball t-shirt.
Not that anyone could admire how well I matched. Since the softball position that I played was 2 miles from the pitching mound in the outfield. Like anyone could even SEE how awesome I looked. But I made up for it in that whenever I was up to bat, I took a good long time to select the perfect color coordinated bat, which I then used to strike out. Every stinkin’ time I was at home plate.
I lasted 3 days in soccer, mostly because we lived in Ohio. And soccer was played outside. In the cold. While wearing shorts and knee highs. So uncool. And didn’t coordinate at all with my purple legs.
Organized sports have never been my thing. And it has never occurred to me to push my children into them. I do toss a ball around with them. But it is done in the name of math. When teaching a new skip counting concept, I break out the bean bag ball and throw it to them. If they miss, they have to start over with the skip counting. And they miss a good deal. Because I’m a really lousy throw. Dangerous even. And I may have scarred at least one of the children.
Over the weekend we all wandered in Old Navy to look for pants for two daughters with gazelle legs. I’ve discovered that I must now shop for the 10 year old IN THE JUNIOR DEPARTMENT. Therein will lie all sorts of issues that I’m not anywhere ready to tackle. Like, the pants ride so low I’m going to have to THUMBTACK THEM TO THE CHILD. I’m a product of the hip hugger generation. Hip huggers did us NO FAVORS in the 70’s and I see no reason to revisit them now. The end.
Where was I? Oh yes, the dressing room with two daughters. Dying a slow death. Meanwhile, out in the store, Fiddledaddy decided to pass the time by playing a game of catch with his boy. A suitable rubber ball was procured, and there was lots of aisle space. I am able to recount the following because Fiddledaddy captured this father/son moment on his iPhone video camera. You see a visual of Jensen with his arms outstretched awaiting the ball. Then the ball comes into frame, gently aiming toward its target. And just prior to contact, Jensen ducks all the way to the floor, covering his head with his arms. The ball sails over him. Three more times Fiddledaddy tries to get Jensen to catch the ball, and three more times Jensen dives to the floor covering his head with his arms.
I fear that the money we’re saving for his college tuition will be better spent on therapy. Tomorrow I’m breaking out the bright blue Sears glove, and we’re adding a little sports action into our homeschooling routine. With the addition of his bike safety helmet. Just for good measure.