There is a pride (a parent's pride) associated with watching your children succeed. Obviously you want your child to be healthy and to perform well in school. Yawn. But there is a special place in a father's heart when it comes to sports. And when daddy's little girl fashions herself a little jock, sports is something to behold.
The B's been taking an after school basketball course for three sessions now (to round out gymnastics, swimming, and soccer). She is the smallest kid in the K-2 class. She is a very good dribbler and she is always attentive during drills. Good hustle. Point guard. But until Wednesday, she hadn't made a single basket during the three sessions, even on the eight foot hoops.
During one of the competitive drills this past Wednesday each team ran a modified sprint-layup drill; dash and drop. Thirty-five points won. It is a little difficult (awkward, uncomfortable, nauseating) watching your kid try time after time but never sink a shot. For this drill each player got one shot per turn and then sprinted back to the baseline down court. Keep in mind that the B doesn't care one way or another if she makes or misses her shots (so she says), but I just believe it would be rewarding to score on occasion. You know, for her.
Then it happened. The teams were tied at around 19 and I watched her put one up. And. It. Went. In! It took every thing I had to remain seated and quiet (I did, however, reflexively, raise both arms in apparent glee--tears welled). With a huge smile on his face, coach Keith walked over and beamed, "Did you see that? That's what I'm talking about!" It was a glorious moment of dude-dom, for sure.
Again, the B was unfazed, unimpressed with herself, and content to just help her squad out (or so she behaved).
Pretty good story, huh? Oh, but wait, there's more. Oh yeah, with the score 34-31, her team, she nails the game winning basket. This cake has icing. Now I can die. That was sweetness.
Yeah, boy!
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