Thursday, January 19, 2006

Let the Games Begin (Part Two)

First of all, let me state that I obviously don’t love this child as much because when I was running out the door at 7:30 AM for my son’s game (yes you read that correctly – we had to be at the gym at 7:45 AM for an 8 AM game), I left the good camera on the table. I blame it on not enough caffeine and having to up and out the door at an unreasonable time for a SATURDAY, but others may see it as not being a good enough parent. C’est la vie… It was too late to go back for it by the time I realized that it was sitting at home. But fortunately, I did have enough where-with-all or divine inspiration to pull out my handy-dandy cell phone with camera. So I guess I do love him enough after all, but the pictures aren’t as good as the ones on yesterday’s blog.

My son, like myself, has not figured out the point of playing basketball, but unlike his sister, he is not a super-quick study. It takes much in the way of repetition to get him to understand directions. This is not an uncommon situation for him. Almost the entire time he was out on the court (18 minutes out of 36), he was standing around just watching things happen. His concept of basketball, when his team had the ball, was to run to “their” basket, lean against the pole, and just stand there talking with the other players who had the same idea.

Now since Mr. Right had to work Saturday morning, no one was there telling me to shut up. Free reign, baby! So I shouted lots of reminders to the boy.

“Don’t lean against the post.”
“Where’s the ball? Pay attention to the player with the ball.”
“Get your hands out of your shorts!” (What’s with the hands in the pants thing?! Sheesh!)
“Where’s the ball? Pay attention to the player with the ball.”
“Put your hands up! Be ready for the ball!”
“Where’s the ball? Pay attention to the player with the ball.”
“Run to the other end. The other team has the ball.”
“Where’s the ball? Pay attention to the player with the ball.”
(Do you see the theme here?)

Eventually, I just sat down and cheered everyone on, leaving the boy alone. I was wearing myself out and I wasn't even on the court.

He definitely got a workout, even if he didn’t get to touch the ball. And he looked like he was having fun, which was one of the reasons that he was in the program in the first place.

By the end of the game, he had a small idea of what he was suppose to do. At least he was attempting to look like he wanted the ball.

When it was all over and we were heading home for the big breakfast, I asked him what he thought.

He said, “I liked it, but you yelled at me.”


Hmmm, maybe I should go work on Saturdays and Mr. Right should come to the games.


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