Ours is a sports family. It is something I never anticipated happening because I am one of those perpetually clumsy people who cannot walk, talk, and chew gum at the same time. Yep, I'm a total goober when it comes to sports. However, when you marry a collegiate athlete who has an SEC Championship ring in his possession, and you somehow manage to give birth to four gifted athletes (no thanks to my gene pool), you can rest assured that a significant portion of your life is going to revolve around sports.
After attending too many games to count, I now consider myself an erstwhile authority on the following: I know a good pitching stance from a bad one; I am able to discuss Sacs, RBI's and the nuanced posture necessary for a good bunt. I can even tell a curve ball from a slider. As far as football is concerned, I know about nickelbacks, dimebacks, corners, and safeties, and I know when a lineman has committed a hold. In basketball, I can spot "man" coverage when it shifts from a zone and when a player is setting an illegal screen. As a goalie's mom, I view penalty kicks and Sudden Death overtime with dread. However, when it comes to volleyball, I am not doing too well since high school rules have changed so much from the time that my daughter was playing. I am pretty much lost now. I only acquired all of my arcane knowledge for one reason and one reason only: I had a child in the game.
Even though I never logged one minute of time on the court or playing field myself, I was an expert of sorts (mothers always are). When the last child graduated from high school, I folded up my chair and earned a well-deserved break from 28 plus years of attending sports events in which I had a significant personal investment. I thought my sporting days were over.
I should have known it would not last.
However, now the stakes have changed. When grandchildren play there is a level of enjoyment that is hard to explain. It is both fun and funny. I don't have to be there at the crack of dawn. I don't have to assemble a uniform, shop for athletic gear, and load up the car with snacks, blankets, chairs and other children. I don't have to worry about who is happy or unhappy about what is happening on the field. I have the detachment and the delight of a grandparent. Everything is just hunky-dory. The Husband and I get to glide in, give some hugs and high-fives, and then glide back out. It's a breeze.
Our first grandchild made her athletic debut last week. We learned a great deal about her view of life at this stage by observing her on the field. Here is my interpretation of what was going on in that cute little head of hers.
I have been practicing wearing my uniform around the house to get ready for the game.
I can hardly believe the big day is here. I am so excited. Can't you tell?
The next best thing to my uniform is getting to wear my hair in braids.
The whistle has blown and the game has started, but I need to do a hair check.
After all, a girl's gotta look good...
I think I am supposed to be doing something other than standing around,
but I am not sure what that is...
The ball goes rolling by, but hey, there's my best bud Selah.
I think I'll go over and hang out with her.
I think I'll practice a few warm-up exercises during the game. This is fun.
Selah and I stick together.
We don't feel any pressure to get in on the action...obviously
The coach is encouraging me to get involved. Might not be a bad idea at this point.
Girl down. I just got slide-tackled.
I'm not too happy about this.
I can't stop crying.
Coach lets me leave the game to get a hug
Selah and I are back in action. We'll let the other guys chase the ball.
We'll just love on each other.
One more hug from Selah before the whistle blows.
.
Soccer is fun.
I had such a great time hanging out with my friends.
Can't wait until next week.
Here are a few shots of the Peanut Gallery
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