I'm not, and have never been, an athlete. I was the only girl who didn't do gymnastics in elementary school. I once got socked in the head with a softball when my sister Erin and my dad were practicing; I was sitting in the grass reading a little Nancy Drew at the time. In high school, I sprained my ankle not on the balance beam, but near it.
So when Caleb first started Little League, I didn't know what to expect. Because in addition to the sensitive, the athletic are another category of folk that I'm not sure I know how to handle. And I certainly didn't know what to make of the parents of the athletic. There's a certain reputation that you may be familiar with.
Last night Brandon took Caleb to his first practice of this season, and he reported that it seems as if we got a good team. Meaning, none of the following*:
-The Vaguely Scary Dad: Quietly berates his child and thinks no one can hear him when he's berating the other children under his breath. Always brings his large dog (that you have to suspect is somehow compensatory) and scares the younger siblings of the players with it.
-The Bossy Parent: Cheerful, but you damn well better remember to bring snack when it's your turn. Because she's reminded you thirty times already.
-The Old Hat: She has a hundred children, and #98 is on the team. She is neither surprised nor delighted by any turn of event because she's been witness to EVERYTHING, sister. Also, she calls bases "bags."
-The Very Important Parent: Don't interrupt. He's in the middle of Having It All.
-The Amnesiac: You meet her at every single school and extra-curricular function. And every single time, she has no idea who you are.
I think it'll be a good spring in the stands.
*With apologies to Tracy Sutton, of "Playdate Mommies from Hell."