Back in my bliss filled pre-kid days, I would occasionally let my mind consider the futures of my yet to be born children. I am one tall chickadee (5’11″) and my side of the family is also tall and seeing as though I grew up worshipping Indiana basketball, I had high hopes any future children might grow up to love and be good at basketball.
I also wouldn’t be against baseball. I don’t think there is anything much cuter than a bunch of 4-5 years trying to navigate the bases in t-ball. I actually like baseball. I grew up in Cincinnati and therefore, had no choice but to cheer for and love the Cincinnati Reds. Hell, I even got to go to a World Series game in 1990 when I was 12 years old. Definitely up there in the awesome childhood memories department. Thanks parents. One of my claims to fame is my ability to still name the starting lineup of the 1990 World Series Champions, Cincinnati Reds. Back when I was still in the dating pool in Ohio, I charmed many a young man with that one, as you might imagine.
Football also wouldn’t be too terrible of a game for the turkeys to participate in, although the protector in me cringes at the thought of my children being pummeled for the sake of some pigskin. My mom did not let my brother play football until he reached middle school. We had plenty of pee-wee leagues around, but she stuck to her guns. I think I will too. No football until middle school.
So there, turkeys, there are three sports that your mom (me) would be happy to have you participate in. Three sports, she wouldn’t mind watching and cheering for. Three sports which she actually finds interesting.
Of course, what sports are they showing a propensity for?
Soccer and golf.
Please don’t mind me as I show my enthusiasm. W.T.F.?! Soccer, really? And Golf? Ugh, I would rather pull my eyelashes out than watch either of those sports. Soccer is slightly better than Golf, but, shockingly enough, the children appear to love Golf more than Soccer.
I blame my parents for the Golf love.
See, they live on the 10th hole of a golf course. The turkeys love to hang at the kitchen table and watch golfers through the giant picture window. As soon as a cart arrives at the hole, they are excited as all get out. I get a running commentary of the progress of the golfers, who are identified by the color of their shirts.
“Aw man, mommy, yellow guy missed. Hahahahaha.”
I’m not kidding, they totally laugh whenever the golfer misses the putt. It is rather amusing. But then, when the golfer actually makes the shot, which they hardly ever do because they either really suck at golf or are on beer number 10 by the time they reach the 10th hole, the golfer is promptly rewarded with a standing ovation and round of cheers and claps from my turkeys.
What makes this whole scenario even funnier? Sometimes we are all outside, within 20 feet of the hole and the commentary continues, complete with the “Awww, he missed” and “Wow, he made it, he made it,” while the boys are standing with their faces pressed against the fence. They are definitely not quiet about their commentary. What can I say, we are practicing our inside voices. They just don’t understand why they have to use their inside voices, when they are outside. Difficult concept to grasp, difficult indeed. Maybe, just maybe golf isn’t for them after all.
A mom can dream.