I want my kids to do organized sports, but I often think they are too young for it.
T-Ball is a good example. The kids are having fun, they're enjoying it, but I'm not. I'm not having fun or enjoying it because I can't stop watching my kids and thinking about what they're NOT doing.
I don't mean I get upset because they're not good at T-Ball. I mean I get upset because they're not even playing T-Ball. My kids are playing their own game, and the rules can only be found in their head.
I'll watch as the coach, who has the patience of a Saint, calmly tells my son, stationed at short stop, that "Okay, now you need to watch the batter, because if he hits the ball and it comes to you, you have to throw it to first."
My kid hears these instructions. Or at least he should hear them. He has ears and everything. The doctors all say he can hear. But what he does instead is he stares straight up at the clouds and starts spinning in circles. Spinning until he gets dizzy and falls down like Otis on the Andy Griffith Show.
Later he gets to go practice batting. There's a line. He gets to wear a helmet. After putting on the helmet, he immediately takes the bat and starts whacking himself in the head. Hilarious! And guess what? It never gets old. He waits behind four other batters, whacking himself in the head nearly the whole time. All the while, I keep wondering if I need to go and stand next to him throughout the whole practice to make him follow instructions.
At a certain point, while he's supposed to be practicing at catching the ball, he just sits down in the grass. He's done listening for the day. It's been 25 minutes. Practice is over an hour.
Maybe this is how Cal Ripken got started. Maybe he, too, stared up at the clouds and decided he would try to make himself barf. Edward might just be following in those footsteps after all. But for now, we'll just practice standing up for the whole practice.
