I’ve never been one of those moms who pushes her kids into a hobby or sport and then expects them to master said activity for the sole purpose of competing at the highest level, eventually becoming filthy rich and/or famous. Oh sure, the majority of us want our kids to be healthy, happy, and be able to score an occasional goal during the soccer game (dude, if I’m going to go to the trouble of taking the easy-up out and then have to spend my Saturday morning making small talk with Real Housewives of Orange County-wannabes, the least you could do is score one teeny-tiny little goal for your supportive mommy), but there are those select few who seem to birth babies just so they can coach the crap out of them, beginning in the delivery room all the way to the championships.
I don’t know about you, but there’s something kinda creepy about kids who still poop their pants and sleep with their binkies being able to swim the 400 meter breaststroke at a world record pace (less so since the invention of swim diapers, but still).
Me? I’m just happy when the boys in my house manage to remember to put the toilet seat back down. *
My point is, I have no high and mighty expectations when it comes to Superman’s athletic abilities; I’m just happy the kid likes to run around with his friends and it makes no difference to me that he happens to run the fastest by at least like 10 seconds, but whatever, so what, who cares? Not me.
Also, I barely even notice that he can make the ball in the hoop 9 out of ten times, which gives him an approximate 78.3% margin of success over his peers. Big freakin deal is what I say.
So you can imagine my lack of enthusiasm when, after pleading with us all week, we finally bought him a kid-sized tennis racket, took him out onto the courts yesterday, and witnessed pure, raw, God-given talent from the very first serve. Now, I don’t go throwing words like genius, savant, ka-ching and someonegetthiskidanagent around, but someone else who sees him play might. Obviously I can’t control that; I can only hope and pray that he turns out to be a well-rounded young man who enjoys the fresh outdoors and a friendly game of singles every now and again.
The fact that he’s gonna kick some serious Wimbledon @ss someday and buy mommy a shiny new car to park in her gold-paved driveway……well, that’s just something I’m going to have to accept.
It’s the least I can do, as his
coach unbiased mother.
*Screw that. With the money he’ll make winning the Grand Slam, we’ll be able to hire someone just to make sure the toilet seats are always down.