I used to hate Monday and Wednesday. That was the day that Lucas had football practice. It was always a fight. He cried. I yelled. H went. I cried. I wanted him to be part of a team. I wanted him to experience that feeling of being part of something. Finally, two very long years later, we pulled the plug. Fine. You don't want to go? Fine. I am not signing you up.
Then he asked if he could join basketball. I was skeptical. I told him that he had to commit to going to the twice a week practices. He was not allowed to quit half way through the season. He had to finish what he started. He was all smiles and agreed. So I let him. Sigh inside and getting ready for the endless fight that would now take place on Tuesday and Thursday. BUT,,,,,
He loves it. He loves to go. Cried when he had to miss practice because of a snow storm. I tried to get him there and then had to turn around. He is dressed and ready an hour before practice starts. He is good at it. He listens to his coach and is trying to learn new things. He is brushing his teeth with his left hand because coach told them to practice using their less dominant hand. He loves it. I love watching him play.
I love seeing my children develop into the people they choose to be. I know nothing about basketball. I never played and my siblings never played. I never watch it. But yes I am the mother yelling loudly when our team get the ball. I yell when our kids get knocked over. I am screaming when Luke steals the ball and runs down the court.
So my sweet brown eye boy is a basketball player. Who would have thought?
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