So I take Lyza over to tennis lessons @ 5pm today. It's a new class, Junior tennis is the name, and it's quite a step up from the fun tennis classes she has been taking for the last couple of years. A quick observation shows a mix of kids from 6-12. Everything from little "Timmy" the ADD kid with ripped jeans and a piece of shit racquet, to white tennis outfit -visor - matchy/matchy shoes "Maddy" with a Prince tour bag - with at least 4 racquet handles sticking out of the bag. She's 8.
The mood was semi-competitive, the drills had penalties for missed shots (like suicide windsprints and ball pickup duty), and you could see the kids were trying to figure out where they ranked in the class. Class ended, and Lyza said pretty quickly - "Dad, I don't want to come to this class anymore". We talked about why she didn't want to go anymore, and hightailed it over to Fratelli Pizza..... watched highlights of european soccer and tried to imitate the Scottish announcers until she busted out laughing so hard that a spray of Root Beer went too far past our table. It was time to go.....so sorry.
We didn't say another word about tennis, but we talked about getting her an orange BMX bike in the window at Cosmic Cycles. My eyes lit up. Maybe I need a bike too, Lyza.
You're a good Dad, Sheck.
ReplyDeleteThis post made me smile.
PS- Thanks for sharing Ronnie Reagan with your audience.