This is a story from my childhood as told to me by my father:
One year for Father's Day my dad wanted to go out and hit a bucket of balls. He wanted to try to get me interested in the sport, so he brought me along and left my baby brother at home with my mother. Since it was Father's Day, the place was full and there weren't many spots open, but we managed to find one. I sat on the nearby bench and watched while my father happily set up his golf ball on the tee.
I'm not sure how much any of you know about golf. I, frankly, know basically nothing about the game. This is something that hasn't changed since I was very small.
My father squinted down the fairway and set his feet. He looked down his club and took a slow practice swing. As soon as he finished with his follow-through, he heard me call out from the bench, "You missed it, Dad!" The father next to him snickered.
My father kindly took the next few seconds to explain that before you actually swing at the ball, you practice your swing to make sure you're doing what you want to be doing. My small self nodded sagely while my father stepped up to the green and took another practice swing.
"Missed it again, Dad!"
This time more than one nearby father attempted to hide their laughter while my father politely explained what was happening once again. Unfortunately, children don't really know the difference between an "inside" voice and an "outside" voice, nor do they typically understand why it might be unwise to simply blurt out everything they think so that an entire golfing range might hear them.
"Oh! I get it. Every time you miss the ball it's called a practice swing!"
By now, none of the dads could keep it together any more and they started guffawing so loud that my dad couldn't help but look around and shake his head. Thankfully, he didn't feel the need for any more practice swings, so he stepped right up to the tee and took his swing--only to have the ball go right into the grass about three feet in front of him.
Yup. Sometimes it just doesn't pay to take your daughter to the golfing range.
Monday, December 29, 2014
Monday, December 22, 2014
Softball Shenanigans
Here's another "did that really happen" moment from my life:
In elementary school, I played softball. Sports was one of the only ways that I got social interaction because, frankly, I was the "weird kid" that was always reading books in the corner. However, this is one of my favorite incredibly non-PC moments from my childhood.
I typically started each softball game as the pitcher. It wasn't that I was particularly GOOD so much as I was the best that they had for the time being. One of the other girls on the team actually eventually went on to play softball in college. Anyhow, after I played a few innings on the mound, I would inevitably get moved into the outfield for the rest of the game. It makes sense: you get to play the more interesting infield for half the game and everyone has to take their turn in the outfield looking for four leafed clovers and making daisy chain necklaces.
One of the issues that I had was that my coach would routinely play me in whatever outfield position happened to be facing the sun. It was awful. Not only could I not figure out where the ball was if it got hit to me, but I was squinting so hard some days that I started to get wrinkled brows before entering 6th grade. One day I mentioned this to my coach:
“Coach, why do you always put me in the outfield position facing the sun? I don’t like it.”
“Well, it’s easier for you to play that position than the other girls.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The other girls need to squint when they face the sun. You’re already naturally squinting.”
Unbeknownst to my younger self, my father (also the team's assistant coach) had overheard this conversation and was torn between abandoning the two or three girls he was working with to come to my defense or to let me handle things on my own. Fortunately, I made the decision easy for him.
"Oh, okay, coach. That makes sense."
To my 10-year-old self, this argument did make perfect sense. Growing up, I knew that I looked different from the other people around me. I knew that my Asian mother had squinty eyes and that my white father had big eyes and was as aware of it as I was aware that my father was very tall and my mother was very short (okay, not very short, but when you compare anyone to a 6'4" father, they are always going to seem "very short").
Yup. I actually said that. All I could think about as I sauntered over to my outfield position was, "Ha. I am genetically superior." I swear to God that's what I thought. Sometimes kids are just too smart for their own good. Clearly there were times that I was. You may now commence with the facepalm.
In elementary school, I played softball. Sports was one of the only ways that I got social interaction because, frankly, I was the "weird kid" that was always reading books in the corner. However, this is one of my favorite incredibly non-PC moments from my childhood.
I typically started each softball game as the pitcher. It wasn't that I was particularly GOOD so much as I was the best that they had for the time being. One of the other girls on the team actually eventually went on to play softball in college. Anyhow, after I played a few innings on the mound, I would inevitably get moved into the outfield for the rest of the game. It makes sense: you get to play the more interesting infield for half the game and everyone has to take their turn in the outfield looking for four leafed clovers and making daisy chain necklaces.
One of the issues that I had was that my coach would routinely play me in whatever outfield position happened to be facing the sun. It was awful. Not only could I not figure out where the ball was if it got hit to me, but I was squinting so hard some days that I started to get wrinkled brows before entering 6th grade. One day I mentioned this to my coach:
“Coach, why do you always put me in the outfield position facing the sun? I don’t like it.”
“Well, it’s easier for you to play that position than the other girls.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The other girls need to squint when they face the sun. You’re already naturally squinting.”
Unbeknownst to my younger self, my father (also the team's assistant coach) had overheard this conversation and was torn between abandoning the two or three girls he was working with to come to my defense or to let me handle things on my own. Fortunately, I made the decision easy for him.
"Oh, okay, coach. That makes sense."
To my 10-year-old self, this argument did make perfect sense. Growing up, I knew that I looked different from the other people around me. I knew that my Asian mother had squinty eyes and that my white father had big eyes and was as aware of it as I was aware that my father was very tall and my mother was very short (okay, not very short, but when you compare anyone to a 6'4" father, they are always going to seem "very short").
Yup. I actually said that. All I could think about as I sauntered over to my outfield position was, "Ha. I am genetically superior." I swear to God that's what I thought. Sometimes kids are just too smart for their own good. Clearly there were times that I was. You may now commence with the facepalm.
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