Cobbler's Kids Have No Shoes

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Or, in our case...The Coach's Daughter Has No Game


When Madi was three, the baseball team decided it would be cute to
have her, and three other coach's kids, run a "dot race" around the bases.  They would each be wearing a different colored dot, so the spectators could cheer for them.  The "gun" was fired and our little girl took off....for 3rd base.  She went all the way around, passing each of the racers, who were all going in the right direction.  Crossing home, she never even caught on.  So what, right?  She's three, and that just makes for a cute scrapbook story, I reasoned.


The following year, she was slated to dot race again.  We had even prepared her this time, by practicing running around the bases in the correct order.  There was no "gun" this time, just the head coach yelling, "On your mark, get set" and before he could say go, the other mini racers took off.  Madi, ever the rule-follower, was confused and her daddy, standing on 3rd base, told her to "go."  She began running, but the sheer frustration of the unfair start, and the realization she was not going to catch up, overwhelmed her.  By the time, she reached 3rd, she just wanted her daddy's shoulder to cry on.  Her daddy, ever the coach, had to refuse her, and coax her to home plate where he immediately picked her up and tried to console her.  He later confessed it was horribly painful not to just snatch her up right there on 3rd base.


I am not sure what happened next, between the years of 4 and 9, but we looked up one day, during a washington county coach pitch game, and suddenly realized that we had not really invested our time to prepare her to play softball.  Being the unbreakable husband & wife team that we are, we immediately started pointing fingers.  "You're the teacher," he said.  "You're the softball coach-PE teacher," I said.  "And, I have done my job, she is doing very well academically speaking.  As for her softball skills - not so much." 
Ouch, I know (he accuses me of hitting below the belt all the time). 


So, one guilt trip led to another, and before we knew it, we were both getting off our behinds, but mainly Jonathan, to go and practice with her.  This is not easy.  Sure, in the movies they make it look so blissful.  Sun setting, a lush green field, a kid diving for every ball with every fiber in their being determined to make their parent proud.  This was not exactly our experience and there were days that we both thought, "well, at least she is really
smart."  But, just when you try to peg a kid one way or another, they will prove you wrong.


The pitching started as an experiment, because Madi is a lefty.  And, before this sounds like something you hear one of those out of touch with reality parents say, who are desperately trying to recapture their athletic fantasies of long ago:  She just may wind up being the next best thing since....what was the pitcher's name?  You know, the one they did the ESPN special on who was striking out all the boys?  Hey, I can dream.  And speaking of dreams, I have a whole University of Hawaii fantasy in the works.             


Oh, and as for baby sister?  I am not missing the boat this time!  She is destined (as of today) to be a tennis star, since I am slightly selfish and would LOVE to have to go and watch her play.  However, since I have pegged her (in writing), she will probably wind up being a mathlete.  And, if so, Aunt Kari, you'll have to be the mentor on this one.