|Wednesday, May 18, 2011|
By ANGEL KANE
Nevertheless, he sent me down to earth without it…and since that day I have been paying the price.
That’s not to say I didn’t try. Oh no, I distinctly remember running cross country for one day, softball for two and soccer for almost three weeks. I even convinced my parents to sign me up for tennis camp…for the outfit of course!
The only person more exasperated by my lack of coordination or drive than my Father, was my P.E. teacher. As if I wasn’t mortified enough that I was always last to be picked for a team (well second to last, but Kim had that whole braces/head gear apparatus going on), Ms. Walker would constantly be blowing her whistle at me.
“Heads up, ball coming your way!!”
And I would then assume the position – hands in front of my face, eyes closed, high pitched scream.
She would once again start blowing the whistle …over and over… until the tips of her ears were a bright red.
‘What is wrong with you?” she’d scream out.
“What? I thought it was going to hit me.” I’d reply.
A response - - for whatever reason --- that would cause her to once again begin blowing her whistle repeatedly!
It seems, however, that my failings in badminton, dodge ball and tether ball, were a one time gene mutation, as I’ve produced three children, who all possess the “sporty” gene. And no one has been more surprised that I.
As the ball comes hurtling towards them….none of them run for cover.
When someone yells “run”…they don’t roll their eyes.
And when they make a basket…their father doesn’t scream out “it’s a miracle!”
Of course, I’ve realized that the sporty gene does have it’s drawbacks.
Ask any of my children who Joan Collins, Jane Seymour or any of the other Lifetime movie stars are ….and they are clueless!
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