One of the greatest benefits of being a mother is the amount of unbelievable comedic material you witness, usually with no one else around. I might have previously mentioned, in another post floating around somewhere in cyberspace, that some things are too ridiculous to recreate or retell: you just had to be there. But indulge me to retell one that makes me love my son Miles (almost 12) in a tremendous way.
Miles has inherited, somewhere in our soupy mix of DNA, an ineptitude for sports which is completely overshadowed by his sunny, positive personality. It's a remarkable combination that saves Miles from a world of hurt and is one of his best qualities.
Miles is on a basketball team and he's the shortest and is not at all aggressive. His teammates rarely pass the ball to him, and when they do, he makes his best effort to shoot, but in his 3 years of playing, has never made a basket (scored a goal? See, I'm really no help to him here.) But he doesn't care. He runs up and down the court, following the ball with a smile on his face. He's super excited when his teammate makes a basket and cheers for them and jumps up and down if they win. He's in there--he's doing it, you know? And he loves it. But when kids reach this age, the parents, especially the fathers, get really "into" it, I'm sure because they love it in a way I don't understand. Even though these boys are, I guess, past the age of just "playing to have fun," I'm not ready to give up that ideal, and neither is Miles, so it's okay with us.
So on Saturday, during the game, as the team parents are yelling and cheering the 11 and 12 year-old boys, and Topher is reading his Kindle. (In his defense, he reads it ONLY when Miles isn't in the game, because Topher hates few things more than basketball, which, I'm sure is a result of his youth experience with school and church ball, but that's a blog for another time. . .) Miles is defending this kid on the other team and he gets right past Miles, shoots, and scores. Miles then turns to the fully-invested parents of his team and says, in all seriousness "I take full responsibility for that!" smiles, and runs down the court to try again. Only one dad laughs.
How can you not adore a kid like that?