Wednesday
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4/16/05
The Boys Of Spring
Ah, Spring. The traditional season of growth and renewal. The daffodils are blooming and the magic of Daylight Savings Time assures us an extra hour of life-affirming sunlight at the end of each day. And as that weren't enough, spring also brings a cornucopia of other treasures as well: Easter, a spate of Christenings and first Communion celebrations, Passover gatherings and even the occasional bris. Mazel tov.
Moreover, it has been said by some more wise than I that spring is when a young man's thoughts turn to love. While that may be true, as I recall my youth seemed to revolve around "love" to the exclusion of nearly everything else. Indeed, the time of year seemed to have to do very little do with it. But yet again, I digress.
In any case, these usual harbingers of spring also keep company with a few less savory seasonal events which include, but are not limited to, my personal albatross: Little League. Thats right, I don't like Little League. There, I said it.
"What?" the faithful cry in unison, "How is it possible that you don't enjoy, nay, wallow in the magic broth of Americana that is mom, apple pie and baseball? What sort of cultural Grinch are you that you can resist the charms of a fourth grader standing around in the outfield waiting for something to happen? You social anarchist you, next you'll probably try to overthrow the judiciary in the name of constitutional restoration..." Oops, sorry, thats a blog for a different day. Ahem.
Ok, I realize that my dislike of Little League puts me just outside the norm, but jeez, how many hours can you sit there and watch your progeny wiff the ball? How many times can you applaud someone elses kid for making it to first without falling down? And then there's the physical discomfort; by the end of the season you're baking under the sun on the same aluminum bleacher on which you froze your buns at the beginning of the season.
So, where does this all leave me? Well, despite this latest failure to conform I do still believe that I'm a good father, and yes, a good American. I play basketball in the driveway with my boys. We throw a football at each other in the back yard. I drive them to religion and karate. In the summer I cook slabs of corn-fed beef on my grill and offer the neighbors a cold one to go with it.
So, yeah, that's me: all round regular guy and good dad. And yeah, I hate Little League. Going to make something of it? No, I didn't think so. Huzzah!
.
|
4/16/05
The Boys Of Spring
Ah, Spring. The traditional season of growth and renewal. The daffodils are blooming and the magic of Daylight Savings Time assures us an extra hour of life-affirming sunlight at the end of each day. And as that weren't enough, spring also brings a cornucopia of other treasures as well: Easter, a spate of Christenings and first Communion celebrations, Passover gatherings and even the occasional bris. Mazel tov.
Moreover, it has been said by some more wise than I that spring is when a young man's thoughts turn to love. While that may be true, as I recall my youth seemed to revolve around "love" to the exclusion of nearly everything else. Indeed, the time of year seemed to have to do very little do with it. But yet again, I digress.
In any case, these usual harbingers of spring also keep company with a few less savory seasonal events which include, but are not limited to, my personal albatross: Little League. Thats right, I don't like Little League. There, I said it.
"What?" the faithful cry in unison, "How is it possible that you don't enjoy, nay, wallow in the magic broth of Americana that is mom, apple pie and baseball? What sort of cultural Grinch are you that you can resist the charms of a fourth grader standing around in the outfield waiting for something to happen? You social anarchist you, next you'll probably try to overthrow the judiciary in the name of constitutional restoration..." Oops, sorry, thats a blog for a different day. Ahem.
Ok, I realize that my dislike of Little League puts me just outside the norm, but jeez, how many hours can you sit there and watch your progeny wiff the ball? How many times can you applaud someone elses kid for making it to first without falling down? And then there's the physical discomfort; by the end of the season you're baking under the sun on the same aluminum bleacher on which you froze your buns at the beginning of the season.
So, where does this all leave me? Well, despite this latest failure to conform I do still believe that I'm a good father, and yes, a good American. I play basketball in the driveway with my boys. We throw a football at each other in the back yard. I drive them to religion and karate. In the summer I cook slabs of corn-fed beef on my grill and offer the neighbors a cold one to go with it.
So, yeah, that's me: all round regular guy and good dad. And yeah, I hate Little League. Going to make something of it? No, I didn't think so. Huzzah!
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