As winter approaches, I have been searching for ways to blackmail and bribe The Golden Boy to keep active and help himself in this struggle to be “healthy”, as he grows into himself.
He shocked and surprised me when he told me he was trying out for his middle school basketball team. While I am bracing myself for the gut-wrenching “didn’t make the team” possibility, I am also holding out hope that his natural ability will outweigh the fact that he is probably twice the size of most of his prospective teammates.
We had to go to the doctor’s office for the re-certification physical, because apparently even though we JUST had a physical for school, they HAVE to look at him AGAIN. (I guess they need my twenty dollars desperately to help pay for their NEW bazillion dollar building.)
We approached the building when he turned to me and said, “He’s not gonna grab my stuff, is he?”
“WHAT?” I replied, trying not to crash into the stone wall.
“Last time I had my physical he grabbed my STUFF. You know, my b..”
“STOP! I think I know what you mean. And no, I think it’s just a weighing and measuring thing. It’s a re-cert. Not a REAL physical. No grabbing of the stuff.” I felt confident that I knew what I was talking about. After all, he is my THIRD child.
We sat in the chairs as the doctor discussed the Boy’s growing height and weight, and he reminded him about healthy life choices, activity level, blah, blah, blah.
The doctor pushed his chair back, stood up and I was convinced we were done.
He turned around, grabbed a latex glove and put it on his hand.
The Golden Boy’s head snapped around to face me, his eyes wide in shock.
I ran out of the room. Like any respectable parent would.
Did I forget to mention my oldest two were GIRLS?
Yeah. Fifty years old and I’m STILL a rookie.