Last Saturday, we completed the final games of the cheerleading and basketball season.
My son played his last game, and while I did get some pictures, I discovered afterward that my focus wasn’t great (operator error presumably), that my lens looked like it had recently been splashed by a giant puddle of dirty rainwater, and that it’s particularly easy to get all sorts of awkward poses of my son, poses that would not be wise to share on the internet if I have any hopes of maintaining a good relationship with him. Thus the reasoning for including the non-action shot above.
In a totally indiscernible way, I’m sad that the season is over. I’m not feeling it yet, but I’m confident it’s there. I mean, what am I going to do with free weekends now? I can eat meals at convenient times now, I can plan an all-day project to complete on Saturday, I can sleep in – well, at least stay in bed and pretend to myself I’m sleeping when the small people wake me at the crack of dawn, as opposed to rising to prepare for a game. Yeah, I think I’m really going to be hit hard and painfully by the void of small people sports in my life. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself, really.
On Sunday at church, we were blessed to have two mildly mischievous boys, who appeared to be slightly older than my sons, sitting directly in front of us. My younger son was so mesmerized with their antics that he sat quietly the entire service, watching the drama unfold. The only exception was at one point, when we were all standing up, he reached his arm over into the boys’ seats ahead of us while the two boys were quietly badgering each other. I saw the look on his face; he was ready to stir the pot of contention brewing in front of him. Yeah, I don’t think so, son. His hands were not going to enter that cauldron already simmering so well on its own. I grabbed his arm, pulling him back, and to his credit, he immediately resumed his entranced stance, arms motionless beside him, eyes on the action before him, a little grin on his face.
Then, a few moments later, one of the boys was sitting down and was now goofing around with his little sister as the mother stood in front of them. The mother turned around, reprimanded the boy quite successfully with her eyes and pulled him to a standing position. And then I watched the classic sibling move; the rather angelic-looking little sister, allowed to remain sitting, looked up at her older brother, who had turned to look back at her behind their mother’s back, and smirked ever so subtly in a decidedly unangelic way at him. It was clear she was no stranger to the subtle smirk, either.
And there stood my son, taking it all in. I didn’t even have to look at him; I know how his little mind works in these things. Rest assured, the sincerest form of flattery will likely be implemented by my son in the near future.
And so I spent the final moments of prayer in that service, sensing what likely is now to come for us, praying for this miracle:
God grant me eyes in the back of my head.