There's a family near me who I see
occasionally out in their yard. Dad, Mom and three girls, five,
eight and twelve. It's a busy, soccer Mom, activities-up-the-ass type
of family where every kid is shuttled around to this sports event or
that one. Since summer has returned, I see them more.
I watched while Dad and his little
eight year old daughter played some basketball. Dad, is about 38,
white as a ghost and a bit doughy. He however moves fast enough to
play this game The girl looks like any other girl, small, skinny and
yappy.
The game goes to sudden death. The
girls shoots and misses. Dad then shoots, but he misses. She tries
again and misses again. Dad, finally sinks it on his try. Here's
what happened next that probably had my mouth agape a bit.
Dad, after sinking the shot, spins
around to face his little girl and does a victorious fist pump while
yelling out, “YESSSSS!”
The girl, who had her back to me, stood
motionless. I swear I could hear the few sinews of self esteem in her
being sprained and torn.
I'm surprised Dad didn't make an “L”
with his fingers on his forehead while he ground the girl's defeat in
a bit deeper. Dad, by the way, is an insurance salesman who pitches
very large health plans to companies. I'm sure his life consists of
nothing but competition and the only thing that matters is to win and
get that fat sales commission.
Yet, how proud can you are I be at
defeating an eight year old girl? It's like beating a Girl Scout.
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