Thursday, December 25, 2008
Sports Widow?
Not in my family. The holidays were always a time where we got together and watched whatever sports were on. Thanksgiving = football and Christmas = basketball and many others. Oh, and don't forget since I am lucky to be a Southern California native, holidays sometimes mean surfing, skiing, snowboarding, or skating. Some of my earliest, happiest memories are with my family watching or doing sports since I was a child. My mother loved sports as much as my father and the four of us children would play football together all the time.
I really wanted to give a bit of advice for those men and women who consider themselves "sports widows". Yeah, you heard me - men and women. I once dated a guy that would rather watch a romantic comedy than a football game. Don't act like all men like sports, because they don't. At any rate - sports has always been and always will be a fun, happy thing in my family. It brings us together and always has. I could not imagine growing up in a house that one parent freaked out about the other watching sports. I never even knew that existed until I got older.
Give sports a chance, "sports widows". Don't sit there and act like you are too good for it. Do you go to the gym? Have you ever shot baskets? Ever skate (roller, ice, board)? Do you run? How about golf? If you've answered yes to any of the above or can think of something close that you do then I've got to break the news to you - you actually like sports! Not all of us who consider ourselves sports fanatics know everything about every sport. You don't have to.
I dare you to get out there and enjoy a sport. Go ahead! Give it a try!
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2 comments:
Apryl, I adore you. My fondest memories are of my brother teaching my to play soccer and how to throw a decent spiral with a football. That has come in handy to this day. The little boy next door is often without a football partner. We work out plays stretching between our two yards. He runs, I toss, he shouts "touchdown" as he dodges imaginary enemies and pushes his way through to the goal line.
Every warm night after dinner, my brother and I would take our mitts and a baseball and head outside. Every single evening, he would make me take a step back and then throw to him until one day I realized I could throw a baseball farther and with greater accuracy than any boy in the neighborhood.
I've been hit in the face by a flying hardball and was so proud of that black eye I never wanted it to fade.
The one sport my brother failed at teaching me was, ironically, basketball. I would watch him swish free throw after free throw in the little patch of cement my parents installed for us in the back yard. Then he would say "your turn" and I would suck all the fun out of the game.
Winter and rainy days meant ping pong or pool in the basement.
Summertime we bet on how many runs would be scored in any given innings, tossing quarters on the rug with abandon on the rug in front of our giant Zenith TV. When we upgraded, we kept the set, removed the insides, stepped into the back and pretended we were Johnny Bench and Bobby Murcer. My first date ever, I went to a Twin Bill at Shea Stadium.
Ha! And I adore you, my partner in the mutual admiration society. Thanks for sharing your childhood sports stories!
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