I am afraid my children have inherited my balls skills. To illustrate just how good I was at sport, when I was 6 years old the tennis coach gently suggested to my mother that perhaps her money would be better spent in other endeavours - I was so bad that the tennis coach didn't want to take my mother's money. My children are probably about as good as I was.
Adam is enthusiastic and unbelievably unaware just how um, not-so-good he is. He is convinced that he is really good at rugby. And all other sports. Kate is totally unenthusiastic and is only doing sport because I am making her do it. She says netball is boring, long and hot. Kate's best defensive shot today was when the ball accidentally ricocheted off her head and out of the opponents hands. On the plus side, she became good friends with her opposing number in the other team. Half way through the game she shouted to me "Mom, this is my new friend, her name is Thumelo".
Adam played a rugby match last week. It was pouring with rain. The players jogged off to their respective fields and the parents followed suit a few minutes later. I walked to where the B team was playing (there are only two teams) but Adam was nowhere to be found. Perhaps they were a player short and Adam got a slot in the A team, I thought. I walked across (in the rain) to the other field. The A team were playing but Adam wasn't on the field. Slightly panicked, I looked around and there he was skipping along, playing next to the field. Apparently he was the reserve. "In case anyone gets injured, mom" he said, looking quite chuffed with himself. I think he was secretly pleased as he is not very fond of getting tackled. At all.
5 minutes into the game (the total game is only 20 minutes long), Adam is nowhere to be seen again. Eventually, after 5 long minutes - a full 25% of the game, he comes strolling back. "Where have you been??" I ask. "Oh, I went to have a poo" he said. He went to have a poo while the rugby game is on!! Thank god none of the players did get injured because their reserve was busy having a poo.
Eventually he gets a turn to play. As everyone is running red-faced up the field, tackling and pushing, there is Adam on the field, catching rain drops on his tongue, completely oblivious to the couch screaming from the sides. He was replaced shortly afterwards.
I don't mind (at all) that my children aren't star sportsmen. Maybe they will be one day, who knows. Probably not, and that is completely ok. They are good at lots of other things. I do however want them to have fun and to experience the lessons you learn with playing school sports. Lessons like team work, like winning and losing. About commitment and practice. About playing even when you don't want to. Which is what I keep telling myself when they ask why they HAVE to play sports and can't they rather not go to rugby/netball today.
And anyway, my children are going to be computer geniuses and develop some amazing software program which they are going to sell for billions and then support me through my old age so that I can buy a beach house, retire early and drink Chardonnay all day.
At least there is always Max. The last great sporting hope for the Albertyn family. (Although, I have to say, it doesn't look very good there either. Unless there is a sport for dummy-sucking, nappy-wearing and tantrum-throwing, in which case WOO HOOO!! We are totally going to kick ass in that sport.)
PS just come back from a 10 day holiday with the family. Was divine but so very, very behind with my work :(
Pic from Adam's first rugby match: