I finally have an excuse for not blogging as much: school.
School whether it be volunteering at the boys school or more importantly my own
higher education. School is consuming most of my life right now. Sure I work,
have a family, my boys, my beautiful bride, soccer, and scouts but school is
the center of my universe. So when I have time to blog, my idea maker is too
full of business management, science and (shudder) macroeconomics to be (or
attempt to be) witty in a blog post. I really do hope to sit down in some spare
time to write more but I cannot promise anything.
Tonight I was inspired to write, not because of laundry or
Lego’s but my muse Connor had another Connorism that I had to share. Connor has
never really been into sports. Sure he goes to football games and baseball
games but he is bored fast. Finally this year I took him to a Jazz game and he
loved it. Took him to a RSL game and he loved it. He’s tried to play basketball
before (he used the wristbands as a communicator to call Buzz Light-year and
Star Command) and T-ball (he was the kid picking grass and chasing butterflies)
but he didn’t enjoy it. For some reason this fall he really started to get into
soccer. He wanted to watch it on TV, wanted to play it, started an infatuation
with Manchester United and it’s great because he is finding himself in
something he loves. Not what I like, not what his older brother likes but
something that is all him. He looks the part already:
Headband, check. Long flowing hair, check. He wants to be a
goalie all the time and enjoys it. His only issue is long desire to pass the
ball every time he gets the ball. No matter the situation he always wants to
pass. That changed tonight for some reason. A switch went off. He was charging
the ball. Bumping other kids off the dribble. He had two breakaways and barely
missed both times. He was a boy possessed. IT WAS AWESOME! He may not be the
best ever on his team but who cares. He is loving something that is HIM! We couldn’t
be prouder.
All of this brings me to tonight’s Connorism. On the way
home we were talking about the game. I told him to be proud that he played the
whole game and it was ok to be tired since his whole team played the whole
game, due to being shorthanded. He asked if he needed to take his cleats off
before he went to his room. Yes was the answer. Should he take his socks off
downstairs? No those take off in his room, I replied. His answer: “Papa you just
want my socks off upstairs so you don’t have to smell the masterpiece stink of
my soccer socks.” While I was laughing, it suddenly came to me that he was
absolutely correct. Masterpiece would not have been the adjective that I used to
describe them but hey, to each his own. What is it about boy’s feet that make
them smell like a garbage dumpster filled with fish that has been set on fire (I’ll
pause here to let that narrative sink in)? I don’t have girls, and thanks to
science I never will, so I don’t know if their feet smell just as bad at this
age. I know mine did (and if you ask Mandy, she’ll say they still do) at their
age. If my brothers and I were half as bad back then, I apologize to my mother.
