You know that in The Garden State, we spend a lot of time with the kids in the car. We eat in there, reconnect with our kids while driving, listen to them chattering with friends as we bring friends over for playdates. Kids fall asleep in the car, negotiate with us to get their music over the stereo, leave personal effects in the backseat (books, toys, headbands, artwork) as do you (lipstick, phone recharger, perfume). The car becomes an extension of home.
Yet sometimes I wonder if I selfishly just want to be with the kids a little more. After all, in seven years, Junior will be graduating from high school, preparing for college. Or perhaps I’m afraid of having nothing to say to other adults. To some degree, I feel I’ve lost the ability to communicate freely with anyone over the age of 10. That’s sad.
I like the fact that these are minor players who are hoping to better their craft as they, hopefully, make their way up to the big leagues. They are not paid the millions of dollars the big leaguers are and since these guys are more prone to making mistakes, I find the quality of play more entertaining. It’s like watching my son, ten years down the road, playing ball.
I had heard about Travel teams, how they went all over the county playing various sports. Those families who were involved were always on the go, always busy, missing so much of life. The siblings were merely tagalongs, flotsam flowing in the wake of the Travel player. I always said I’d never let my kid play, never put the Boy’s sister through that.