Lisa went out with Maggie last night to buy a new pair of basketball shoes, as they call ’em these days. Used to be sneakers, but whatever. Maggie was thrilled; she’s very excited about playing hoops on the grades 3/4 travel team. She practiced dribbling all night — in the kitchen, in the living room, wherever it might give me a headache. Lisa and I watched and said, “Good, good, keep at it.”
At bedtime, Maggie asked if she could bring her basketball to bed with her. She wanted to sleep with it. Yeah, sure, knock yourself out, just don’t forget to brush your teeth.
This morning I drove Maggie to school. We were running late. Maggie, of course, wore her spotless new kicks. Just before climbing into the car, she said: “I can run faster now.”
She nodded, smiled. Oh yes.
“Put down your backpack,” I said. “Let me see.”
“Where do you want me to run?”
“I don’t know, across the front lawn to Don’s driveway.”
She walked to the far end of the lawn, methodically got herself into running position, and said, “Tell me when to go.”
“Go,” I said.
She raced across the yard.
“Good,” I said. “Now run back on the street. Let’s see how they do on cement.”
So she did, just as hard and determined as she could.
“Wow, Maggie, that was a lot faster — and I mean a lot. Those are pretty fast shoes.”
She smiled, proud and happy, pleased with her new powers.
Don’t you just love being a parent?