I joined a volleyball league last month because, you know, there isn't enough humiliation in my life. It has been two decades since I played competitively. Long before any of my children were alive and kicking, and nothing that happened pre-them really counts.
Anyway, I apparently failed to notify my progeny of my decision to join this league. Until last night, several hours before my first game.
Boy: You are going to play volleyball? (raised eyebrows)
Boy: But do you know HOW to play volleyball?
Me: I'm familiar with the game. Yes.
Boy: Are you sure? Because there are a lot of shots that you have to be good at. There's the bump. (demonstrates) There's the set. (demonstrates) And the spike... which I'm too short to do, but you might be able to. You do it like this. (demonstrates).
Me: Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.
Boy: Just remember to keep your thumbs in on the bumps. Do you know how to serve? Because the serves are important.
Me: Yeah... I think I remember.
Boy: I'm pretty good at it... if you want me to practice with you. I can probably help.
Me: Help what?
Boy: Help you not look like an idiot.
Me: I don't think there is much hope of that.
He concurred. The little bastard.
On Becoming My Grandmother
3 months ago