Vicarious chills and thrills

Sport was poetry in motion on the soccer field this weekend. He was all over the place, positioning himself to intercept, block, and score -- 2 goals! I tried to read my book (The rock from Mars: a detective story on 2 planets, by Kathy Sawyer) when he wasn't on the field, but got caught up in the game.

I know it's a bit tiresome to read about other people's children and their accomplishments, so I'll try to keep the boasting to a minimum. But I admit to a certain thrill when I hear strangers complimenting my kids. I eavesdropped on the other parents, who commented on Sport's control of the ball, his skill, his speed. I couldn't get enough of it.

I feel the same way when LegoGuy comes home from school and talks about destroying a chess opponent in 3 moves. I try to keep a neutral face, but inside I'm doing a little victory dance.

It must stem from a childhood empty of any real success stories. I played the piano and won a few awards, but I never excelled. I was good at spelling, but never a master. I liked to read (and in 6th grade was named "IO Champ of the Year") but that only emphasized how geeky I was. I memorized Bible verses and was on a quiz team, but so were all the other kids at church. In short, I was mediocre.

So Sport asks me the other day if I was ever an athlete. Never, I told him. Always picked last...for everything. (Although, come to think of it, I did spend a lot of time running away from Laura Pacheco, elementary school bully. All that running led me to join the track team in middle school, where I enjoyed one short year as a somewhat quick runner.)

Truth is, I don't mind being mediocre, as long as my boys are showing signs of being much more accomplished than their mother ever was.

As long as they let me bask a little bit in their glory, I'll be content.