it occurred to me this past weekend that all these Olympians have parents, and somewhere down the line (sometimes as young as the age of three) someone identified a talent. huge sacrifices were made by these parents (or parent), whether for lessons, or coaches, or uniforms, or camps, or travel to competitions, or just being able to raise your kid.
i pay six bucks for a half-hour swimming lesson. it’s not that i want or expect my kids to become the next Michael Phelps or Natalie Coughlin; i merely want them to know how to swim for their own safety. i enjoy the feel of water against my skin (i’m a Pisces, ya know), of silently floating, and the rare times i feel as though i am gliding through the pool. i hope my kids enjoy that same simple pleasure. at the very least, i don’t want them to fear the water.
for Punkin, i cough up a little over eight bucks for 30 minutes on the Tumblebus. this was my gift to him for his third birthday. he wanted to do it mainly because his friends were doing it; they’re like a little cult, donning their special t-shirts on Wednesdays. sometimes it is the only motivation to get him to school (Punkin as well as me to get there on time). Punkin’s enthusiasm for the Tumblebus has diminished over the summer, perhaps because it is summer and enrollment is constantly changing. i’m not expecting a Paul or Morgan Hamm to emerge from the 80’s era school bus.
but how do you know?
not that they are good enough. not that they have Olympic potential. not that the time and money invested is worth it.
how do you know they love it?
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