Usually, it's us dads that take the heat for being just a bit overly competitive when it comes to our kids. We get the icy stares from concerned mothers for questioning why our sons watched a third strike drift carelessly into the catcher's mitt. "Geez, why didn't he just swing the bat? It was right down the middle. He could have hit it with a curtain rod!" I've said many times since our son began playing baseball. Perhaps it was our daughter and basketball that caused the competitive flair to bubble to the surface. "She had an open lane to the basket and she passed it off! That would have been an EASY layup," I'd exclaim time and time again. My wife, who was always ready to pounce and take to defending her offspring, never failed to have a calm and collected reply.
"Oh, I guess you were Cal Ripken and Michael Jordan all rolled up into one!? Give 'em a break. Good Lord they're only kids! Now pipe down!" I piped down.
Despite all our shortcomings as fathers, mothers have us beat in the competition department when it comes to the important things in life.
Years ago, when I worked the evening shift, I was "lucky" enough to be Mr. Mom during the day with two toddlers in tow. Often, I would load the rambunctious children into the car and drive them to the playground at a nearby park. Without fail, there would be a myriad of moms chasing overly energetic children around, and then there would be the talkers who would sit for hours on end blabbering about their children and how advanced, athletic, smart, beautiful, funny, etc. they were.
I felt comfortable letting my kids play without me hovering over them, so one day I took a seat on an old wooden bench beside three of the blabbering mothers. "Hi, I'm Cheryl, this is Kim and this is Jennifer. Our kids are already potty trained. How about yours?" the blabberer nearest me said excitedly.
"Uh, no my daughter isn't even close and my son is more of a free ranger," I said without looking at the woman and keeping an eye on my kids.
"Tee, hee, you mean a free spirit, or a free thinker," she replied.
"No, a free ranger. Sort of like a chicken. He usually walks around the yard, then digs a hole and poops in it. He covers it up very nicely though. Thank goodness for that or else it'd be a little slippery when I mow," I continued. The women looked at me like I had just stepped off the mother ship and was surely going to reboard with my alien children soon. They stared for awhile longer and continued their conversation as though I wasn't there.
"Alexander is ALMOST reading. It's amazing! I mean the kid is only two and a half! We're thinking of getting him tested," Jennifer said with pride oozing from smiling face. "I mean seriously, how many kids that age can almost read?" I was puzzled. How do you almost read? I felt that would be akin to almost breathing. Either you were or you weren't.
"Oh that's nothing. My Tommy is nearly swimming, you should see him! We're already thinking Olympics possibly," Kim shot back with a more serious look on her face than I was comfortable with.
"Can your kids do anything extraordinary?" Jennifer said, gazing at me and sure that they couldn't. After all I had a free range chicken for a son.
"Well, they both love books, that's for sure. They can't read, or almost read for that matter, but they sure love books. Sidney, my daughter, seems to like ripping the pages out mostly. Heck, the other day, she ate part of one. She's kind of a human/silverfish hybrid I guess."
Once again, the women turned away surely agitated with my lack of pride in my children. It wasn't that I lacked pride in my kids, I just lacked the knowhow to compete with these blabbering, competition mothers.
We continued to sit, watching our kids play. I was silent and uncomfortable, and they blabbered, and blabbered, and blabbered. Finally, I broke my silence. "You know, I'm just happy that my kids are healthy. The rest will come, I'm sure of it," I said, hoping for a slice of sympathy from the mothers. My hopes were quickly dashed.
"Well, we're thankful for healthy kids too, but we're not going to celebrate mediocrity. I mean the world is full of middle of the road types," Kim said, having obviously formed the opinion that I was an unfit father and a true middle of the roader. No sooner that our exchange ended, Sidney ambled up to me and spit out a mouth full of pea gravel and promptly ran away.
The expression on the women's faces demanded a response. "Uh, I guess paper just isn't doing it for her. Pea, pea gravel. At least she's got a healthy appetite," I said, trying to invoke some humor into the unsettling situation. I got an icy stare.
"Did I tell you guys that Harold suggested that we take the youngest for violin lessons? The kid is musical, you can just see it. I played and so did Harold. It's a natural fit," Cheryl said proudly. The conversation continued and I suddenly realized that I was sitting in a park watching nearly half of the next generation of the Boston Symphony play on the sliding board. The closest my kids had come to making a musical sound was the incessant banging of pots and pans they'd ripped from the kitchen cabinets.
I gathered my two filthy, talent lacking children into the car and headed for home. I was thankful to leave and return to the safe confines of our home away and from the competition moms.
We continued to frequent the park and the playground. But, I was always careful to bring my own chair so I could sit alone, quietly observing my lackluster children play.
Ryan sure enough did learn to use the indoor plumbing, and Sidney hasn't eaten paper for years (or pea gravel that I know of). Both are fine athletes, and successful students. Occasionally, I'll ride past that playground and see a new crop of competition moms occupying the bench. Rarely, there will be the pitiful dad also. I smile when I think he's WAY overmatched and how sorry I feel for him. But alas, he will learn just as I did. There is no competing with the competition moms.
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