Wed 31 Jan 2007
i was never exactly…ermm….athletic as a child.
i did enjoy dance lessons, until the ballet teacher insisted i stop wearing my pretty ruffly blouse underneath my leotard, and the bloom fell off the rose of my ballerina dreams almost immediately.
i quite loved my shiny patent-leather tap shoes, but never did figure out how to use them to make anything other than loud, awkward stomping noises. unless you count that time i used them to trip myself onstage, in front of a recital audience made up of my entire elementary school. yay.
and i had a morbid fear of balls and moving objects that lasted well into my adulthood, until Dave started throwing socks at me. i now catch a sock with great aplomb, but am still not precisely what any sober person would call an athlete.
so the fact that i look at Oscar trying to learn to move about the world and rhapsodize, internally, about teaching him to swim, and skate, and do cartwheels makes me blush.
but i do. not because i care if he wins any ribbons (though his paternal grandmother will likely see to it that he does, since she’s a better athlete and coach than i’ve ever had the privilege of meeting before) but because i want him to love to move. i remember that feeling…my body airborne, moving fast, executing something clean and beautiful. it’s been years, now, since i’ve felt that. he makes me want to experience it all over again, with him.
(okay, he makes me want to rent Flashdance and bounce around the house in boat-necked sweatshirts kicking my feet over my head. little boys love that sort of thing, right? or perhaps i should work harder on my sock catching?)
watching Oscar learn to move makes me wish i’d never stopped. i hope he never does.
maybe when he learns to run, he’ll do a lap for me? ;)