basketball

First of all, I had no idea that there were basketball teams for five-year-olds.  I am that seriously out of touch with what interests and is available for young children.

Watching the first game in which my grandson played this morning was fun  The coaches are some of the fathers and young men from the high school..  His teammates all seemed to be having a good time, even though my baby and some of his friends were a little lost in the process.  They have had one fifteen minute practice, and it is going to take time for all of them to really enjoy it and build some skills. 

In the meantime, the coaches were wonderful to the kids who could not wait to boogie out on the court and the others who did not have a clue about what to do their first time playing and being in a huge gymnasium, loaded bleachers of parents and grandparents with cameras and all the noise, especially the horn or whatever it is that signals the ends...or maybe it is the beginnings...or something...of the play periods.  Or, something.

It is difficult to dribble or keep your eye on the ball when you have slammed your hands over your ears.  I almost had to do it myself.  Seriously.

I am tired.  I need to lose weight.  I need to be more fit.  I need to find my way back to good health or great health or even some less-crappy health, or some reasonable facsimile.  I might even want some of those things.  Not ready to make any decisions that will cause me any extra effort.  I have all of these needs, but all I want is to stay my lazy slacker, unmotivated self.  Well, maybe not so much the last one, as I do have motivation. 

I have a free membership to the YMCA.  Minor problem is that they will not let you wear your street clothes in the exercise rooms.  All I have is my regular stuff, so need to resolve that.  I have been checking for stuff at the charity shops, but because I am so fat, I cannot find anything even close to my side.  I guess that other fat women hold on to their clothing forever the same way I do.  Until something is pretty much in shreds, I keep wearing it. 

Another need.  I do have rubber-soled shoes that I do not wear out of the house...see?...I do have the heart to do this, just lacking the money to get clothes.  Maybe I could dedicate one of my old pair of pants (why is it a pair when it is one garment?  two legs?) to just exercising, shorten them a bit so that they do not look like regular clothes.  Use correction fluid to make a stripe down the outside seam? 

Allrighty.  I have been stressing about this, but there are easy solutions.  Rats.

As we were sitting there today, on the bleachers, I could not help thinking about ex-husband never attended any of our daughter's stuff.  Not music concerts, school programs, parent-teacher meetings and association, sporting practices and events.  Not even her graduation from high school where she was honored with awards and a scholarship.  Not a damn thing.  Nothing.

And, I could not help wondering if she might be thinking the same general thing.   Even when she had invited him to past events he could never be bothered to attend.  Interfered with his own stuff, even if that was only watching television.  O.K., that is mean to share that.  But, mean or not, it is the truth and it breaks my heart just as much now as it always did when she was little and all she wanted was a daddy that cared about her and wanted to spend time with her and just loved her.  All of my love and care and attention did not minimize any of that loss in the teeniest bit.  Even if I had been the most perfect parent in the Universe, which I most certainly was not, it could not have been enough to make up for anything.

I did try, though.  I tried a lot.  And, one of the results is that my trying turned out to be difficult for her as well.  There was just too much contrast.  She resents me for it in a way that I am fortunate to understand.  You know, I stayed in my marriage for lots of stupid reasons and one excellent one.  It was my hope that if I did my best and stuck it out that there might come a time when her father would have some kind of change.  Of heart.  Of soul.  Of conscience.  That there would come a day when he would see how wonderful she is, and maybe he would even try to make up to her for all the years when he was not involved in her life.

Maybe I wanted that for me, too.  Maybe I wanted that change to happen for me.  I do not think wanting that for either of us makes me selfish.  Stupid perhaps.  Mental healthy issues up the you know what.  But, not selfish, because all I wanted was for her to feel his love. 

When I left that day, I made sure that his sisters were notified and that he was not alone.  After that was accomplished, I called our daughter and told her that I had left.  Nothing more, and she did not ask.  That is how dysfunctional we are. 

There are aspect of his behavior that I simply cannot share.  When my daughter tried to contact him, well, it went very badly and she is still suffering for it.  Another thing with which I will never have the skills to help.

So, we go along.  I let her lead on this.  I can tell that there are moments when she wants to say something, ask something.  I have answers ready for whatever she wants to say, share or ask.  I do not like it, but I am prepared.

And, I know that next week, when we are sitting on the bleachers, filling our hearts with laughter and tenderness for those sweet children racing around the basketball court, that there will still be room for regret and more loss than any daughter should have.