Hot Tamales All Around!
Today is a good day, friends. Know why?
It's Mom's birthday!!!
Instead of sharing a sappy story about all the things I love about her, or writing an acrostic poem with all the letters of her name (first, middle AND last, of course) I decided to share a story that really sums up how awesome my mom is.
My mom teaches at a smaller elementary school that is very close and friendly-neighborhood-feeling, where everyone kind of knows everyone else. They have a lot of fun traditions and activities that they do every year. One of those is a big kickball tournament between the older grades, and whatever team wins that tournament gets to play the teachers.
My mom likes sports and being active. She lettered in soccer in high school, so she knows how to kick a dinky little kickball. But of course, what student looks at their mom-aged fifth grade teacher and goes "Oh yeah. I bet she'd be good at kickball!" Nobody thinks that. I never thought that about any of my teachers, ever. Who would?
So the day comes of the kickball tournament, and one team (comprised of fifth and sixth-graders) is left standing to face the teachers.
Let me paint a picture for you. All of the teachers are women, and most of them are middle-aged to grandma-aged. There are a few younger ones straight out of college, but most of them teach the younger grades, so they're not participating. The principal is a pretty active young guy, so he's excited, but the rest of the teachers are kind of unenthused about the idea of playing kickball against their students. (To be honest, I don't blame them. I HATED kickball. And I was even pretty good at it, due to my years of soccer training. It was a sigh of relief when I got to high school and I knew I never had to see a kickball ever again.)
Anyway. So the game begins. Mom's back a few in the line of kickers, and of course the rest of the ladies are doing their best, but it's just not working out. The kids keep moving closer and closer to the pitcher's mound, easily scooping up any ball a teacher can manage to kick. They're getting a little cocky. Too cocky. Soon, Mom steps up to the plate.
The kids are all pretty much standing in the infield, since most of the teachers have been unable to kick it much past the pitcher's mound. Mom readies herself at the plate. She lets the first pitch roll by, since it was a little bouncy. She lets the second pitch go by, just because. But the third one? She keeps her eye on the ball, prepares her stance, and boots that ball all the way to the fence line. The kids stare open-mouthed, either at the ball as it zooms over their heads, or at Mom jogging around the bases to score a home run. The teachers go crazy, the kids gape, and then start running as fast as they can toward the ball that's now halfway to Provo, and Mom is the hero.
Needless to say, the kids never stood in the infield when Mom came up to kick again. It's been a few years, and they still don't. The legend of Mrs. M lives on.
Happy Birthday, Mom!
-K
It's Mom's birthday!!!
 |
| Mom & Dino P |
My mom teaches at a smaller elementary school that is very close and friendly-neighborhood-feeling, where everyone kind of knows everyone else. They have a lot of fun traditions and activities that they do every year. One of those is a big kickball tournament between the older grades, and whatever team wins that tournament gets to play the teachers.
My mom likes sports and being active. She lettered in soccer in high school, so she knows how to kick a dinky little kickball. But of course, what student looks at their mom-aged fifth grade teacher and goes "Oh yeah. I bet she'd be good at kickball!" Nobody thinks that. I never thought that about any of my teachers, ever. Who would?
So the day comes of the kickball tournament, and one team (comprised of fifth and sixth-graders) is left standing to face the teachers.
Let me paint a picture for you. All of the teachers are women, and most of them are middle-aged to grandma-aged. There are a few younger ones straight out of college, but most of them teach the younger grades, so they're not participating. The principal is a pretty active young guy, so he's excited, but the rest of the teachers are kind of unenthused about the idea of playing kickball against their students. (To be honest, I don't blame them. I HATED kickball. And I was even pretty good at it, due to my years of soccer training. It was a sigh of relief when I got to high school and I knew I never had to see a kickball ever again.)
Anyway. So the game begins. Mom's back a few in the line of kickers, and of course the rest of the ladies are doing their best, but it's just not working out. The kids keep moving closer and closer to the pitcher's mound, easily scooping up any ball a teacher can manage to kick. They're getting a little cocky. Too cocky. Soon, Mom steps up to the plate.
The kids are all pretty much standing in the infield, since most of the teachers have been unable to kick it much past the pitcher's mound. Mom readies herself at the plate. She lets the first pitch roll by, since it was a little bouncy. She lets the second pitch go by, just because. But the third one? She keeps her eye on the ball, prepares her stance, and boots that ball all the way to the fence line. The kids stare open-mouthed, either at the ball as it zooms over their heads, or at Mom jogging around the bases to score a home run. The teachers go crazy, the kids gape, and then start running as fast as they can toward the ball that's now halfway to Provo, and Mom is the hero.
Needless to say, the kids never stood in the infield when Mom came up to kick again. It's been a few years, and they still don't. The legend of Mrs. M lives on.
Happy Birthday, Mom!
-K
Comments
Post a Comment