Last week, my son was invited to a birthday party for one of
his classmates. He was one of only two
or three kids from the class invited, so clearly this kid and my son have
connected. We had a fantastic time, and
I enjoyed the other moms and the kids.
But here’s what happened. The
party had an Orioles theme. (That’s
baseball if you’re as sports-dumb as I am.
I’m just proud that I didn’t have to look it up to determine the
sport.) The birthday kid asked my kid,
“Do you like the Orioles?”
And my kid looked at him blankly, and said, “Huh?”
Once someone at the grocery store asked my kid if he liked
the Ravens. (That’s football. I didn’t
have to look that up either. Go
me!) He answered, “A raven is kind of
like a crow.”
Yeah.
See, I pretty much hate watching sports. I would go to a live game, I guess. If there was going to be beer and naughty
food I don’t usually allow myself. But
honestly, I’d rather go to a pub and have beer and naughty food without the
boring sports part. I could see
tailgating, especially with friends of ours, one of whom went to culinary
school. He makes elaborate meals including Scotch eggs from scratch. (He mixes
his own sausage spices, etc.) I would
be totally down with that. And just,
you know, skip the football part.
(A Scotch egg, if you don’t know, is a hard boiled egg, encased in
sausage, breaded, and then deep fried.
Dipped in spicy mustard, if you’re me.
Mmmmm, Scotch eggs.)
I like playing sports.
I played basketball, soccer, and tennis as a kid, and I still enjoy
those, or the slower-moving mommy-playing-with-kids equivalents. I would probably still enjoy the
faster-moving versions if I had better shoes and a better bra and a
month to get back in cardiovascular shape.
But watching? Absolutely no
interest.
My husband doesn’t watch sports on TV either. He probably would. He watches when he’s with his family. But it’s not high enough on his priority scale to set aside time
to watch, especially since he knows he would be watching alone. He has made some noise about taking the kids
to an Orioles game, and I said, “Awesome, have fun!” But since I tend to plan all of our outings, the odds of this ever
happening are pretty low. Like, not
statistically different from zero. He
can go. I’m not going. And I’m not planning it. Maybe some other dad will plan it and he can
tag along.
He has taught them baseball (a sport I loathe in all
forms—playing, watching, watching kids play, etc.) My daughter, who is very sporty, can already bat better than I
can. I have taught them some soccer
skills. They did gymnastics, and they
both dance. They have been exposed to parkour,
and know the names of some of the feats from American Ninja Warrior. They’re not… you know… deprived.
But in this area of the country, I wonder if sports and
(gag) the local teams are an important part of their social education that I am
neglecting. Maybe they should know who
the Ravens are. Sigh. But do I have to?
Kids their age are asking.
If I expose them to sports and they still prefer Mario and Pokemon and
reading and dancing, at least I’ll know it’s their choice. But what if they like sports? I managed to score a husband who doesn’t
watch sports. I am not having football
on every… um… Monday? Monday night
football? That’s a thing, right? Except that my dad comes down on weekends,
and there always seems to be some important football game on while he’s here
too. So, is it, like, more than once a
week? Is that right? That sounds bloody awful.
Can I just not? What
do you guys think? Can I just… not?
I’ve spoken with a few friends about it, and the consensus so far seems to be that I have to at least expose them to sports. Football first, and then baseball, pretty
much the two LEAST appealing sports possible.
I guess it could be worse. It
could be golf. I imagine myself sitting
down to watch a Ravens game with them, telling them that the Ravens are “our”
team. It feels like talking about the
Easter Bunny. Or maybe more like
indoctrinating them in a religion that I don’t share. In Maryland, the Ravens are more of a religion than, like, you
know, god. People (apparently) wear
purple on Fridays before games. No one
dresses up every week for god. I’m just
saying. Well, maybe for church I guess,
but around here, people don’t really dress that nicely for church. This isn’t Manhattan. There are no fabulous hats.
This whole question makes me miss the San Francisco bay
area. Around here, my friend’s kids
apparently have a “wear your favorite team jersey” day at school. I have this fantasy that in the bay area,
people would send their kids to school wearing the uniform of the Irish curling
team or something. It’s not the
appreciation of sports that makes me uncomfortable. It’s the assumption that everyone is into sports. We have no jerseys. We have no favorite team.
The easy solution, proposed by a dinner party companion the
other night, is that I outsource the problem.
Send the kids to someone else’s house on a game day. Or make chicken wings and taco dip and buy a
bunch of beer and have some people over to my house to teach my children what
they need to know to be socially accepted in suburban Maryland. So I guess I’ll do that. So that at least when a school friend asks them
if they like the Ravens, they won’t start quoting Poe.
But can’t I have that same party—chicken wings, taco dip,
beer—without the football? Oh,
right. Right. Crap.
