My son is learning to survive on the basketball court. This is entirely my husband's project; the effort sounds exhausting, and I admire the commitment of both gentlemen (Marc and Josh).
Here is my limited understanding of basketball. It's potentially fun if you have the ball. (That said, I have vivid memories of being mocked for my effeminate approach to the "bank shot"--and I'm so, so happy that I never have to play this game again.) Basketball is *not* fun when you are *waiting* for the ball--and this is where Josh stumbles. He grows bored. He tries to steal the ball even when it is in the hands of a teammate.
Josh's cleverness is such that he chooses the exact behavior to make the most people upset in the shortest amount of time. The other day at the Newark Museum, he had grown tired, and he knew he would have trouble competing with the fabulous artifacts of the Ballantine House. So he said, "Look, I took my pants off." And--yes--that *did* catch my attention. At basketball, Josh has realized that the high-voltage move that is available to him is to swat at and try to pinch other players. There is one particular coach who can handle this well. But, if the coach is out with laryngitis, the court begins to resemble the beaches of Normandy; adults get agitated, boundaries are blurred, inappropriate shouting may occur.
I do think that important learning is happening. Also--once again--I'm happy to be absent from this learning. When the kids are ready to chat about Ramona Quimby, I will be on call.
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