Coach Flip Naumburg's Journal

Thursday, June 24, 2004

MY THREE SONS

I have three sons . . . . . .Wait.  This is not my beautiful house.  That is not my beautiful car . . . . . ... How did I get here?  (Talking Heads)

George laughs and coos, sometimes at the same time, and he makes this cheerful little bird like sound that just makes me smile when I hear it.  He is one year old, alive at all times with the wonder of it all.  Sleeping is way down on the priority list.  I missed his first birthday while in Japan, and I missed seeing the first steps that he was able to take without falling down during that time gone, too. 

Alas George still will not take a bottle.  The only milk he is interested in is the real deal from mom.  He is, however, happy to gum the side of my coffee cup and devour meat and food from several of the groups, much unlike his brother Jordan, who is always ordering that "special" meal, the one that is different from all the others.  (I have been on too many airplanes lately).

Jordan is 4.5 years old. He still employs the tried and true sippy cup for drinking beverages with a tummy rub fetish.  He knows exactly what he will and will not eat, based on color and other clear factors, which always tell him how he will feel about something before he eats it.  Therefore, in his mind, it is often not necessary to go through the actual process of eating it.  He has a system for most everything already.

A CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK?

George has discovered and is obsessed with the lacrosse ball. He is not interested nearly as much in tennis, basket, whiffle, or other kinds of balls.  His preference is clearly hard, perfectly round rubber ones that he can grasp easily and throw. It sounds like ball will be his first word.  He wants THE ball and he "gets" the whole play catch thing, and has for a while. 

This seemingly normal sequence of events caused a minor scrape or spat the other day between father and mother, husband and wife, Ada and me. 

Ada hides lacrosse balls away from him the second I turn my back after giving ball to child.  It is a vicious cycle that has been going on for a while.  This didn't bother me with Jordan.  He is 4 and a half and still doesn't get what all the excitement is about in throwing the ball back and forth.  He is always thinking of new ways to add to the drama of the scene.  Catch is too simple for whatever side of the brain that is that Jordan is full of. 

On the other child, George is simply and gleefully happy to play endless catch.  The ball is hard, I understand this, but we all need to hit a little bit of the school of hard knocks along the way, don't we?

YOU WILL WHEN YOU WON'T, AHAH, HONEY DON'T – Ringo Starr

So anyway, I finally had had enough, and like the man I am I stood up to her (Ada) (sort of).  The child could easily drown in our pool that we never use, or tumble down our steep jagged tile stairways, or even get bitten by a rattlesnake 20 feet from the door for that matter, but somehow the lacrosse ball had nestled itself in there as the thing most closely associated with the Devil of danger around here.  I think I get the whole "subliminal" message coming my way, but either way I will fight for freedom of ball privileges for George Elkan Naumburg, and I will not quit, because I see the love that he has for this particular orb style (lacrosse ball), and I will nurture it.  Soon ball will grow stick, but I'll have to be sneaky about it.

DUNK YOU VERY MUCH

The boy George has ball skills.  The proof is that he has already, at just over one, discovered and loves to dunk ball in wastebasket.  I am so proud.

AS MY WORLD TURNS

Then we got the 20 year old.  He lives at home, which we love, but he is the one having "sleep overs" at a friend's house, not the little ones. What up with that?  He has a new "friend". 

Here's what I mean: Michael had been gone for a week when he flew back into Denver the other day.  Did he pass go (come home) to collect food or money?  Heck no, he proceeded directly to "free parking", not to be seen until the following day.  I wonder what those kids are up to all night.

Tomorrow I leave for Vail.   I just got home.  There is never rest for the weary.  Why is that exactly?

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