My girls took and passed their swimming tests last night, though my youngest had a tough time with the diving part, she breezed through the swimming test. I have a tough time with that one. She quits like I did when I was a kid so I tend to treat her the way I needed to be treated to get over my self-limiting behavior. I worry that I’m too tough on her, but I know that kid – she’s just like her father. Without a stern shove every now and again, I would have tried to stay in the womb.
On the other hand her teacher reminded me of something incredibly important when he asked he what grade she was in. It went like this: [Instructor] “What grade are you in now, third? [Josie] “No, first”. [Instructor] “You mean you’re doing all this and this well and you’re only in first grade”?! That put things in perspective a little better – I have to remember that she’s only six.
Isabella, on the other hand, swims like a great white. Graceful and powerful, at nine years old. She jumped from level four to level six and never blinked. She went from 25 yard repeats to a full 500 yards, non-stop, last night. The most impressive of her 20 trips across the pool was the last 25 yards – it was a strong front crawl, she finished with style… At a 2:12 pace per hundred, with flip turns.
That’s my girls, baby. They do their mom and dad proud.
In the context of my last post about my buddy dying for a drink, this post couldn’t have come at a better time – we drunks, as scary as it may be, have to remember to leave the cage…
There once was a man named George Thomas, a pastor in a small New England town. One Easter Sunday morning he came to the Church carrying a rusty, bent, old bird cage, and set it by the pulpit. Several eyebrows were raised and, as if in response, Pastor Thomas began to speak.
“I was walking through town yesterday when I saw a young boy coming toward me swinging this bird cage. On the bottom of the cage were three little wild birds, shivering with cold and fright. I stopped the lad and asked, “What you got there son?”
“Just some old birds,” came the reply.
“What are you gonna do with them?” I asked.
“Take ’em home and have fun with ’em,” he answered. “I’m gonna tease ’em and pull out their feathers to make ’em fight. I’m gonna have a real good time.”
“But you’ll get tired of those…
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