Sunday, March 19, 2006

I don't have A.D.D! I don't. I don'.....hey look, a penny.

My parent’s were very supportive of our interests when we were youngsters. They drew the line at buying a piano – a wise move considering I begged my mother not to sell her guitar promising that I would learn how to play and then promptly stuffed it under my bed for about 5 years. My brother and sister were dedicated to swimming (both became lifeguards) and hockey (brother) and ringette (sister). I never quite found my passion, but not for lack of trying.

There was gymnastics - perhaps foreshadowing a passion yet to come – I still like men’s gymnastics, just not doing them. If we were good and did all our tumbles, pummel horse work, balance beam this and that, we were allowed to play a game called pirate. The class was divided into two teams and one person from each team would get on the balance beam, walk to the centre and knock the other off. It was F-U-N! One day the class (lead by yours truly) did nothing we were supposed to and were given a lecture half way through. “Do you know how much time we spend preparing this class?” and “Do you want us to tell your parents?” Every guilt trip and threat was on tap that day but apparently had no affect on me. When the inevitable “so what do you want to do now?" was asked, and for the record the correct answer apparently was work the pummel horse, I asked if we could play pirate. They actually asked my parents to withdraw me from the class. With a full refund! It didn’t bother me but how embarrassing for my parents.

After gymnastics came swimming. There was a rule in our nieghbourhood – if you wanted to swim without adult supervision you had to pass your junior level. Front crawl, back crawl, tread water, hold your breath and jelly fish. I never liked that last one. What pool had weeds in it to tangle around my ankles? Now really. Regardless, it was nothing too challenging. Except for me. The pool had a slide! How can I focus on swimming when there is a slide. To this day, I love a good slide. Weeeeeeeeeeee. I passed. Eventually. After two sets of regular lessons, one semi-private and finally a private.

My downfall at T-ball was stones. They would stick me in the outfield and expect me to pay attention. What 6 year old is going to hit a ball off of post and make it go that far? Come on. How could I not pick stones out of the grass and stack them up like little snowmen? I also quickly bored of my team sponsor - Streetsville Glass. I picked two letters off my shirt for fun. Guess which two?

Figure skating made my feet too cold. Besides, who wants to skate when there is a pool in the building next door. With a slide!

I was always enthusiastic about walking our dog too. Benji was good times. We would out every day after school and head down the valley near our house. She was a good pet but nothing like a craw-fish. I always came home soaking wet with a bucket of critters and no dog. She usually made her way home eventually. She got distracted too – especially by Mrs. Lewis’ garbage. I cleaned that up more that once I can tell you.

Now that I am older, I look back and fancy that I was a young Auntie Mame. Picking up one hobby or another, each time with a passionate intensity that burned brightly, if all too briefly. A look back over the last few years though seems to point to a not dissimilar pattern. Swing dancing lost out to line dancing. Going to the gym to yoga. Pie making and drinking to……hey wait a minute, I think I found something that held my interest. Cheers to me! Cheers to…… that the doorbell?


Blogger Michelle said...

Love your blog! I thought I was the only kid in the outfield with nothing to do. I now know they put me there because I couldn't catch. Or throw. Or hit really. But there were lots of those little white flowers out there and they were fun to tie together.

Keep sharing!

4:45 PM  
Blogger Blair said...

Oh my God you were even a muscular child! I can only hope my arms will be as big as yours were at what age 8 ?

10:43 PM  
Blogger Lance Morrison said...

OMG, your poor poor mother! She must have gotten her first gray hair when you were 4.

Cute post, dear. My ADD was easily kept in control. "Gimme a break. Gimme a break. Break me off a piece of that Ridalin!". Thanks mom.

Oh look, a bobby pin....

6:15 AM  

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