I brought my godson, a four month old baby, to my daughter’s volleyball game.
Bringing a baby anywhere is like being a bodyguard/spokesperson for a moody celebrity. You have to clean up their messes. People want to come up to them, touch them, and just look at them. But the celebrity doesn’t talk to riff raff. All questions are handled by the spokesperson/bodyguard.
The baby has done nothing to gain celebrity status and he drools. So in many ways he’s exactly like an actual celebrity.
I wheeled the stroller to the foot of the bleachers and picked the baby out and climbed up into the bleachers with my children.to watch the game. Now, there’s soemthing very nice about the beginnings of CYO games. All the girls gather round and say a “Hail Mary.” And for a few moments all the conversation in the gym stops. And they bow their heads. It’s a nice way to start. All the niceness ends with the “Amen” though.
For those who haven’t had the experience, watching a little girl’s volleyball game can be a little harrowing. The girls miss most of the balls and when they actually do hit it, it’s as liable to hit the concession stand lady as it is to go over the net. You should only watch children’s volleyball games from bomb shelters or behind makeshift walls like scientists used to watch nuclear tests in the desert. It’s like being the armored golf cart picking up balls at the driving range.
And when the game starts, so does the madness.
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