Today was D.O.N.U.T.S. for Dads day. Did you celebrate? Maybe it was only Sadie and Annabelle’s class that observed the holiday, but it was kickin! I can’t remember what the acronym DONUTS stands for, but it was big and bold on a handpainted sign, welcoming all the dads to the class, celebrating and honoring us. The class had a M.U.F.F.I.N.S for Moms day around Mother’s Day, too. Mrs. Buggs does a great job of involving us parents in the classroom. She’s the teacher that skyped us in for Sadie’s presentation on China when we were actually in China to pick up Annabelle!
To get things started, the dads were pitted against the 3rd graders in a rousing game of kickball. I’ve got to be honest here–I was a little disappointed at how the dads chose to play the game. No mercy. I watched as dad after dad kicked the ball as far as they could, over the heads of their hopeful children. Some dads were catching every line drive and pop fly, racing to tag kids out. One dad even pegged a kid in the back with the ball, even though we were told that there was no pegging.
It was only after the dads had a substantial (something like 15 runs) lead that I think the guilt started to hit them. Then the kicks became shorter, and the pop ups started dropping. I have to confess that my fielding percentage was atrocious for the game. I led the team in errors, and didn’t have a hit.
As we shuffled back into the classroom for some snacks (donuts and pizza) I heard some dads talking about the game. They were saying things like, “That’s how I was taught to play–no mercy. You don’t take it easy on your opponent. Kids don’t learn by being handed a win.”
Sorry guys, I refuse to consider a group of eager 3rd graders to be an opponent worthy of the full measure of my kickball-ability, and I’m not completely lacking in that department. I was routinely the first kid chosen in Mrs. Albrecht’s 6th grade class at Phoebe Hearst Elementary School. It made me a little sad to see the light of hope dim from the eyes of the kids as dad after dad rounded the bases. Would it have been so bad to keep it fun for them, at least for a few more years?
Levi is 14. He’s as tall as me, and he outweighs me. The other day I jumped on him as he sprawled on the couch. In the past, he’s been quick to resort to giggling and squirming, trying to convince me to get off him. But the other day was different. He stood up with me clinging to his back. I think it surprised both of us. He’s big and strong, and doesn’t need me to take it easy on him when we play. The day is soon coming when I won’t be able to beat him at simple games. But I don’t think that my 3rd grade girls learned a lesson from getting their tails kicked by a bunch of 40 year olds in kickball.
The highlight of the day soon followed, though. The girls each made a mug for me, and wrote some poetry which was placed in the mugs. Sadie wrote some haiku/acrostic-y things, which were great. The only phrase she could conjure for the Y in my name was “Yelling at the TV!” (You know, dad, during the Penn State games…yep). Annabelle went with the free-verse mode. She wrote about me helping her with homework, being strong (she tells me all the time “You so strong!”), how much she loves me, and she closed with the best clincher I’ve seen in a while:
You love Jesus.
I’m pretty sure that’s the message I want to send my kids. Love wins. Even in kickball.
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