A couple weeks ago at about dusk, Jay and I had a dog park date with Chandler. As we arrived at the park and unleashed him so he could sniff to his heart's content, I stood against the fence and witnessed a twenty-something girl in the pen with her German Shorthaired Pointer. At first glance it looked like they were just playing fetch but as I began to watch them, I noticed something a little different about this game: The girl couldn't throw.
I'm not saying she couldn't throw as well as Tom Brady. Or John Elway. Or Aroldis Chapman. I'm saying that she couldn't throw the ball at all. Every single time she tried, it landed a mere 2-3 feet in front of her to which she would sigh and then resort to an underhand toss across the gravel. Fortunately, her pup didn't seem to mind as evidenced when he repeatedly darted off in the ball's wake with his tongue flapping in the wind behind him. But man, that poor girl.
I have a pretty good arm. Not a zzzommmmgamazing arm. But pretty dang good. And that is largely because in the summer growing-up, either while dinner sizzled or when the dishwasher was being loaded after a meal, my Dad and I would retreat to the street (ooo, that rhymed - "TM") with a football or baseball mitts and play catch over and over and over again. It's largely one of my favorite memories with my Dad and was a foolproof way to share in conversation. And teach me to push myself. And show me that I'm allowed to be tough. And I dig that.
^In the middle of a football game with my Dad at Cannon Beach.
Seeing that poor girl try to throw a ball to no avail made me realize the importance of thanking your parents for what they did right (I mean ... we're all pretty good at verbalizing what they did wrong so it's the least we can do) and for ensuring that you pay that forward to others as you get older. I hope my future girls are tough. I hope they take pride in some muscle. I hope they realize the physical strength they possess. I hope they know sports weren't made for their gender as merely a spectator sport.
And for the love of God: I hope they can throw a d*mn ball.