You can’t win them all

girls baseball glove

I didn’t go to the tournament today. I didn’t go today, but I did go to most of the last one. I did go to half of the one before that and the one before that. And I will be there tomorrow.

But today her brother had a game here in the neighbourhood and since her dad is actually one of her coaches, that leaves me to take him. Besides, these tournaments mean long days for her little sister and there’s enough to get done this weekend without spending an entire day away from home.

She was mad. I knew she would be, but part of you needs to believe that one day they’ll behave like rational creatures.

“You’ve only been to half my games this year!” she yelled. “It’s not fair! You miss three of my games for one of his!” Clearly, this was my way of showing who I loved the most. Any fool can see that the number of games missed divided by the number of games attended and then multiplied by the magnitude of wrath incurred gives you your parental love factor. Never mind that as a family we easily spend ten times more time/energy/money on her love for baseball than her brother’s casual interaction with the sport; never mind that we scheduled our entire summer (camps, vacations, etc.) around her schedule; my staying behind today is obviously a sign of where my loyalty lies.

Okay, fine. The last time I missed a game, she hit a home run. But that’s not likely to happen again, right?

Nope, I’m holding firm. There are five people in this family and it is simply not reasonable to expect all of us to make it out to everything. She’s not the only one made a commitment by joining a team. My son has fun playing on his local house league and I also enjoy watching him play. I refuse to feel bad about it.

So, of course. Halfway through the day, he sends me a picture of my daughter beaming with pride and weighed down with a huge medal. An opposing coach had signaled her out as the MVP of the game.

And I missed it.

She’s going to be so mad.