As the football spirals down perfectly into my hands with a delicate amazing accuracy, she cheers. “That’s right Mom, catch it with your hands, not your body. Aren’t I good at this?”
Both of our faces get sweaty and red as we pass the ball between us 15 times without dropping; 26 times without dropping it; 31 times without dropping the ball.
“You are. Amazing.”
I can’t talk in full sentences because it’s 101 outside and also because I only recently discovered that my Magic Bullet (blender) makes the best 100 calorie frozen margaritas in the world and if I talk more I’ll talk myself into going back inside and making one right now.
A little voice (mine) the size of an angry Leprechaun (have you ever seen a female Leprechaun? I haven’t. I know there is only one girl Smurf, and I was taught to believe Smurfs are communists even though they are blue not red. Anyway…) says to me, “Throwing a football?! What a waste of time an talent on a girl. This is like a fish that likes to bicycle. Not natural, no good, no point. Anyway, why the hell are you teaching her to throw a football? Where’s her Dad? What’s wrong with this world?”
I’ve had bad thoughts like these before. Like everything else in the entire universe, they pass. I stand out of the storm of thoughts like a pedestrian standing out of the rain, dry, peaceful, observing.
I let go of wanting anything more than this, here and now, and toss the football ball back to Zoe, trying to look all intimidating and Quarterback-like.
It’s a dead-on spiral. Whoot! She cheers and catches it, spins the ball to get the right grip, then reloads her arm, aims, and throws it back to me.
It goes above my head but I reach up and grab it then strike the Heisman Pose.
We laugh and go in to get ice and ask for nothing better than this, today.
