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Saturday, February 12, 2011

Saturday respite

The 8 year old playdate/sleepover can be both a blessing and a curse.  N had a friend over for the night and for the most part I can call it a success.  Girl comes from a great family and shares an athletic ability/similar interests than our daughter.  However, this friend is not allowed on YouTube, probably has not sworn or has ever heard the work fuck.

Ya know, she has good, Catholic parents.  I showed N "Step Brothers" when she was 6.  I still remember when she called a motorist a "Fucking Douchebag" when she was 18 months old after he cut me off.

Um, Parenting Magazine is not going to be calling me/us for an interview anytime soon.  But, overall, N is a good, solid kid.  She is polite and well behaved at other folks' houses.  She gets good grades and does above average work in competetive sports settings.  Socially however she skews older than 8.  She would rather mingle with adults sipping an Absolut and cran at neighborhood parties than play a board game with kids.  She enjoys Housewives of Beverly Hills and Top Chef more than ICarly.  She hates Justin Bieber but can sing-a-long to most of what plays on Alt Nation.

So, when the personality of a peer presents itself over the course of 12 hours or so...  could be trouble.  All went pretty well though.  Lots of Wii playing, video making and laughter over the course of the night.  T and I were tired from another exhausting week.  Lights out and upstairs at 9:30.  And they bought it!!!

We were all probably asleep by 10pm, which is rare even for a school night.  All good until 5:15am.  Story goes:  Friends ipod fell off bed and crashed to our hardwood floor.  The noise was seismic.  I was half asleep, like every night, so it registered.  T slept away on her Zpack/NyQuil mixer.  Friend was awake though...  and then, too N.

So, Saturday morning here we come...  Bagels, drinks, cleaning up and moving forward.  Last day of rec basketball today too.  So, by 10am we are at the gym.  Last day always means tournament.  First, I gather the girls for times drills.  We need to do layups, free throws and a dribbling obstacle course in certain times.  Points are amassed and group winners declared.  Pizza and awards follow another triumphant season for Catholic basketball.  It is with a strange sense of pride and nostalgia I cherish these mornings.  It takes me to a more innocent time.  The Saturdays I spent at the Firth Youth Center come back to mind.  Holy Name A vs Holy Name B.  Gold vs Green.  Saints vs Angels.

The time I sank the 50 footer at the buzer to beat Alpha.  The walk back home on a cold winters day.  Dribbling along the road trying to beat your best time.  Friends whose only care was if Duke beat North Carolina that day.  If Ewing was overrated.  If you could afford Air Jordans (and no, I couldn't- still remember my shoes were "Sky Jordans."  I am not sure if they were knock offs, or if my feet were not big enough for Air's.  Either way I was a huge doucher for not having the real thing.  Although, I am sure they went well with my Lee jeans, and giant glasses, and bowl hair cut, and lisp...

Anyway, I have been up since 5:30, I am tired, and still lucky.

I opted to avoid "Gnomeo and Juliet."  I get 2 hours to myself.  I have 2 hours to catch up on the World.

Maniac kills 4 in NYC.  Egypt and no Mubarek.  Syracuse v Marquette.  People are coming to Philadelphia Hotels from England to get ass implants.  Oddly, they die.

I gladly take the rest.  And look forward to the next time....

1 comment:

  1. The Firth Youth Center reference put me back on the streets of P'burg walking to the next destination, and back on the courts of Rose St. waiting for the next pass to be able to throw down an uncontested dunk on the 8.5' rims.

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