As a parent is is hard to remember what it was like starting out in a sport. I played softball for years growing up. Back then we had pitchers who threw the wicked twelve foot arc-type pitches. The fast pitch stuff was for the traveling teams.
So here she is, after a year of lessons in volleyball, playing for her middle school team.
What a sweet bunch of girls. They are equal parts competitive and cute.
Sporty and sassy.
And smart. Let's not forget that these girls are bright. That is the best part.
Sitting in the stands with the other parents, I want my daughter to do well. I want to will her to be as strong as I know she is.
"Just hit the ball like your little sister is on the other side of the net. Hit it HARD."
There are plenty of smaller girls who are just muscle packed in a petite package. My daughter is the lanky one. Tall enough to cover the net, but without the confidence of some of the others. That will come in time. It would come sooner if she would let my brain vibes into her head. I was willing that serve to go over as hard as I could. It did. She should listen to me. Somebody tell her to listen to her mother.
She's forbidden me from yelling for her since I embarrassed her during soccer season last year. I can, however, yell for her teammates. Above is one of our girls doing a jump serve. That's right. JUMP SERVE IN 7TH GRADE. Sweet, right?
I've kept my promise to just clap for her.....
So far. I may break out into a yell or something later in the season. I'm unpredictible like that.
She listens to her coach and is thrilled when he compliments her on a hit or block. He is tough and expects the girls to practice as hard as they play in a game. I like that.
Everyone doesn't get to play in every game.
I like that too, even when my daughter is not one of the ones playing. She learns by watching her teammates.
I want to get out there and play.
I think that would put her over the edge. One can't really die of mortification, right?