Chapter: Why So Emotional, Bro?

Some form of this post will eventually be included in Living with People I Want to Punch in the Throat. It is unedited and in rough draft form.

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When strangers think of our family, I’m pretty sure the word “athletic” never comes to mind. We’re weird introverted extroverted know-it-alls without filters who can’t run. (This is where my family members will take exception and declare they can absolutely run, thank you very much! And then I’ll have to be clear about what I mean: they can run but only if there’s a reward or a serial killer involved. I can’t run no matter the circumstances. I’m on everyone’s zombie apocalypse team so they can leave me behind to be devoured while they run.)

What I’m trying to say is no one in my family is going to end up a professional athlete. I don’t even think anyone in my family will get any type of college scholarship for athletics.

Because of the kids lack of athletic genes, my inability to plan for the future, and the Hubs’ cheap bastardness (yes, that’s absolutely a word), our kids never played “professional sports.” I call them professional sports, because those elite teams don’t fuck around. There was a time where Gomer wanted to try out for a specialized sports team and the organizer laughed in my face and told me I needed to get on the try-outs list when he was born. I know families paying coaches monthly fees more than my mortgage payment. I know kids who get up at the ass-crack of dawn to practice.

That was not the life we chose.

Instead,