Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Playing Games

When we were in elementary school, the neighborhood kids would stage epic games of kickball and capture the flag. We would break ourselves into teams and play until a huge argument broke out, someone had to go home for dinner or we found an adult to supervise our swimming.*

My younger sister, Meg, would never play.

Meg, who excelled in softball and volleyball and soccer and ice hockey and any other sport she attempted, absolutely hated the disorganized chaos of our neighborhood games.

And she hated to lose these meaningless games even more. So she refused. If Meg is anything, it is stubborn. She always refused.

While researching our Brazil trip earlier this evening, I stumbled upon some drop-in soccer matches. All ages and skill levels, Brazilians and foreigners alike. Just for fun.

The Brazilian soccer equivalent to our neighborhood kickball games, basically. I should have known.

I emailed the information to Meg anyway. She immediately responded with her refusal.

I'm glad that I don't take myself that seriously.


*If there is ever a rule that is not to be broken when growing up on the lake, it is the rule forbidding you from swimming without an adult present. It was drilled into us and, as far as I can remember, not one of us ever broke that rule.

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