Athletic pursuits.

Golf is the sport of choice at our house. Not my choice, of course — my choice would be no sports — but so long as neither of my kids want to play hockey, I'll be happy. I mean, 5am ice time seven days a week? Yeah, no. I'll gladly resort to bribery (i.e. Here's $50 to never mention hockey to me again) before I let that happen.

Because Nate is an avid golfer — and a very good one, at that — he has always looked forward to taking Calvin golfing. Since Cal's not quite old enough for a day on the course, they do a lot of backyard practicing with a set of plastic toy clubs. From the looks of things, there's hope for Calvin following in Nate's footsteps. He hits that little plastic ball effortlessly.

Last night I made the mistake of coming out to watch them. Calvin brought me his club and told me it was my turn to golf. I laughed and said "Oh, I'm not a golfer. This is a fun game for you and Daddy." But Calvin insisted, so I took the plastic set out into the yard, got into prime golfing position, and swung.

I missed the ball.

Nate laughed.

Calvin, encouraging me from the sidelines: "Almost!"

I squinted my eyes, got back into position, and swung once more.

I missed it again.

Nate laughed harder.

Calvin, shaking his head as he came to take the club away: "You're not a golfer."

No kidding, kid. What did you expect? The closest I ever came to a team sport was yearbook.