12/20/04--turning into my Dad--again

So we're getting ready for church yesterday (we went down to the Triple Rock for some "churching up"---okay, show of hands for those of you who know what movie that reference is from) and I look at my 12 yr old daughters outfit.

"What's with that outfit?  You trying to show some boo-tay?"
"Very funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny.  That shirt is too short to be worn with that skirt."

So then when we get to the church, we're walking in and I throw a little commentary towards the wife's direction.

"That shirt is way too short for her to be wearing.  Look at that, she has to keep pulling it down.  You can practically see her butt."

And then it hit me.  DOH!  That little bit of Larry Bowdren that remains with me--always--popped up for a visit.  I am my fathers son.

Later that day we went to see Andy play soccer.  Now usually, to be perfectly candid here, he's a fairly average player.  He doesn't suck, but he's not going to be all county either.  To quote new Notre Dame head football coach Charlie Weis:
"It is what it is."

Well for whatever reason, the spirit of Pele & David Beckham was inside Andy on this day.  He played like a freakin whirlwind.  He got his first point in league play on a nice assist, and had two shots on goal that were either wide or blocked.  Even the kids on the bench (undoubtably the harshest critics) were commenting.
"Hey man...what's with Andy today?"
So his team is winning 4-1, and there's like a minute left to go in the game, and Andy makes a great play to dribble it between 3 defenders and starts heading for the other teams end of the field, pretty much just trying to run out the clock--all of a sudden he's nailed from behind by the other teams defender and sent sprawling.  He's laying on the field, apparently crippled or maimed (sports sarcasm).  Kim & I have begun to pack up our folding chairs because the game is about to end.  She has her back to the field when the play happens and another mother says to her...
"Um...I think your son might be hurt."
"Naa, he's just milking the injury so the ref will give the other guy a yellow card."
(This moment of rare maternal concern brought to you by Kimberly Bowdren)
So Andy comes hobbling back to the sidelines, taken out of the game and I see him almost about ready to.....
Cry.
DOH!
"Grit your teeth and suck it up.  You're not 9 yrs old anymore and you will live."
We headed home from the game and I held up Andy to talk to him.  I told him that if he was truly hurt and needed to cry, to wait until he got off the field away from the opposing team.
"Do not give the other team the satisfaction of seeing you cry.  You are 15 yrs old and they will take that as a sign of weakness and will be pushing you down every chance they get to see if they can make you cry again.  I'm not saying it didn't hurt.
Just don't let them see that it hurt you."
Little bit of Vince Lombardi mixed with Larry Bowdren never hurt anyone.
And then, as we're walking in....another traumatic moment in my life.  I looked at my son....and saw.....(gulp).....a wisp of a 15 yr old moustache beginning.  Oh good Lord.  Stay with me on this one.

Later,
jeff