matching tracksuits

The Boy wanted waffles for breakfast; K, being the amazing woman she is, agreed to make waffles as she talked to her mother. After breakfast, he wanted to do an experiment. What exactly he wanted to do was not clear. The idea at first was to mix various things together and see what happened. Instead, we steered him to a chemistry experiment, or rather he steered himself. Can't remember exactly how it moved from "I want to mix x, y, and z" to "Let's put an egg in vinegar," but it seemed a less messy procedure.

At first, he wanted just to drop a raw egg into vinegar, but after I explained the resulting mess, he agreed to the more traditional hard-boiled egg version of the procedure. It always surprises me how reasonable he can be for a six-year-old: sometimes, it's just a matter of explaining why x is not the best idea or why y would work better and he's more than willing to try the other way.

After lunch, we headed to the YMCA for the Boy's first basketball game. He was very nervous on the way there, which was more than understandable: he'd had one practice and never actually played in a game. Since we don't really watch sports, he'd never even seen a game to my knowledge.

It turned out there was nothing to worry about: YMCA basketball for this age group is just like YMCA soccer: the coach was on the court at all times, encouraging them, guiding them, directing them. Rules like walking and double-dribbling disappeared: one boy went charging down the court holding the ball, and the referee, who was phenomenally helpful and encouraging herself (a couple of times, she actually picked kids up and moved them to more advantageous spots, much to the delight of parents and onlookers), would simply run beside him and say, "You have to dribble! Try to dribble!"

The team had ten players, and groups of five swapped out every four minutes. (The quarters were eight minutes.) During the swap, the teams stood opposite each other and the coaches had each player point to the opposing player who was "their man." Gender and age didn't matter: everyone picked "their man." When play began, the coaches reminded their players, "No, no, you need to be with Red Shoes, over there. Go guard Red Shoes."

The Boy did well on defense, but offense was another story. He played like he used to play soccer: just running around, not really sure where he was supposed to go, what he was supposed to be doing. One little boy on our team had a lot of experience, and everyone, seeing his confidence, tried to get the ball to him. But then, on a missed shot, the Boy took the rebound and put it back up.

It bounced around the rim for a while and then finally fell through.

With a start like that, it's official: the Boy now loves basketball.