style to my young teammate.
A "buttercup," in the parlance of kickball on the lower yard at Youngest's elementary school, is a drop kick. Youngest and I practice them every afternoon when we take the mutton head down to the field at school to run her (and my) butt off.
Drop kicking back and forth with a 7-year-old boy is no kick-back picnic. But it does kick me back in time to my own kickball-playing days in Alexandria, Virginia. The kids on the dead end we lived on would team up and play for ages. The shouts of protestations and accusations of cheating sound the same, as do the sounds of laughter and the noises of jostling for team captain status.
I don't need a time machine to go back in time. I can revisit my childhood pretty much anytime I choose. What I'm NOT looking forward to is a return visit to adolescence. Three times!
[Photo courtesy ozonegreer.com.]