Zen and the Art of Kickball

My children go to an international school. They might miss out on some American holidays, like having to go to school on Thanksgiving, and do not study American history. But thank God they are learning to play kickball.

They met me at the door the other night and wanted me to play with them so off we went after I assured them that I've been around the kickball field a few times. There is always a bit of disbelief, since I grew up in the Dark Ages without Cartoon Network, the Internet, or portable DVD players. Without one of the official red playground kickballs, we found a semi-flat basketball that sufficed and spent an hour playing. Best of all, nobody got hurt, especially me at my tender age.

A few days later, my six-year-old decided she was ready for me to take the training wheels off her bike again, which made me wince. Not because I am afraid she won't learn to ride, but because her bike is so small that I have to roadie run along side her to hold her up. Markus Fenix's back must kill him. Last time it felt like it took three days for me to walk upright. This time, she took off on her own after about 10 minutes. She was just ready. I just had to give her the finer points of .

We ended the week with a Quiz Night, something more popular with the Brits but catching on with us Americans. It's not serious, just a cover for a little adult rowdiness and drinking under cover of a trivia competition. We had great evening, starting with announcing our team name "Shut Your Piehole" and ending with a second-place finish that earned us some lovely promotional coffee mugs from a car dealer. I think our chanting and clapping "Let's go pieholes" might have been too much for the competition, along with humming Gary Glitter's Rock and Roll Part 2 (Na-Naaa-Na NaNaNaNa Na-Naaa-Na NaNaNaNa Hey!). With some of the stiff sorts I work with, it doesn't take much to be thought of as wacky, or even edgy. But that's just me.

Time with family and friends. It was a good week.