Dad & Sports

Playing with Dad is the most stressful experience of any sporting activity.

Case in point.

We booked a tennis court today and there were 4 players, me, Aggie, Adelia and Dad. Right away, we were all shaking our heads and shoving each other to be the sacrificial pair to play against Dad. Because it is a known fact since childhood (since the days of him teaching us sports) that when you cannot return a shot, or you fumble, or you make a stupid move, that Dad will get mad.

This is something we've learnt to endure. Once upon a time, when Dad started yelling or walking off within 10 mins of the game, we'd get really upset. Sometimes we'd get teary-eyed and the whole family mood would just sink. The entire hour of the game was not at all fun because we were just so pressured not to screw up too badly.

Let's face it, none of us are any good. We're shit at sports. It takes me a whole hour to remember how to place my grip on the racquet properly so that my ball stops flying 10 meters into the air.

So now we just take it with a pinch of salt. Trudge onto the tennis court and keep a cheery smile on even when we know Dad's face is getting sourer and sourer. When he starts scowling and shaking his head in frustration, we just keep laughing harder at all our missed balls.

Better than being like the player next court screaming, 'WHAT THE HECK?' and 'OH MY GOD' every five minutes, right? I suspect that's what Dad realized too, that his 3 lousy cheerful daughters had much better temperament than the crazy boy next door. Because his mood lifted towards the end as he was mimicking the kid.