New Sweatbands

I saw a funny sight out of the corner of my eye last week when I picked up Jack from great grandma's house. Grandpa had lowered the old basketball goal down as far as it could go, and there was Jack, shootin' hoops. He was shooting in a way that my own father, once upon a time, referred to as "granny style". Just like Jack, as a little, little kid, I also found that bending over and shooting from in between spread eagle legs produced a much more frequent rate of accuracy. My father also called this the "sissy panties" way... but whatever, Dad. It worked. It didn't really matter anyway as I grew older and became officially short, and therefore, not cut out for basketball.

I've gotten sidetracked. On with the story. As I pulled up to the drive, I did notice his preference for granny style shooting and even saw him make a basket. Good job, Jack! But what was really funny was that he was all decked out on the court with sweatbands. They were white ones, emblazoned with orange embroidered NBA insignia. This was obviously a serious basketball practice. I got out of the car with my hand across my mouth, hiding my laughter at his Globetrotter-like appearance. He immediately began to inform me of the advantages of wearing such gear. "I can't feel my sweat, Mom! I'm wearing my sweatbands." He modeled the one on each wrist, and then finished with a swirling hand motion across his forehead to draw my attention there. Of course he had to wear these on the ride home. I wouldn't have even thought of asking him to remove them. He was proud.

Later in the evening, he was still wearing them. He wore them to ride on his battery powered John Deere tractor for quite some time. Neighbors who walked by commented and complimented his new look. "Oh, look at his sweatbands!" they exclaimed. (You can tell people don't wear these things anymore by the reactions they provoke. "Sweatbands! Look, he's wearing sweatbands." I imagine it would be the equivalent of me wearing leg warmers around the mall one day. Purple ones, maybe.)

And then, we cooked dinner. Jack has never been one to help cook dinner. The stove gets turned on, the pot begins to steam, and he's out of there! He's not a fan of "hot." But, remember TODAY he had on his NBA sweatbands. He stirred the noodles quite helpfully and said, "Mom, I don't even feel the hot on my head today." He did one more swirling motion across the forehead with his hand and flashed me a grin. I sure do love this kid.