A little rusty, a little droopy, and a little too high for our grandchildren, our old basketball hoop was resuscitated on Thanksgiving. Or maybe reincarnated is the better term. It’s been 12 years since our three kids shot baskets on that hoop. Twelve years since they spelled “horse” against each other, or “rhinoceros” for longer games. Twelve years since our youngest left for college, following his big brother and sister and leaving that old basketball hoop behind and almost forgotten on the cement slab in our backyard. Until this Thanksgiving. That’s when our 5 and 7 year old grandchildren discovered it, and learned the game of “horse.” It was their dad, our oldest child, who brought them outside on a cold Denver afternoon and relived his own childhood.  Not too many shots were made – the hop is still a little too high – but when a shot would magically float through the net-less rim, the squeals could be heard throughout the neighborhood. And there was even a bit of trash-talking.

I taught sports to all three of our kids when they were our grandkids’ ages, but within months they were all better at their sports than I was. I’m anxiously awaiting the time when our grandchildren can outshoot their dad the way he outshot me almost 30 years ago. Then I get to do the trash-talking.

My “No Regrets Parenting” book of 10 years ago has been expanded and updated, now with entirely new sections on parenting young adult children and No Regrets Grandparenting. And I’m really enjoying practicing both of those with my own family. And my grandkids can spell “horse” and “rhinoceros.” How great is that!


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