When I write about my children, most of the time it is Grace. She's the oldest and experiences new things first. These days, the boys act in unison as surly teenagers. They don't have a lot to say other than "I'm going..." or "Everyone else gets $20 a week for lunches..."
Yesterday when Spencer walked in the door after school and after basketball practice, he announced, "I dunked it!"
He was obviously proud of his accomplishment and he proceeded to give us a play by play.
He had been working on dunking the basketball for awhile. In June he came home and said he had dunked a softball. Softballs are a lot smaller than basketballs so easier to grasp and get above the rim.
One of Spencer's main complaints about the genetics he received is his small hands. His hands aren't really large enough to make palming the basketball easy. I mean, they aren't tiny like that guy on the Burger King commercial who won't eat the big burger because they make his tiny hands look tinier, but proportionately, he doesn't have extra large hands or extra large feet to go with his 6-foot, 4-inch body.
Last month he came home and said he had cut his finger on the rim trying to dunk the basketball, so he was progressing.
At practice yesterday, one of the other guys bet him $5 that he couldn't dunk it. Spencer was allowed three tries to win the bet.
The football team had finished practicing and they filed into the gym to watch the competition.
He missed on his first two tries, running, leaping and slamming the ball into the rim. On the third try, he succeeded, his one hand grasping the basketball and raising high enough to jam the ball through the hoop.
He landed to applause and happily received the $5 pay off.
After dinner and a shower, he dragged his backpack to the couch and sat down, ready to begin studying for a math test.
"I dunked it," he said again. No one new was there to hear him, he just wanted to say it again to make it real.
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