Prodigious

There's an 8-year-old boy out there who is a blues guitar prodigy.

There's a 10-year-old boy out there that's a bullfighter.

There are dozens of teenaged girls in China right now who can do insanely beautiful and dangerous things with their bodies (I'm talking the gymnasts, y'all, not some coven of magickal assassins or something).

There are gobs and GOBS of kids in this world who are prodigies, gifted with a special 'something' that makes them stand out, to rise above, to capture the attention of the world, a coach, a sponsor, whatever. Somehow, these kids have taken an early fascination or a twinge of promise and molded it into something that takes them out of the realm of local notoriety into the bright world of fame.

How do they DO this?

More specifically, how do their parents do this? Doesn't it take a whole lot of chutzpah to get your 8-year-old very good guitar-playing son in from of people who have the connections to get him into gigs with revered icons of the genre? Doesn't it take some kind of tremendous blind faith, or perhaps monumental egoism, to train your little boy to be a bullfighter once he's exhibited some small interest in the carnal entertainment? Doesn't it take purpose to begin to train your little toddler girl in the sport of gymnastics before she's even able to read, and to keep honing her skills as she adds on the burdens of growing up?

How do those parents DO this? Where do they get the energy? The nerve, the MONEY?

Color me amazed, because I could never have the energy, nerve, or money to shepard my child along the path toward notoriety or fame like those parents do. Instead, I suspect that I'm like the majority of Mom and Dads out there who find it's quite enough, thank you, to have your kids in activity or two; to get them to and from school safely, dressed, fed, and stocked with the proper homework and tools for their day; to work; to provide meals; to provide together time; to find time to relax and enjoy what's left of a day before cranking up the alarm clock in preparation for the morning's starting gun.

Sometimes I wonder though....if I'd made something out of any of the boys' early interests, what could they be now?

Well, thinking back on it, I'd have to say that Thing 1 would be a fire truck, and Thing 2 would be a dinosaur.

Now that? Would get us some noticin', don't you think?

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The cat has chosen to spend a large chunk of her day in the kitchen cabinets. I can hear her in there right now, rattling the pots and pans, getting a space just cat-sized enough to be comfortable.

She's weird.

Albert the Cat, who now spends most of his time outside after one-too-many pee-related incidents indoors, is becoming quite the darling of the neighborhood. He's a very VERY friendly critter, and is like a dog in his affection for people. Pull in the driveway after work and there's Albert, running up to say hi. Sit on the front porch in the evening to watch the sun go down, and there's Albert, tiptoeing along the porch rail, looking for a good head scratching.

Still, even with all that friendliness, I really did NOT expect to see him in the back of the van when I went for a lumber run this weekend. He'd hopped in when we weren't looking, had a ride to Lowe's, and seemed entirely nonplussed when I opened the back door to load up. So nonplussed, in fact, that it seemed to border on irritation when I started loading wood right where he'd been sleeping. I know, I have some nerve, don't I? Disturbing a sleeping cat like that. I ought to be ashamed.

But I'm not. Sue me.

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Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but is there anyone else swimming in the Olympics except Michael Phelps?

And have a great day.