On a Learning Curve

Life may not be easy, but it's always an adventure.

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Pickleball and Diabetes Camp

In September I start a part-time job teaching three classes every Monday at our local homeschool co-op. I’ll be teaching a fantasy literature class on C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, a college prep writing class, and middle school girls P.E.

One of these things is not like the other. One of these things just doesn’t belong.

Of course it’s the P.E. class. It’s not that I haven’t taught homeschool P.E. classes before; it’s just that I’ve never taught middle school girls. They’re a daunting age group, and I’m guessing that most of their mothers chose my class for them. That’s why I’m pinning my hopes on pickleball.

This summer S and I have been learning how to play pickleball on the miniature tennis courts behind our local YMCA. Mary is our fearless leader, and we join her and a handful of others every Tuesday and Thursday morning. Here’s an action shot of S.

She quickly realized that I was taking pictures of her, so she insisted that I stop. But not before I snapped another picture of Mary returning S’s serve.

As you may notice, there is a slight age difference between S and Mary. My guess is 50 years. S is by far the youngest pickleball player, and I easily have two decades on most of my partners.

Anyone can play pickleball, and that’s exactly my point. The rules aren’t terribly complicated, even if they don’t necessarily make sense. Case in point: games are played to 11 points, and the no one is allowed to hang out in the non-volley zone known as the kitchen.

Anyway, this week S has been at diabetes camp. That means that I have now slept soundly through the last four nights without any alarms indicating low or high blood sugar; I have consciously tried not to count carbohydrates; and I haven’t uttered the phrase, “Are you high?!” This also means that I haven’t had a pickleball partner this week.

I’m okay with this arrangement though. It’s good for S to escape for a bit and hang out with other kids who find it perfectly normal to prick their fingers, pack juice and candy before every outing, and discuss numbers like they are math geniuses.

I took H to pickeball yesterday. She rallied with me for a bit but declined to play with anyone who wasn’t an actual blood relative; instead, she acted as scorekeeper and ball girl. She was a big hit with the pickleball crowd, too.

And I think that’s what I like best about pickleball. It’s not the game itself, which is a weird combination of ping pong, tennis, and badminton. It’s the fact that my girls are spending time with people they haven’t met before and that these people are five times their age. In fact, our pickleball experience reminds me of why I’ve enjoyed homeschooling my children: It’s healthy and positive to expose children to others who are different from them in age, experience, and background.

H and I will be picking up S from camp this evening. I guarantee that she will be sunburned, tired, and cranky–all signs that she had a fabulous time and probably didn’t miss me or pickleball at all.