When the Tables Turn on You as a Parent

My younger brother tells a great story about having the tables turned on you. He played tennis in high school and one year he and his doubles partner had the misfortune of being in a very challenging district. The dominant high school in the area loomed large on the schedule, and he and his partner knew it would be a struggle to even play a competitive match with these guys.

When the day finally came for the big match, he and his partner confidently took to the court and began warming up with their competitors. It's common in high school for opponents to feel each other out a bit during the warmups and scout out any obvious weaknesses.

To my brother and his partner’s great surprise, they didn't feel overmatched by their opponents. In fact, even though they knew they’d have to play their best, they felt that if they did they might actually stand a chance to beat these guys.

As they finished warmups and prepared to begin play, my brother noted that both opponents were left handed, and while that typically would be an advantage against the other team, my brother is also left handed so it that wouldn't be a disadvantage for him at all.

There was just one problem. Their opponents weren't left handed.

After they spun a racket to determine who would serve first, the challengers paused for a moment and looked at their rackets. And then laughing, as if the fact that they were both right handed had momentarily slipped their minds, they switched their rackets into their right hands.  

And proceeded to pummel my brother and his partner in a barrage of power serves and winners that would make Rafael Nadal take notice.

I too have come upon circumstances that at first seemed daunting but then seemed doable. Only to turn out disastrous. Of course, my experiences happen in the home instead of on the tennis court.

Right after our first was born, changing a poopy diaper was an intimidating task. After observing the process, I felt pretty confident I had learned the tricks to doing it right. And then the diaper was on backward, there was poop on my shoulder, and I think I blacked out.

Or the time we got home late and the insomnia-prone baby was asleep in the car. I strongly considered just backing out of the driveway and driving around all night to keep him asleep. The idea of trying to get him out of his car seat and into his crib seemed like a highly risky undertaking to say the least.

After talking it over with my wife, we came up with a plan to, as slowly and smoothly as possible, extricate the sleeping baby from the car seat and basically float him into his crib. And we probably could have pulled it off too. Except I forgot the dome light in the van was going to turn on when I opened the door and when it did his eyes shot open like a cartoon character that had stubbed its toe. I don’t think we slept for two days after that.

I suppose there are really two reasons I wanted to tell my brother’s tennis story in this column. First, it’s a good illustration for parenting. Because in parenting, at least for me, there are times when I start to think I’ve got things together and might even be able to come out on top. And then my “opponents” switch hands: whether that’s because I overestimate my abilities, underestimate theirs, or just because kids will always find some way to challenge whatever you think are your strengths, it happens and I’m left swinging long after the ball has gone past me.

And secondly: I just really love telling this story. You never outgrow being an older brother.